Some call it love [NaNoWriMo13]

19 - Some call it love

I sat down by the desk in my room back at home, feeling very troubled. I had not managed to reach my room safely without my mother's interference. "Miranda, I'm very sorry for last night. I overreacted, and we both know about what happens when I overreact, and that I have a tendency of saying and doing things that I don't mean."

"You sent me for counselling," I stated bluntly.

She sighed. "I know, dear. I was just upset that you didn't want to tell me what was going on! I'm your mother, Miranda, and I am concerned for you! And I felt that it was my responsibility to find out what is going on in your life!"

"Surely you could have thought of more creative ideas, mum. I mean, counselling?"

She sighed. "I know, dear. I really do!"

"Whatever," I muttered, not wanting to accept her apology. It was what I usually did. I preferred to hold on to grudges, rather than letting go. I always found it much harder to let go, which could also be one f the reasons why I had so little friends, although it wasn't as though I was intentionally doing. It was just that I found much difficulty in forgetting what people did to me.

And my other of all people should know that. I had never let anything go without at least a week. Except when it involved my twin, that is. I hardly bothered about what he did because we were just that close.

I left her without a word, and she just stood there looking after me. I knew I would feel bad for it later on, but I kept on walking on anyway. Because if I didn't continue, I knew I would never get to finish doing what I had set my mind to do on that day.

So that brings me back here, sitting by my desk. To write a poem, I knew that I would have to have a clear head. That way, it would be easier for me to clear my thoughts. But then I was not a very patient person, so I forced the words out.

I hate the world

And the world hates me back

Even reading it again, it made me cringe. What I was saying, utter nonsense. I mean, sure, there was a lot on my mind, but I don't think that's enough justification to write something so mundane.

I ripped the piece of paper out of the pad, and I screwed it up into a ball and then tossed it away.

I thought it through again, and felt that I couldn't squeeze nothing more out. It was like squeezing water out of a rock; impossible.

Then, I stared out of the window for inspiration. I watched as the strong wind blew leaves off the branches off a tree. It also might have had something to do that the cold season was coming soon. However, I thought that it was very calming, watching the leaves detach themselves from the tree branches and then fly away onto someone's lawn, to be cleaned and then stuffed into bags for disposal.

Then, the purr of an engine snapped me out of my daze. I looked down and saw that it was Kelly, and then I groaned. Something else to add to the list of long, long things to keep my mind occupied from writing the poem at hand. I sighed.

Then, like the two pieces of a puzzle fit perfectly, I realised how Kelly being there might not have been such a bad thing either. I grinned as I looked back down on the empty lines on the pad of paper lying on the table. I picked up a pen that was lying around on the table.

Like the autumn wind blows leaves away from their branches

She blew away the things that were close to me

My friends, myself

I grinned. The opening stanza seemed pretty good to me. And I was very impressed by my own poetic skills. I looked out of the window again for more inspiration, and I wasn't disappointed. I gazed up at the school, where clouds were rolling in. This left me fascinated. Then like the previous time, the words instantly came to me.

And like the storm clouds brew

So did the dark feelings that clustered up on my inside.

Like a magnetic pull, pulling all the negative and unwanted feelings to me

I smiled, happy that I was actually making very good progress. It made me feel great, and that I was accomplishing something. And it felt as if nothing could ruin my mood. Even the knock on the door. "Miranda, can I come in?"

"Why?"

"Well..."

"To apologise on behalf of mum?"

"Kind of."

"Come in!"

As he stepped in, I could tell he felt kind of proud, being accepted into his daughter's room. Then, his curiosity piqued. "You're writing something?"

I nodded. "We're supposed to write a poem for our assignment for English. I figured I'd do it now, before I forget about it on the day and rush something so important."

He grinned, looking down at the piece of paper which I had written. I immediately turned it to the other side, not wanting him to read it.

"Can't I read it?"

"No."

He chuckled and sat down next to me. "I remember refusing to let anyone read my works when I was your age. Now look at me!"

"No, dad. I'm not showing you."

"Come on! Let me read it and then I'll give you my opinion on it!"

"No, dad. Besides, it's not complete yet!"

"So will you let me read it once it's complete?"

"Maybe."

"Great then! Dinner is in an hour. Be down by then!"

I nodded and then he left the room. Then I muttered, "If I don't hand it in first!"

I tried to think up of more things to write for my poem, but nothing came to mind. So, I climbed up to my attic and then settled by my favourite corner. I tried my best not to let my warm skin touch the cool glass, because the glass was really very cold. I ended up failing and getting shocked every few seconds.

It was then in my peripheral vision that I saw the door to Connor's house open and then close. That was when I saw Connor walk out with his dog. That brought me back immediately to the first time that I saw him. It seemed like deja vu, when I had seen him and his dog. I observed his every motion until I noticed his head slowly turn upwards. But I couldn't hide, and we both know that he had caught me watching him.

Our gazes were locked with each others. I couln't seem to look away, but I couldn't help but to keep doing so because I missed being able to look into them without it being wrong for me to do so.

Then when he looked away, I could see his jaw clench and unclench, even from the distance where I was. He looked up again, as if trying to convey a message and then continued his walk down with his dog.

As for me, I understood his message to me.

I'm sorry.

But that wasn't an enough apology for me.

I figured I would spend too much time in my head in the attic, so I headed downstairs, where everyone was clearly surprised that I had come down early, without having Terrence to have to come and get me, because my mum didn't like shouting in the house. 

Dinner was spent relatively quiet, without anyone doing much talking, which was honestly fine by me. I could do without the noise, and I was sure dad was just great that there were no family conflicts to resolve, so I guess everybody was happy. 

But I where I was supposed to be happy, I wasn't because there was something itching at the back of my head. It was like an itch I couldn't reach, and therefore it just stayed there. It was uncomfortable, to say the very least. 

I just knew that there was something that was bothering me, but I couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was, and it was irritating me. 

But then I got my answer on that Saturday, where it was rather different from the other Saturdays I spent playing soccer with Terrence's friends. But as usual, trouble was my best friend.