Freefall ✓

20 | heartbroken

Oh, but that's the irony. Broken people are not fragile.

—clinton sammy jr.

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Mirrors - Niall Horan

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AUDREY

The flow of time is a funny phenomenon. In reality, it's nothing but a fixed number of seconds, minutes, and hours that move forward continuously with a set speed. 

Yet at certain moments in our life, we might feel entirely convinced that its pace is varying: too fast or too slow.

And my conviction was that the clock hands decided to hold out a relay race in the course of these winter weeks. Weeks wrapped up in hot chocolate with marshmallows, snuggly movie nights, fuzzy socks, and the crisp smell of fresh snowflakes.

They were sliding by just too fast.

Buoyantly, I skipped through the kitchen doorway, sprinkling tiny droplets of water about. My hair was still damp from the morning shower.

"Morning!" I planted a kiss on my mother's cheek— who was pouring sesame oil onto the frying pan— and grabbed the giant cardboard box accomodating my favorite cereal.

"Morning honey!" A gentle smile settled around her eyes. "Well someone's in a good mood today. Something up?"

"Nothing particular." She watched me pick up a cereal bowl.

"Don't you prefer the warm, freshly-made breakfast?" She nodded at the wide plate beside the stove that she was filling with hash browns.

"These are for breakfast?" I set the cereal bowl aside, my attention rerouting to the appealing potato dish. "You made them especially for me?"

"Of course, you silly girl. You deserve it. I know I had been coming home a little late in the past few days. I'm sorry." I could almost see the guilt rise from her like the steam rising from the hash browns on my plate.

"Mom, you don't have to be sorry for that. It's fine," I tried to reassure her somehow, starting to eat.

She smiled in response, taking a sip from her mug. "I noticed you've become more relaxed these days. Happier. Stopped worrying meaninglessly over all those school tests. I like that Audrey better. Is there a reason?" She raised her eyebrows, almost suggestively.

I reflected about the honest answer. Was there? "Not sure," I settled on, "I'd tell you if I were," I met her playful, almost knowing eyes. How did mothers always seem to know everything? Even I didn't know myself.

"But you've actually reminded me— I've got an assessed history presentation today. Counts 80% towards the final grade."

"Well it's gonna go by just perfectly as usual, won't it? You're a smart girl." Gosh, I hoped.

In a sprightly manner, I hopped off the stool, used a napkin, and picked up my school bag. "Wish me luck!"

"You don't need it, sweetie," she turned towards me, granting me a look of encouragement. "And Audrey," she added, before I left, "Don't let anyone put out that smile of yours I've been seeing a lot lately. It's too beautiful to be hidden."

I met her heartwarming gaze. I'll try, was what my own eyes spelled out, without actually voicing them aloud. But my mother, being my mother, probably understood anyway.