Heart Of Gold

1 - Aurelia

1 - Aurelia

Everyone has dreams. Everyone has different ways of pursuing them.

Or trying to.

So how come mine are so different from everyone else's? Like how Charlie wants to be a fireman (just like every other six year old). Nadia wants to be a make up artist. I want to write.

But it's my other dreams that are different. It's not WHAT I want to be, but WHO. I want to be the girl who doesn't care. Who doesn't have to be liked by everyone. I like my imperfectness, but I don't like the way people I want to please comment negatively on it.

Then I think, why do I want to please someone who will always not be please by me? Because they're like that, I shouldn't give a damn about them. People like mum, like Charlie, like Nadia, the people who appreciate my imperfection, who think I'm perfect because I'm so complicated, are the only ones who matter.

And anyone like them will be the only people who matter. I promise I won't try to please time-wasters, who will never be pleased.

But then, I know in my heart of hearts, that I'll always care. No matter how much I try not to.

*

Even though it's Autumn, it is warm. What's this type of sunlight, golden climate called? An Indian Summer.

At the start of September.

I could never choose what my favourite season was. And now, as I watch Charlie zipping down the slide with his soft golden curls whooshing back, I'll think it's Autumn. But later, I'll think it's winter because of the sparkling snow and the festive Christmas spirit. And after that my favourite will be spring because of the soft sun and the pretty cherry blossom trees. Yet in summer, I'll just love the ice cream and long, hot, hazy days.

"I've climbed up to the top, Lia!" Charlie calls out to me in his innocent, high baby voice. He warms my heart by just doing that and I smile.

Charlie could never pronounce my full name - the "Aur" right before the "Elia" was too much for his tiny tongue so I encouraged him to just call me Lia. He never calls me my full name, and he's going to be the only one who's allowed to do that. It's unique to him.

He's now standing at the top of a mini climbing wall at the side of the frame ad staring at me with those big blue eyes, expecting me to congratulate him.

"Aw, that's great, Charlie!"

I love bringing him here. To see his energy, the way his little blond curls blow back in the gentle wind. There's nothing like the excitement of a child.

The wind is getting a little cooler, but it's pleasant as it brushes over my cheeks. I let my eyes flutter closed and lean my head back against the high, hard back on the seat, my knees tucked up to my chest. Sometimes it's best to just hear and feel everything around you. We are the only ones here, and it's beautiful. Charlie's pattering footsteps, the soft breeze, the ruffling of leaves in the trees around which reminds me of being in a forest . . .

And suddenly, there are gruff voices. Well, low ones. Rough-around-the-edges. The kicking of cans. Skateboard wheels. Boyish laughter. My eyes snap open to see a bunch of five or so teenage boys coming through the gate. Two of them are on skateboards, one is on a bike, and the other two, who are walking, are clutching cans. Of what? I don't want to know. They're all dressed in dark hoodies, with the hoods up, and dark jeans or sweatpants.

I'm not in the mood to sit here with them around. Charlie just continues to thud around the top of the climbing frame, talking to himself about pirates and superheroes as the pack of lads go and park themselves on the roundabout, talking amongst themselves about things I don't understand. I look between them and Charlie, worry settling inside me.