I delicately traced the outline of the silver-framed picture that was perched on my small bedside table. It was a picture of Taylor with his arm slung carelessly around my shoulder. There was this funny little embarrassed expression on his already red face, because his mom had forced him into striking that pose for the picture and only for the picture. I had a look of fake contentment on my face, though nobody would know it was a fluke by just looking at it. I remember feeling horribly uncomfortable, but, in fear of making a scene like Taylor had done, didn't let it vividly show. That picture was probably the most memorable of my times with spent with Tay.
For some reason, I feel like I've lived so much longer than twelve years. I mean, I tend to think things out rather deeply than intended, and while most other twelve year olds would just say "Hell, this is the last year before I officially become a teenager, I may as well live it up!", I think along the lines of the contrary. I take each day as it comes, exciting or utterly boring. When there's an impeccable opportunity within my reach, I go for it. Which does not happen sporadically, but one can hope.
Another rough topic for me is future. F-U-T-U-R-E. It's only a small, six-letter word, yet when unfolded and thought out, can tell your whole life story. I never thought much about future, and I still don't. I don't have any fantasies about becoming a model or actress like many of the girls at school do. When the word "future" is brought upon me, I brush it away with a mere flick of the wrist or wave of the hand. I often envy Taylor for having the common quality to know and have his heart set on what he wants to do when he grows up. He and his brothers are so musically inclined it's indescribable. They have already released two independent albums, and are working on a third, in benefit of their band Hanson. I, on the other hand, do not intend to drag a musical career into my life. I have played the bassoon since the 4th grade, and love the dear thing immensely, but sincerely and honestly do not think that I would lead a very successful life in the music business. Apparently, my parents and band instructor don't either. 'You'll have to make up your mind about what you want your future to be sometime, Al,' I silently scolded myself. With that innocent thought still fresh in my mind, I drifted off into a restless sleep.
I was rudely awakened approximately an hour later by the shrill sound of the ringing telephone. I picked it up hastily. "Hello?"
"Alana?" the person on the other end questioned.
"Yeah. Who's calling?" I asked, rubbing some faint remainders of 'sleep' out of my weary eyes.
"Oh, hi Al. It's Tori," she explained. Victoria Boolean was one of my few good friends at school. She was known as either Tori or Vicky…never Victoria. Her parents were very old-fashioned, and the only time you ever heard the name Victoria within earshot was at her abode.
"Oh, hey Tor. Sorry, I just sort of woke up," I replied apologetically, propping myself up on my side so I could hear my friend better.
"You were sleeping? At, uh... 4 in the afternoon?" Vicky questioned, feigning amusement.
"Let's just say I've been having a pretty rough day," I admitted, not wanting to reveal my distressed feelings.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, sympathy filling her bright voice.
"No, that's okay," I brushed it off, not wanting to launch into the never-ending, unnecessary explanation.
"Are you sure?" she persisted eagerly.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I confidently assured her, really trying to convince myself that I was, in fact, fine. "Why did you call, anyway?"
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "You know what, Al? I totally forgot!" she exclaimed, mentally scolding herself.
I chuckled, amused by my absent-minded friend's behavior. "Okay, well if you remember, feel free to call back. I kind of have to go now."
"Alright. See ya Monday!" Tori exclaimed, her voice disgustingly chipper.
"Okay, bye," I concluded, totally contradicting her voice, and poised the phone atop its cradle. I then resumed my original position and took all of thirty seconds to fall back asleep.
The next morning, instead of waking up to the lovely, carefree birds chirping as they flew their aimless path in the seemingly never-ending sky, I woke up to the harsh buzzing of my digital alarm. I swung my left arm carelessly to the side in an attempt turn it off, but ended up smacking my arm on the sharp wooden edge in turn.
"Shit," I muttered, squinting so my eyes could adjust to the shining light spilling in from my ground level window. One thing that I liked about my room was that it was downstairs, away from everybody, the only place where I could seem to find peace and quiet nowadays.
