Word of Honor

Chapter Four: Evolution

It is a rather quiet morning to encourage the day to begin. There are no birds chirping and oddly luckily, no traffic.

'Charmi, come down here in fifteen minutes! We're going at seven o'clock!' Mom yells from downstairs, already frying an egg in shallow oil in a cauldron.

I adjust to the sunlight pouring down through the window with the draped curtains wide open.

I find myself walking towards my closet. The dress that Mom has been talking about a few days ago is folded neatly on a layer below my jackets on hangers. Delicately, I hold the clothing and let it stretch out on the bed.

The dress has long sleeves in lavender, and it has a midi hemline, just below my knee. Its texture is rather alleviating and soothing. Folds and folds of clothing are formed from the waist to the end with congruent, vibrant shades of periwinkle purple.

A pleasant smile appears on my face, this is one of the best dresses I have ever seen.

On the other hand, as I wear it on, there is somewhere awfully itchy on the neck. I try to work on cutting that part of the tag off, but there is no tag on this dress, certainly far from placate.

While I put the dress back on properly, I exhale with helplessness and go downstairs towards the dining table.

On the marbling tabletop, there is sticky maple syrup sprinkled on loads of freshly-made pancakes, along with glasses of milk or mugs of hot tea. The milk jug is waiting for Mom or Dad to put it back in the fridge.

'Oh how the dress fits you perfectly dear!' Mom compliments me.

'It's certainly not cheap, isn't it?' Dad always worries about things that are extremely expensive but the texture is tainted.

'It's okay, as long as our Charmi looks elegant wearing it.' Mom says.

While Mom ate a portion of her pancake, the itchy sensation reinstated idly.

'Y-Yeah...' I say, raising my hand to my neck scratching, not helping at all.

'Right Charmi, this speech is none like the others, it's a speech of talking to the whole city! Your father has gotten an incredibly outstanding chance to improve even more!' Mom adds.

'Woah Mom, I can't believe it! Dad, that true?' I question Dad.

After receiving an approving response, I happily help myself to breakfast. Dad seems surprised at first to watch a rather polite lady, his daughter, chomping on a fluffy pancake while wearing an elegant dress, scratching her neck disconsolately every few seconds.

'So as I was saying, you have to be fully aware of your speech. Not meant to add pressure to you or anything, but I'm sure you can do it.' Mom says.

'I'll do my best.' Dad responds.

Mom's words make things quite plain to me, no matter the invisible itch.

It is a great first meal to satisfy my taste buds, and I finish off the plates. Dad reluctantly downs the last bit of milk rather quickly, and Mom drags him by the tug of his jacket out the kitchen.

The shoes in the distant shoe cabinet are eagerly waiting for us to wear them, so we did just that. My parents put on their usual jackets and look at their watches at the same time; their minds are in sync.

The garage door gradually rises until its peak, and I observe the equipment required for fixing the vehicle laying on a massive table. Those car tires leaning against the wall are sorted into the 'just in case' category. Dusty boxes are set on the nearby shelf, most of them are our old ownings. I would come by whenever I have nostalgia of my childhood. However, I would peek just a little bit at my parent's antique possessions, perhaps to dive into their past. I could find dozens of their polaroids smiling back at me, and their teenage selves are very impressive.