Keyholes To Flowerage

V. Keyholes to Flowerage

V. Keyholes to Flowerage

SO INEXPLICABLE. Along with my existence is the unfathomable obligation to seclude myself from everyone and everything-I scribbled. My pencil filled in the wide, empty space of milky papers with the words I couldn't utter as I traced the chicken scrawled sentences, beaming at the diagonal piece of scratched paper. Ah finally, the paper was already full instead of vacant. I pursued filling in all the blanks and vacancies on the rough pages until the ink tank became dehydrated. As though on cue, I got on my feet to jump on the classroom bandwagon. Half of the classroom's population, together with the lecturer, left the door whirlwind.

Few stayed to spend their lunch inside the classroom, discussing about a certain topic. "I terribly wanna be an engineer someday. You know, building structures and connection with successful people."

"That's a great dream job, Ara!" To make the talk long, Pauline engaged herself too. "Well, my parents have been pushing me to be a flight attendant. They said that complements my height, but on the other hand, what I truly want is to be a musician as well."

At the moment, my confidence shrunk as to how could they be so certain about their dreams in life, how did they know they wanted to be an engineer or a musician? When they noticed I was semi-listening, they dragged their attention to me. "You, Marceline? What do you want to be?"

It was a nutmeg question, taking me a lot of water to spice down. Struggling what to say, I diverted the echoes of unpredicted earthquake by packing the mountain of books inside my bag. "Ah, still-figuring it out."

"What?" A silhouette of curiosity whispered Justine to push his chair toward mine. "Aren't you running out of time to decide what you want most in life?"

"Actually, yeah." Setting myself to leave, I queued for a second. "I'm running out of time. Need to pay a visit to the principal's office."

MERELY A few minutes, I reached the doorstep of the office. My chest rose as if in any other time it would explode with sulphur and fire. I was always calm in the chaos, but not this time. When I stepped food inside, Mr. Cunningham was typing something on his keyboard. His fingers ceased in the mid-air and acknowledged my presence by telling me to occupy a seat.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Cunningham." I ironed the invisible wrinkles of my skirt with my sweaty palms.

He nodded. "Has Mrs. Stevens already hinted you what we're about to discuss?"

"Yes, she did." His sun-kissed hands closed his laptop, shoved it aside, and clasped both of his palms.

"All of your lecturers commended your behaviors during their classes. You were always quiet and decent, they said. They were something that we've been looking for to a student." I taped my eyes on the white floor and listened to him attentively. "However, your grades are very poor as well as your attendance on their classes. What could be the factors, Ms. Sullivan?"

My knees wobbled, influencing my system to be at lost for words. "I appreciate students who are behaving appropriately, but I'd appreciate them even more if only they would participate in classes actively as what students are expected to."

I mumbled an apology and earned silence in return. He tapped the tip of his pen on the glass table and stretched his hand to get the envelope beside a neglected mug of coffee. "Here's the actual matter."

I grabbed the envelope. "Inside is an invitation from Houston University for their psychological documentary. Over a hundred academies, they chose us. It was an honor. I thought of it as a great opportunity to feature our province and school."

"And they are requiring for a representative?"

"Exactly." He fixed his eyeglasses. "I and the faculty members have analyzed the whole student body to see who'd fit the requirements. You were perfectly fit for the position. We agreed to pick you. You're an outstanding student, Ms. Sullivan. From now, we're expecting a lot from you."

A mountain of hollow blocks instantly dwelled inside my heart. "But, my-I don't think my Mom would like this."

He handed me another paper, a letter asking for the Guardian's Permission. "This is the only chance I can offer you, Ms. Sullivan. You won't like to be a repeater, will you?"

"Yes, ah, I'll persuade my mother." He glanced at his wrist, calculating the time.

"Tomorrow will be the gathering of representatives from different schools all over America. Don't you worry, Mrs. Stevens will accompany you to the Urban City." I nodded.

"How about my classes?"

"You'll be excused and will have school privileges too, Ms. Sullivan. We'd fix your schedule as early as possible." I stood up and beamed at him.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Cunningham." I couldn't shrug the ideas of Urban City off my mind.

Urban City, the overrated subject of poetries and travelogues I read before on a newspaper. Now that I thought of it, will Mom see the offer as an opportunity to pursue her dreams? Stepping foot in it would be a dream come true for her. From what my memory gathered, Urban was a perfect place to grow. She planted the idea of Urban being a cupboard of books that brings history and wisdom. Its city lights were the signposts, giving us the sense of direction in life. Its borders were the feather-like greensward to gaze upon the constellations in the charcoaled sky. Beautiful.

WHEN I arrived home, there were people filling the quiet edges of our house. The noises came out from the television. An afternoon drama Mom always dearly watched. "Hi."

"You're home." She took a glance at me, her interest was caged in the seemingly entertaining drama. "Caroline and Charles dropped by here awhile ago, they left you some homemade cupcakes. Inside the fridge."

"Sounds nice, Mom." I dropped my bag and picked up the courage to tell her I'd not be able to get a diploma if I'd refuse the offer. "And ah, what do you think of straight Cs?"

"Not good enough."

"Mom, I got straight Cs for the past three quarters. I really tried my best-" She turned off the television. "-but yeah, I still failed in classes. I didn't intend to. I mean, yeah, I wasn't that attracted to studying."

She made her way to the dining area and got the homemade cupcakes baked from the Willoughby's house. "Grades don't take into consideration the difference between someone who studies hard against someone who doesn't."

I took a seat and grabbed a cupcake. "I sent you to school because that's my obligation as your mother. But that doesn't mean you're required to cram out way too much, alright? Being smart is environmental, you know. All I want for you is to learn through the environment that exists there and nothing more."

"So, it's okay to have poor grades?"

"Not even tolerating that. Just chill out and don't be pressured." She ate the cupcakes with me.

"Mr. Cunningham wants me to give this to you." I handed the letter and ascended to my room. I hope she'd permit me. There's a probability that I could sparkle my dull future there, just like what she once dreamed of.