Countdown (on hold)

Three years, five months, six days, two hours, thirty minutes before

On the morning of my thirteenth birthday, I awoke to a small, white box dropped on my stomach. I heard my brother laugh when I squealed. “Happy birthday Shay,” he said, still laughing as he walked out of my room.                                                                                                                 

I sighed, knowing exactly what was in the box. It was the standard gift for all thirteen year olds; the one thing that helped accomplish world peace, it was the bracelet. My love life, and my soul mate’s love life, depended on the small, silicone bracelet in the box still laying on my stomach. I breathed in and out, watching the box go up and down with my chest. I knew I should have been excited, I could finally know when I was going to meet my soul mate, but I wasn’t. I didn’t want to know the exact second I was going to meet the one.                                    

In my mind, you should be able to choose your lover. I mean, what if you walk into a stranger on the street and bam! your bracelets starts to beep crazily. You wouldn’t know a thing about this person you ran into, and suddenly you’re expected to fall in love, and have a life a together. At least it wouldn’t end horribly, like in divorce, because you and your soul mate would be paired up together because of each other’s chemistry and energy the bracelet senses.        

The bracelet also has some perks, I have to admit. No more divorce, people are happy with their soul mates, who are actually their soul mate. My mother once told me when people used the term ‘soul mate’ to describe a person they barely knew and thought they loved. Someone would gush, “Oh we are just perfect together! He’s my soul mate!” But honestly, he wasn’t and they would break up the next week.                                                                                       

Things like that bothered me, calling someone your soul mate when truly they weren’t. Love is something important to me; I like the feeling of love, of being loved. Love isn’t just having someone say they love you, it’s the actions they show you that show they love you.   

  Theo, my brother, called me down to the kitchen, breaking my train of thought. I hurriedly opened the box containing my bracelet, not paying any attention to it as I rushed to fit it onto my wrist. I would have plenty of time to admire it later. As soon as I left my room, not looking up from the ground, I ran into Theo, falling back into my room.                                                                      

For the second time today, Theo laughed at me. As he helped pull me up he said, “I really should stop laughing at you since it’s your birthday, but you are kinda funny when you fall on your butt, Shay.”                                                                                                                                   

I glared at my older brother, “Not funny, Theo.” He walks over towards the stairs, shaking his head and laughing under his breath. As older brothers go, Theo’s the best.     Walking down the stairs, I see my family sitting at the kitchen table, talking to each other and waiting for me. I truly do have the best family. My parents support both mine and Theo’s dreams and are always there for us. I guess everyone says that they have the best family, because they feel that about their family. Everyone probably feels that about their family.