Fly Girl | [Novel] (Wattpad Version)

1| 'Sweet' Home

January 1995:

Ava -

Accustomed to being left alone for weeks on end, I sat at my piano, playing a soulful melody I'd learned just days ago. Hearing the front door slam shut, followed by heavy footsteps, the sounds of heels clicking right after, I knew it could only be my parents returning home from their third trip to Egypt. As usual, they were laughing, whispering among themselves while recounting their most recent exploits overseas.

Of course they'd left me behind. According to them, I'm 'much too young' to appreciate the gift of traveling. I'm 'much too young' to be trusted with a guide, male or female, while visiting ancient ruins and historical landmarks. I'm 'much too young' for any of the things my parents find fascinating and enjoyable, much too young for anything that would require them to spend any real amount of time with me or focused on me. Always left in the care of a nanny, a woman who'd practically raised me since birth, a job she claimed she loved since she could have no children of her own. Though it annoys me to no end to still be 'babysat', being that I'd just turned sixteen a month ago, there were times when I really didn't mind being left behind. Sometimes I preferred to be left with Deena, my 'nanny' and confidante. The only real friend I've got, though she's old enough to be my grandmother.

I get to be myself, explore my talents, express myself, and wear my emotions on my sleeves. I don't have to be uptight, prissy, emotionless, and cold. I don't have to act snobbish or turn my nose up at those my parents deem as less than; though, if they weren't rich, they'd be the ones looked down upon simply for their ethnicity. I've always found it to be a bit ironic that they'd turned out to act like the people that mistreated them in their own youth, but I've always kept that thought to myself. Not that either of my parents would listen if I chose to speak up on the matter.

They came waltzing into the day room, smiling and laughing with one another as if they hadn't a care in the world. As if I weren't sitting here waiting to be acknowledged for once in my life. I cleared my throat; nothing. Said hello; nothing.

Playing a different tune, I closed my eyes and immediately felt myself escaping through what had long been a bit of salvation for me. The one thing that didn't leave me feeling lonely unless I stopped completely or opened my eyes too soon. The one thing I loved more than life itself; music. I started playing the first real song that came to mind.

"You knew you had me, with your sensuous charm, yet you looked so alarmed as I walked on by. In awesome wonder, you had to know why I did not respond... to carry on." I stopped for a second. "Love me in a special way. What more can I say? Love me now. Love me now, 'cause I'm special. Not the average kind who'd accept any line that sound good. So reach into your chain of thoughts, try to find something new. 'Cause what worked so well for you before, for me it just won't do."

Hearing a loud thud, I opened my eyes to see that my father had slammed the top of the piano down to get my attention. "What is wrong with you singing that, that, that horrible music in my home?"

"It's bad enough that you barely sound decent singing."

I rolled my eyes, trying to get back into what I was playing but my mother continued. She never cared WHAT I played or sang; she simply cared to break my spirit and assure that I doubted myself by the time she left the room. And yes, it worked, most times. My father, on the other hand, could not stand any type of R&B, Soul, Power Ballads, Pop, or Rock. Everything played in our home, with him around, had to be within some realm of the Latin genre.