I never really gave a thought to what I aspired to be. Maybe a waitress, a salon owner, maybe even a psychologist. I knew where I wanted to live though, California, I wanted to live there, but actually live. I wanted to wake up happy and go to sleep satisfied on how i lived my life that day, I wanted casual strolls around the Un humidified air I wanted lust and love and late night phone calls, I wanted tanned skin and long hair. I wanted to be free in my own skin, so why wouldn't I move to the most accepting state in America. The only thing with living there was leaving my mother and sister, and all the people I grew up around even though they'd probably all be dead by the end of high school anyway. That's the thing about growing up nobody tells you, people die, sometimes people die before they can even live and you're the one stuck there wondering why it happened, or what you could have done to stop it. That's why I think if every person wrote a book about their lives everyone would always have something to read because things that happen to us everyday are vastly more interesting than we think. There will always be things in life we can not control, especially death, so if you were to write a book about your life you could always make people who are dead, not really be dead. Words are magical, but there are almost never enough to describe the way we feel or the way we act, humans are in every way indescribable.
"Hannah what are you doing" my mother walks into my room, she worries about me too much, especially days where all I do is think, casually sitting on my bed staring at the cream colored wall of our apartment.
"Thinking"
"Thinking about?" She is so nosy.
"Stuff"
"Good talk" sarcasm laces her voice.
"I know right"
"We are eating dinner in 5 minutes, so come on out of your room be social" My mother says with her hand on her hip, worry lines clear across her face. I always thought my mom was beautiful, she had dark brown hair that flowed down to the middle of her back and green eyes like the grass in the morning mixed with chocolate brown. She was chunky in the nicest of terms, but never fat she probably only needed to lose 30 pounds to be bikini ready. Ever since my father and her divorced she has been getting better, the sunny glow returning to her once sullen cheeks. I can only imagine what he did to her considering what he does to me.
"Okay I'm coming" I said disdainfully, my mom never cooks dinner, this should be interesting.
The kitchen looked nice I had to be honest, she cleaned it at the very least. Other than that the table was set nicely and dinner looked really good.
"So what is the occasion on actually cooking mom"
"There is no occasion, Hannah, I just thought it would be if we sat down together as a family and ate"
I didn't respond to her, I don't think we have a family our family is so broken. I have not thought about family in years, there is none as long as my father still breaths air into his lungs and exhales his deadly poison. There will be no family until he is gone and the only thing left of him is a body and bones, and a house he barely even owned.
