Clever Subterfuge

Test of Faith

It was a rather parasitic relationship once she thought about it. The thought didn't necessarily hit her at once, it was more of a feeling that warmed up to her like an old friend. A realization. 

Once the thought was processed it was strange it hadn't made an appearance sooner. It was not an epiphany one may take particular delight in and although she was not referring to her own relationship, the base of her core issues remained in the dynamic of her parent's inter-companionship. 

It was rather depressing how little two people could get along with each other and still find reason to stay side by side. Labeled under possible obligation or mere habit, Fiamma could never distinguish clearly. Watching interactions between the two older adults was like observing two predator species fighting over a specific resource. In this case the two older adults may have fought over trivial things but a more psychological pretext played at hand.

You see, the mentality of any sort of relationship has to draw from a source of support; no matter the fashion. No support, no foundation for a healthy relationship and all efforts would be akin to constructing an elaborate castle on a sand surface. Futile.

In effect, she fell into the stereotyped population carrying "daddy issues." Constantly searching for the right people to surround herself with, like a child wandering the shoreline for glistening stones. Only to find few that grew dull and lackluster once the moisture evaporated from its surface. Yet each were kept in a drawer for safe keeping in a sense of security. 

Her childhood was rather bittersweet. Fiamma was grateful for multiple factors of her childhood, for one, she didn't grow up thinking her parents' relationship was an ideal one for she was raised primarily by her grandparents. Instead she was taught that there was a "healthy parasitic relationship." A kind where both parties were afraid to be alone, or resolved to being co-dependent. 

This was confusing at first, the word tasted foul on her lips and didn't seem to properly belong aside words romanticized by society such as relationship. Although she never really had placed much thought into relationships and love throughout high school, the ones she fell into worked for awhile before silly infatuation led her to question why such wonderful people decided to stay by her side. Of course, this never led to happy endings.

In the end, her tests to see if people saw her worth fighting for failed within seconds of starting. It reminded her of the boxing matches she sat through with her grandfather, sharing a glass bottle of coke. He would present new ways to pop the cap "for later on," he would mumble. The shine in his eyes as he would hand it to her and press his gaze towards the screen as the bell rang for the next round.

"It's a test of faith," he would say, as if his conversation were directed to the inanimate television.

Her focus would shift to his words and he would continue after pulling the bottle from his lips and the match ended.

"Love, at least in my eyes, is like a boxing match. You start off with two parties, equals in almost every aspect that matters." He would lean back on his recliner and fold his arms over his pudgy belly, later bringing his eyes to half-lid. Of course, she would sit with her legs crossed on the floor by his feet. Eyes wide as her mind tried to comprehend the comparison.

Eventually he would speak again, "they start the rounds and both test their opponents with his own best combinations. Showing their worst appearance, as if to see how long the other will stay. That's how I knew your grandmother was a keeper. She stood by my side when things went bad, when I broke and the blasted tears fell in silence. Instead of turning her back to the broken person I was, she came closer, brushed the tears away and told me 'as long as you've got breath in you, you're winning.'

A light  chuckle escaped his thin lips and the shine to his eyes never left as he went on about the two great loves in his life, "you're grandmother dodged each punch and threw me off my feet. In the end we were left standing, but she carried the title belt. I was no longer the owner to my own heart," his chuckle became hearty and he clapped his hand over his belly to subside the ache he gained from laughter, "you need to find a love like that Fiamma."

---

A tender smile made a slight appearance and her eyes fluttered shut as she recalled the feeling of love she received from her guardians. She was young when she first caught glimpse of how she was loved, back when she had embarrassing pigtails, bangs and ruffled dresses. How she was dropped off at home, eyes swollen with tears and mouth repeating the cruel phrases uttered in lack of love. 

"They told me they don't love me," her young self murmured, chubby fingers wiping her traitorous tears away, "if they don't love me, that means no one will."

"Fiamma, who am I?" Whispered her grandfather, gently lifting her into his arms and patiently waiting for an answer.

The question threw her off and all she could muster as a child was a simple "Papa Jerry."

"Yes, and I love you Fiamma. Don't disregard me just yet."  And he would smile, the kind of smile that she loved to see on everyone's face. The one where the tiny wrinkles made appearance in the corner of the eyes, a slight glimmer to his irises to present sincerity.

"Fiamma, don't you ever feel unloved or alone, because even after I leave this Earth, I will continue to find ways to make you smile. Because you are worth it my precious girl. You are always worth the fight."

Phantom ticks on her window sounded and she knew the boy she loved was no longer outside waiting for her. The moonlight draped over her and lingered like an old friend who gently wiped faded tears away, but there weren't any this time. 

"I am worth fighting for," she whispered to herself before letting her eyelids droop and reality slip from her fingers like sand. A smile tainted on her lips.