Not Quite the Opposites (camren)

8 Things I See with My Heart

Standing in front of my wide bathroom mirror, I was contemplating if I was dressed well; if I was underdressed or overdressed. Camila was coming and I was in a pair of jean shorts and an oversized shirt. I mean, I usually am in these things when I'm at home. I might as well show her who I am.

The shower floor had trails of sediments leading down the drain. They were forming rays around the square shaped grills, looking like a four-cornered sun. But there were probably too much sand there and I was particularly dry that morning.

I went to bed and pulled my blanket off the bed only to find more sand. What the heck did I do yesterday? I could only wish I did not get laid out of my own lucid will. Contemplating on the possibility, it felt as if a freezing cold rain was drenching my shoulders as I cringed.

I hurriedly went downstairs to grab the vacuum cleaner and salvage what I could with my wreckage of a room. My room is usually tidy but the very frustrating cell phone hunt made me realize how much of an impatient person with a hangover I am. I tossed clothes on the floor to the hamper, fixed my bed, tidied up my desk.

I made sure I brought all my books from my locker for the weekend-long study session I promised myself which was rather painful on my back given the weight of the hardbound pages. I set them on the living room coffee table while I continued to tidy up my bathroom.

The doorbell went off just in time but maybe too soon until I saw my face in the bathroom mirror. My hair was disheveled from the constant hunching down. I shook my head and combed my hair with my hands. I then slipped a purple beanie over my head just because I felt like it. I was just supposed to be satisfied with that for now given the person waiting behind my front door.

"Hey!" I heard my father's voice roar immediately after I heard the front door open. "Which sibling?" He merrily asked, barely containing his happiness. He liked knowing his children are fitting in well. He was about to laugh and I was counting down from three.

Two. One. Just in time, my father's chuckle could be heard, resonating from downstairs.

I could only imagine my friend's discomfort with my very welcoming father. He wasn't as welcoming with Jette though. To my surprise, the brown-eyed brunette returned the gesture by laughing with him. I should give my father some credit with how funny he is to Camila.

"Lauren, sir." She gasped as she finished her laughing fit.

"Oh! I figured you'd be Taylor's friend." My father sounded surprised. Seriously, dad? I thought to myself. "She's the nicer sister." He continued with a quieter voice, I assumed he was trying to keep it a secret.

I had to admit; Taylor is much nicer than I am. She is just too compassionate and too understanding. I can not deny that she has more friends than I do; real friends. She effortlessly socializes with them and leaves a mark on their lives even with the limited amount of time we spend in a city or town.

My little sister cares enough to actually be willing to save my butt from my parents' wrath.

"Lauren isn't so bad, sir." Camila cautiously answered. She sounded a little too uncomfortable for my liking.

With what seemed to be an eternity of laughing, my dad finally said, "I'm Mike. Don't call me sir." He began with his friendly tone. "You can even call me Papa. Come in..." He paused, anticipating her name.

"Camila, sir." She timidly retorted.

That was my cue. Before my dad could even protest about the "sir" calling, I began to ran down the stairs to join the two in conversation, yelling, "Ok, dad!" I breathed heavily from my sprint. My heart instantly picked up pace. "I got it from here."