Author's Note: This story is dedicated to both my grandfathers, who always believed THE FORCE was with me. "Star Wars" all the way, my friends.
I plummet into the deep blue ocean, my mind racing faster than the speed that I fall. What's going to happen to me when I hit that icy water? Will my delicate skin fail me and turn blue? Will I die of drowning or of frostbite? Before I even touch the icy water, I open my eyes with a start, sweat covering my entire forehead and underarms. I take a deep breath, trying to channel my inner calmness but that only leads to me thinking of the water and gentle waves and that's not such a great thing to think of after almost hypothetically drowning or freezing in the ocean. I roll out of bed, scratch my messy head and trudge toward my bathroom, in desperate need of a hairbrush. When I enter my bathroom, all I can think of is my reflection. I look at myself, at my dark hair all around my head like a shaggy dog. I look at my pink pajamas with Winnie the Pooh on them. I look at my dark eyes and bags underneath them. And then I sigh and pull a brush through my hair, grunting at every tug and pull. It's time.
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After feeling the hot drips of water caress my skin, I finally feel at ease after my scary nightmare. I soak in the warmth as it spreads through me, starting at my fingertips and traveling throughout my tired body. I finally step out of my haven and get changed for another oh so fun day. But of course, not even my water haven will be able to pull me away from the judgment. The brutal, merciless, and nerve racking judgment. The goal I've been opting to achieve half my life in the hands of one judge. How could that particular judge know how I feel towards his decision?
I glance at the digital clock that stands poised on top of my dresser, collecting dust. It reads 7:38 AM. Not bad, I think to myself, at least this time I woke up before the rooster! Ha, ha, ha, NOT! I grumble then walk through the hall, down the stairs and into our white IKEA kitchen. I grab a bowl and before I can grab the milk and cereal, I detect a small breeze maneuver into the kitchen and then linger for a while just before leaving. Not knowing where it came from, I still know who it came from but that doesn't stop me from jumping up like I'm on a trampoline at its touch. Lisa. Darn and bless that horrible, amazing girl!
I stop and stay still for awhile, trying to decide whether I should shriek at Lisa for scaring the bejjeebees out of me or whether I should thank her for the support on THE big day. I've known Lisa for as long as my hare brain could remember. We were friends in diapers, Dora the Explorer costumes on Halloween and now, in Gucci and Guess. She's not allowed to see me though since the rules prohibit her from it and so, instead, she finds it more suitable to almost make me pee my pants. G.E.N.I.U.S. I shakily sit down on our black kitchen chair and pounce on my cereal, suddenly feeling ravenous.
Just as soon as I wipe my face (notice how I didn't say mouth) after eating, my mother glides into the kitchen supporting a silky pink robe and bunny slippers. She's one of those women that look great even after sleeping. What about me you ask? Well, if you count inheriting your father's crazy snoring and big brown eyes as elegant, then I'm THE debutante of all time. She takes one long look at me and says "Willa, how do you feel?" then continues, not waiting for my response, "I know you're scared but this has to be done. I don't know what the other people have done or shown but I do know that you're ready and that you really want this." She looks sympathetic. You know the kind of sympathy that you would give a homeless child.
"Mom, don't worry I'm fine." I say then turn away so she won't know I'm lying.
"Okay then . . . let's go."
