Ain't Life Grand? (Cristiano Ronaldo)

Reunited With Mother

1.Ain't Life Grand? (Cristiano Ronaldo) 

My Mother hated, with a burning passion, the friend I decided to bring with me. It wasn't like I was using her to tick off my Mother, no. She really is my best friend my Mom just disapproved of her. I could careless though, this girl is like my sister.

"Doesn't your Mother hate me?" Marisol asked as we boarded our plane. I just shrugged my shoulders not really wanting to answer the question. Besides, she already knew the sure fire answer. She just let out a laugh and flipped her gold brown hair over her shoulder.

Marisol Angel was born and raised in Barcelona. Obviously, her native tongue was Spanish. I met her when I first moved to America, around highschool. Oddly enough, we both just transferred from Europe. (Me being from Nice at the time.) A majority of the first day there we were with each other, we had classes together, so we befriended each other. 

When my Mom came to visit two years later, already being seventeen and close best friends, she caught Marisol in a bad time. She had been caught with a lit cigarette in her hand outside my house. My Mother hated that, she didn't want smoking to be around her "precious little angel." Ironically, she was a closet smoker. Mother never knew I found out.

Marisolhas golden brown hair, tall, slender, tan and attractive nonetheless. Her eyes were hazel, which I was always jealous of, and they had golden specks in them. We have a lot of common interests. Such as our favorite store brand clothing, authors, music and things like that. Mari was a huge football, or in America we call 'soccer', fan.

I, on the otherhand, was not a huge fan of the sport. I had only been to one soccer game in my life, when I was 14, and I did not enjoy it. I could hardly see what was going on. They were just running back and forth kicking here and there. It was extremly boring and I didn't get what the big fuss was about.

"Wake me up when we get there." I requested to Mari, who was gazing at the clouds outside the window, in the middle of the flight. I didn't hear, or wait for her reply. All Time Low's 'Stella' was blasting in my ears as I leaned back and drifted to sleep.

You'd think having a Mom who keeps trying to get you married, and being twenty one deprived you of music like that. But it didn't. Who cared if I wasn't the fourteen year old girl who obsessed with how hot the band members were? Besides, those guys were around my age.

Adeline Annette Ackers what would your Mother say when she hears you listen to this rebel music? It's a disgrace. It isn't like you. But in truth, it isn't like Jean-Marie. My Mom. My whole life my Mother had been trying to mold me into her perfect daughter image. That was the entire reason I didn't want to stay with her after the divorce. I hated whenever she got me wearing the clothes she made me wear, which mostly were dresses, they weren't my style. Or got me to eat the expensive French cuisine I didn't find appealing.

I can never bring up the courage to tell my Mom how I truly felt about what she had been doing to me my entire childhood. She still was my Mother, and I loved her dearly. Telling her that would only hurt her feelings.

"Wake up buttercup." Mari lightly nudged me as I awoke. I rubbed the sleep in my eyes, and stretched. I yawned and realized something was drawn on my hand. It was the number 7, my favorite number. I gave her a questionable look and she had on a sheepish grin.

"I got bored." She shrugged as if it was nothing. I laughed as we got off the plane.

As we went into the airport itself, I fished around my purse to find what I needed. My hairbrush. I confidently held it up in the air before proceeding to brush my dark, almost noir, brunette hair. We made it to baggage claim, got our belongings, then headed outside to catch a cab and go to my Mom's hotel.