Bloom For Me

1| Skins .•°

"I'm sure we'll meet in the spring. And catch up on everything. I'll say I'm proud of all that you've done. You taught me the ropes, and you taught me to love."

Chapter Theme Song: 'Good Side' by Troye Sivan.

.•° ✿ °•.

SOFIA

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I watch as the small bulbs of freezing rain hit the cemented pavement and slowly form puddles along the circular driveway. A few spot the fogged up windshield mirror before the wiper rhythmically scrubs them away again, creating a temporary pathway to see on the outside. Black. Everything is. The sky is black. My life is black.

"Give me a second, I'll ask him to come and help us with these boxes." The woman next to me, who many would refer to as my mom, says as she climbs out of the new pick-up truck that smells of fresh leather and engine oil. Outside, the rain has lessened and the sun is peeking through a puff of grey cloud. I bend my head to observe as the slender-bodied lady, the exact opposite of me, ambles her way up the massive marble steps.

My mother, Pearl Gayer has been absent since the day I was born. My grandmother, who I refer to as Mama, said she was always busy. Traveling aboard, studying, building a career while I barely scraped through life without a solid mental ground. I am graduating high school in only a few months, but I have no idea what I want to do with my life career-wise, and so maybe I'll just a take year off from college. Find a job in the meantime or something.

We are moving in with my mother's boyfriend, or fiancé, or whatever she had said earlier. I was too absent-minded to pay attention, and there was something demanding about her tone of voice that made me feel defiant. It was as though she was commanding you to listen with her high-pitched diction and overly-dominant choice of words. The thing with my mother is, she doesn't love me. My father never loved me either. Or they both would not have left me behind to 'build themselves.'

I am not bitter, just a tad concerned. I wonder if I was an ugly baby who cried too much.

Mama said my father was too chicken to take care of me. He and my mom were only sixteen when she became pregnant with me, so imagine how tiring that must have been for them. To be fair, I can faintly see where they were coming from. They weren't ready to have a baby. Life happens sometimes and mistakes are inevitable, and they too deserved to be 'someone' even if that meant leaving me behind. I suppose that thought was what pushed me to put the past behind me and move in with her. She flew in from Australia only two months ago for Mama's funeral. Then I was shocked when she suggested I move in with her so we can 'build the connection' that we don't have and is probably much too late to have.

But I didn't expect the 'her' would be 'them.'

The driver's door splays open again, the smell of wet grass filing in as my mother sticks her brown head through. All teeth and smiles.

"He's coming. I am so excited for you to meet him." She gushed dazzlingly as though whomever he is, is God himself clothed in flesh.

In the meantime, I climb out of the vehicle to help her with some of my luggage in the back. My suitcase isn't heavy. I don't have many clothes and shoes, and most of the space is occupied by old novels and photo albums. The rain has stopped entirely now, a bright rainbow stretching across the sky that now holds a softer grey. I love the smell of the soil on rainy days just as much as I love the smell of rain in itself. It is earthy and natural and makes me think of how mysterious life on a whole is. How we were suddenly born into the world, meet different people, create bittersweet memories, and then in the end, return to the soil of the earth. The cycle is mystifying.