Centuries

Eliza Parker

"You don't need that much syrup! You're going to get diabetes when you're older, or worse, fat!" My mom snaps pulling the plate from me as I stare at her shocked. Her heels click across the tile floor, making their way to the trash. After she scraps off my plate she places the dirty dish in the sink.

"Here," she hands me a smaller pancake, this time without chocolate chips. No butter and no syrup in sight, I pass on the bland pastry.

"I'm going to go wash up," I mumble, picking myself up from my seat.

"Aren't you hungry?" My mom looks at me with false concern.

"Not anymore," I grumble.

"It's probably all that sugar," my mom shakes her head disapprovingly before turning back to her business.

I trudge up the stairs and head to the shower. Turning on the tap, I test the water before peeling off my running clothes and stepping into the streams of water. The heat instantly envelopes me, relaxing my tired muscles.

After lather, rinsing, and repeating, I step out, my feet cringing at the cold floor. Shivering, I grab my gray towel and wrap it around me.

The hallway is even chillier as I scurry to my bedroom. Almost too eagerly I throw on my hoodie and some sweats before strolling back downstairs.

"What are you wearing?" My mother snaps when I pass her in the living room. I look down at my attire and shrug.

"I will not be seen out with my daughter looking like she's overfed and homeless, go back up and change," She demands. I feel a familiar sharp pang of emotion in my chest, as I dejectedly head back upstairs.

I settle on a pair of jeans, a blouse, and a necklace before slipping some flats on. Running down the stairs once more, I'm greeted again by my mother.

"Are you going to do something with your hair?" She quirks her brow. "Come here," She hold her hands up, waiting for me to obey. I turn away from her with a huff and she begins to pull half of my hair up and wraps a hair band around it.

"There," she sighs, clearly satisfied.

I grab my phone and follow my mother out the door. The short drive is spent with me staring out the window at the dreary weather and my mother listening to the preaching on the radio. Within minutes my mother has parked and we're walking up to our shabby mall.

She holds the door open for me, and I quickly enter avoiding her eyes.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"Chin up," My mother scolds. I roll my eyes, but obey anyway.

I follow her through the store as she stops in the misses section.

"Can't we go to the junior's section?" I ask and my mother freezes, staring at me incredulously.

"What are you? Twelve? I've seen what you eat, you haven't been a junior's size for five years, dear," She casually turns back to the racks of jeans and pulls out a pair obviously too big and holds it up to my small frame.

Feeling frustrated, I let her do her thing. In the end we'll leave with nothing anyway.

"School starts tomorrow. It's you're senior year, don't you want to be respected?" My mother absentmindedly drops some clothes on the ground. I pick them up and she notices, shrugging in her snobbish way.

"No, I don't care what they think of me," I reply.

"Yes you do. And everyone knows the only way to get respect is to dress like everyone else," My mother preaches for the hundredth time to me.

Anger bubbles inside me as she watches a shirt she'd knocked off the hanger fall. Ignoring it, she carries on digging into the racks. Just as I start to pick up the shirt my mother had dropped, another hand swoops in, grabbing it and nicely handing it to me.

"You dropped this," the man smiled at me, his green eyes alight with a form of mischief.

"Thanks," I mumble.

"Name's Charlie," He sticks out his hand.

"Eliza," I reply, placing my hand in his for a handshake, instead he bows slightly, placing his lips on my knuckles.

"And so I've found you," he whispers against my skin, his eyes staring up at mine.

"Eliza Belle Parker! What do you think you're doing?" My mother shrieks.

"Sorry madam, she dropped something and I only found it proper that I introduce myself," Charlie smiles a charming smile at my shocked mother. Her eyes snap to mine.

"Eliza, I don't like this man, do not speak to him again," She turns away and throws her nose in the air so quick I'm surprised the old bat doesn't get whiplash.

Charlie smirks at the back of my mothers head before turning back to me.

"I'm sorry, it was nice meeting you, but I'm a bit busy at the moment," I say.

"I see, well in that case, I'll see you tomorrow," He smiles and winks before walking off.

"How about this one?" My mom holds up a cream colored dress straight out of a business magazine.

"Girls don't wear that to school, Mom," I cringe.

"They do in the movies," she shrugs, "Maybe we're the only people in this little town with class." She places the dress back on the rack.

Internally I groan as the torture of the afternoon continues. By the time we leave my mother is carrying bag upon bag of clothes she insists I'll love.