3A Chapter by R. BartiletThis chapter was a way to show more of her and her relationship she has with her mother. Basically, it shows why she's like this in the first place. “We
should probably get going.” I assumed the bustling streets of the far away city
would grow quiet as the sun was about to set. But I still sat here. Just me and
Anna. She was watching me when I turned around to face her, still rooted on the
same spot for a while. “Will we come back?” “Of course.” Watching me intently, she nodded. But just to make sure, she held up her pinky
waiting for me to interlace hers with mine. And I did so, just like how I did
so every time I made a promise. We pulled up and looked to the front
of the mansion -- the ones where most people feel a rush of envy as they see it
on a home feature in a well-known magazine. The ones with grand marble staircases
and the ceilings that reached up way too high. It was -- to the fullest degree
-- for all to envy; the architecture blended modern and old together. And placed
in between two marble pillars was a front door -- the color of ivory, that
surely shown simplicity in a charming way. And the stone path towards the house
was lined with the same exquisite flowers I saw in my clearing. Yet as I
stepped out of the car, I saw nothing more than an ordinary and old detached
house. The one I have been in for the past twenty-five years. I set my keys down on a little side
table standing in my crowded living room before plopping on the sofa. I ran my
hand along the leathery surface, stopping when it lay on top of a gold
hardcover book. And I opened it while she watched me, leaning on the doorway. “Why do you keep reading it?” Turning to the first page, I
answered her while my eyes skimmed across the familiar text. “I don’t know.”
That was all I could come up with. Unsatisfied with my unsureness, I tried
again. “Maybe-- because I still can’t believe it.” I looked at her and saw the
confusion etched on her face. We
sat at our wooden dinner table that used to have a range of scratches on its
dark finish. It was the only elegant piece of furniture we had in this house,
except that it was surrounded by mismatched chairs from several yard sales my
mother used to go to. Anna and I would lounge here all day -- surprisingly
enough, the rundown chairs were comfortable. But nonetheless, my butt ached
after an hour or two. She was helping me with my
never-ending homework when we heard my mom shuffling in her bedroom before
walking down the stairs to get dinner for her night shift at the diner “I have to go to work.” Again. “I won’t be here until morning,
but by then I have to go to the pharmacy for a late afternoon shift.” “Hey mom.” She stopped digging
through the refrigerator to look at her teenage daughter, expecting me to say something. “I don’t
think I’ve introduced you guys yet, but this Anna.” I turned towards Anna as
she slightly raised her hand to let my mom know she was here beside me. I
looked back and found my mom searching my face and giving me an odd, yet a very familiar look.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes, returning to the refrigerator. “Very funny.” Grabbing a bagel
instead, she walked towards the living room and I followed her. “Mom, I’m ser--” She stopped abruptly and turned
around, remembering where her keys were. “Abby, I have no time for this; I’m going
to be late.” “Mom--” “Remember to lock the doors when I’m
gone. And don’t open the door for anyone.” She opened the front door, but
looked before leaving, “Love you.” © 2012 R. Bartilet |
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1 Review Added on September 11, 2012 Last Updated on September 15, 2012 Tags: imagination, anna, abby, doubt, self-confidence |