My mother then appeared in the doorway, looking smart in a white and navy pantsuit. "Come on, Al. Time to get up. I'm going to leaving soon," she informed me, removing a few curlers from her thick black hair.
"Mmm…" I mumbled, rolling over. After a lot of stretching, rolling, and groaning, I managed to drag my wearisome body out of my cozy bed and into the shower.
After a nice, refreshing hot shower, I changed into a pair of blue flare jeans and a maroon over-sized sweater. After checking myself over in the mirror a few unsatisfied times, I trudged up our worn-out staircase and into the kitchen that was clad in checkered tiles which were immensely falling apart due to aging over the years. I took a muffin out of the basket in the center of the kitchen table, and nibbled the edges of it thoughtfully.
"I thought I wasn't going to school today," I said to my mom, making it sound more like a question than a statement as it was intended, though it was hard to tell because I had a mouthful of muffin at the time.
"Well, your dad and I thought that we'd give you a few days to say good-bye to everyone," my mom tried to explain, looking a bit frazzled as she hastily buttoned up her navy blazer.
"Oh, okay," I replied, my voice still muffled by the half-eaten muffin, my oh, so nutritious breakfast. The old Alana, the impatient, young Alana would have put up quite a fuss about having to go to school, but the new Alana just gave in without any signs of a fight arising. This was due to lack of time, and just relaxed nerves. Mom said that it happens over the years.
"Why don't you throw a party before we move?" Mom suggested, grabbing her leather purse off the counter, carefully slinging it over her shoulder.
"Mom, I think that other people are supposed to throw the going away party, not me," I informed her, as if teaching a young three year old how to lace up his shoes.
"Oh," my mom replied rather absently. For some reason, I had the faint idea that she wasn't totally paying attention to me. She then planted a small kiss on my cheek, and scurried towards the door, like an eager animal ready for a day in the wilderness. But this was the business world.
"Bye, hon," she called over her shoulder as she walked out of the door, slamming it behind her, leaving a rather empty feeling in the normally comfortable house.
"Bye," I mumbled to the space that she'd just vacated, sinking down in my chair, dreading the day that awaited me like an uninviting body of water waiting patiently at my feet.
I unlocked the front door to my house and stormed inside, leaving it open absent-mindedly, letting my disheveled thoughts take over. "Why did I tell Tay that I was moving?" I muttered aloud to an audience of imaginary, optimistic, disgustingly cheery people. These people weren't tangible, but in my mind, they were alarmingly alive. Actually, they were just as alive as you and me, and every other human being, for that matter. "I knew he'd blab it to all his guy friends. It was all over school within a millisecond. How he does it, I'll never know. Hell, he doesn't even go to my school!" I groveled, putting my head in my hands. If there's one thing I hate it's being the center of attention. I hate being stared and gawked at as if I were a miscellaneous, out-of-place statue in a museum. And today, I had been given enough of that attention. Far too much of it, actually. People in my school that I didn't even know existed were coming up to me and wishing me well off when I got to my new home and asking me all of these questions about my new homestead. Ha. As if I'd know any more about the place than they would. Then again, I am the one who's moving there… Anyway, as I tried to compose myself, there was a slight knock on the ajar door and in walked my best friend. Who I was uncontrollably mad at for ruining my day.
I turned my back to him, humming nonchalantly under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
"Alana?" he appeared surprised. That, and also very puzzled and confused.
"I'm not talking to you, Taylor," I stated firmly, and continued to hum a miscellaneous, annoying tune.
"Maybe you will when you find out that my brothers and I are throwing a going-away party for somebody on Friday night?" he mysteriously wondered, knowing exactly how to get my undivided attention. He was, after all, my best friend.
I slowly turned around, a smile playing around the edges of my usually chapped lips. Today was no exception. "Come again? For who?"
