The Professor

One

"Remember, Honey, we are so proud of you!" My mother exclaims gleefully from the passenger seat, the familiar hope growing in her blissful voice. She doesn't bother to turn around to face me. She only preserves her attention ahead of her on the road. I assume that if she even catches the slightest glimpse of me, she'll burst into tears while smearing her conservative application of makeup.

I grin warmly at the back of her blonde head and patiently repeat, "Thanks, mom."

She's only reminded me a hundred times that she is proud of me being accepted into a huge art school. Both my parents continue to brag about it to about every encountering we have with someone. One circumstance is clear, I will feel at loss of their glowing smiles and secure affection. The whole college idea is abnormal for me. Taking into account of the thought about being absent from them will definitely be unusual. After all, the distance is only about a three hour drive, yet it doesn't change the fact that I won't be able to see them every day like I used to. It breaks my heart. I'm so emotionally attached to them, as they are to me.

In the same breath, I am so thrilled to attend this school. I've contrived the best of me for this moment and now it has all exceptionally paid off. I'm finally where I'm suppose to be.

The van slows to a stop and we all climb out. I step onto a freshly cut lawn while the humidity sticks to my skin and stare at the giant building that runs many yards away from me. It's breathtaking.

We're here. Back in my home state.

Florida.

I grew up in a small town in the panhandle of Florida for twelve years before military booted us to an even smaller town in New Mexico, where I grew to hate every second of it more and more. But, now I'm back, where I belong, Orlando.

It must be about ten stories high. This campus is so large. There are so many buildings with a thousand windows on each. I'm afraid I will get lost.

"Honey, don't forget to grab your giraffe from the seat." My mother reminds me from the trunk of the car, breaking my gaze from the stunning view.

"Oh, yes!" I open the car door and fetch the miniature stuffed giraffe from the seat. Quickly, I meet my parents at the car rear to retrieve my luggages. I'm still amazed how I managed to fit all of my belongings into two suitcases, three backpacks, and two cardboard boxes. I thought maybe I would have to bring an extra vehicle.

It is very common for me to hear about how the bundle of clothing I posses is just too atrocious and dramatic, like as if I'm a Baribe with her capicous wardrobe.

In fact, I have even been related to a Barbie. Some say it's my petite body type, others claim that it is my 'natural beauty.' Do I agree? I'm not sure.

We begin walking. I carry the two suitcases while wearing a heavy backpack. My parents each carry a box with a backpack as well. They follow behind me. I keep attempting to match their pace, but I'm way too excited.

As we walk what feels like miles to my dorm, I begin to picture my four years here at this amazing school. I imagine staying up late, finishing a painting under a dim lamp light or reading a book in the library. I imagine all the techniques I will learn in my visual arts class and cluttering my dorm with paintings and projects. I imagine friends and late night parties and pizza at three AM. This is my life for the next four years. I'm way too thrilled.

The elevator stops on the fifth floor. I realize that my parents are quiet. I know that as much as they are proud, they are upset. Their only child is grown up and will only get to see them during holidays and random laundry days. I am capable of comprehending the tragedy it must be for them. It's difficult for me too. I'm going on nineteen years of age and I only wish to rewind back time to stay with them forever and play with Barbies. However, the time has arrived for me, pushing me out the door and onto my two-inch heels. My new journey is about to begin with the clues of it displaying my starting point here at a large campus and leading to where I am meant to be. I don't regret a single step of the way, nor memory.