nefelibata (n.) | ✔️

two.

Present. September 2nd, 2018.

The memories of my dispute with my parents come rushing to the forepart of my brain as soon as I open my eyes. I squint at my headache that remains even after sleep.

My eavesdropping at the top of the stairs, while my mother complained about my "attitude problems" to my father, was the first thing I remembered. My dad tried his best to defend me like he always does, but it didn't help against my mother.

Little did I know that my sociopathic mother would scream at me to come downstairs so that she could sit me down on the couch and lecture me about changing my ways for the new school year. No matter how hard I try, I just can't get my mother to understand that wearing a colorful dress or blouse every day isn't how I want to dress. When will my mother understand that putting glittery eyeshadow on my lids and wearing glossy lipgloss is not how I chose to live my life? It's my damn life.

Why does lining my eyes with black eyeliner effect my mother's life? Why does choosing to be more than a pretty face affect my mother's life?

I wasn't born to lead a typical life like my mother; I know that. I choose to believe that there is more to me than going through years of college to get a mediocre job and watch my children do the same thing. I know I have a purpose, and that is to impact the world.

After she led me to tears from the harsh words that I'd rather not repeat, I walked up to my bedroom and sat on my balcony, leaning my legs off of it. I let my summer fade away in the worst way possible, crying on my balcony.

The worst part? I wasn't about to go back to the docs because I didn't want to run into that kid again. Once I was sick of staring at an empty sky, I got into the shower. I stared at the wall, as the water droplets, powerfully poured out of the showerhead, hitting my bare skin. I always thought TV shows were dramatic when parents hated their children, but now I know that they weren't dramatic at all.

Tired of recapping the horrid details of last night, I hop out of bed to start my day, desperately in need of a coffee. I brush my teeth and hair as quick as possible, trying to throw my mangled long, black curls into a messy bun. It took about three attempts, but I finally got it the way I liked it.

Quickly moving on from the aggravation that was my hair, I threw on my favorite gym shorts and my loose black t-shirt. I tucked it into my shorts, moving on to tie up my black converse. As always, I grabbed my headphones before going out to my balcony to avoid the beautiful woman that is my mother.

Once I got into the street, I turned my music up full blast, beginning my run to the village. My usual coffee run helps ease the tension that I felt the day before listening to my parent's fight. On school days, like tomorrow, I wake up early so I can drive through the village to get coffee and still make it on time. Without coffee, my day is doomed.

The first 10 minutes of a run is the hardest. Your breath starts to get shaky, and your body begins to cramp up and let's be honest, no one likes running. After the most challenging part passes, the running becomes natural, and the heaviness in breathing and ache in the ankles are almost numb.

I let the bun that was hanging loosely in the back of my head unravel with each step until it entirely falls. I lose yet another hair tie as my hair flows around me wildly. Luckily, I'm about 2 minutes away from the coffee shop and halt my running before officially entering the village.

Walking into the coffee shop, I let the smell of coffee beans and the chatter amongst people filling the cafe surround me. "Lena! Hi, my love! How are you?" The owner of the small coffee shop greats me.

"Hey Lenny, how's business?" I smile walking up to the counter and paying him automatically considering he already knows my order.

"Get me a Medium Carmel Iced Latte back there!" He shouts to the employees working very hard to keep everyone happy. I smile.