She Flew

Chapter One

The word Dove, referring to the bird, has a lot of meanings. A Dove is not only a beautiful bird but is also a beautiful woman. A woman who is peaceful, loving, and compassionate. A courageous lady who advocates for non-violence and equal love for each person. My Mom was a true Dove, and when my Dad bestowed that nickname upon a younger me, I knew that it would take a lifetime to live up to it. I have been blessed with the ability to grow into a name so powerful. Unfortunately, when I was eight years old, my Dad died, gone into thin air, without a trace. His laughter, his smile, and his compassion would never be able to grace this earth again. After that, it was just my Mom and me. She would go into her room at night and softly cry to herself for years, yet around me, she remained so strong and put together. I knew her secret, and not once did she cry in front of me. My Mom and Dad were indeed in love, and for the short time that I'd seen them together, I'd been extremely grateful. Five years after my Dad had passed away, two days after my thirteenth birthday, the same fate happened to my Mom. At such a young age, I'd been completely devastated.

No longer could I look in the mirror because all I could see was how much I looked like neither of them. The longer it had been, the more I realized that their faces were fading from my memory. If it wasn't for a picture that my Aunt Celia had of my Dad, I would've already wholly erased him from my memory. He had short dark brown hair and soft blue eyes. Each feature on his face was so active and prominent, standing out on its own. The only thing that was passed down to me from him was his defined cheekbones. My Mom, on the other hand, I still remembered very clearly. She had the reddest hair I had ever seen, it resembled that of fire, and she also had the brightest blue eyes to compliment it. She was opposite my Dad; all her features were soft, and little freckles were dotted across her cheeks and nose. I possessed no specific quality that reminded me of my Mom, but I was always told I looked more like her.

I thought of myself as just placed in the middle of them. I had light brown, almost dirty blonde hair that reached just past my shoulders. My eyes were not blue, as both of my parents, mine were more of emerald green, strong and independent. I liked my eyes; they gave me strength and courage. My other features were primarily soft, like my mother, but mixed with stronger ones like my father. I didn't hate the way I looked; I just wished for so long that I looked more like my parents. Yet, I would never be able to.

My Aunt Celia is an amazing woman, and for the last five years, she has taken me under her wing as her child. She has taught me to grow from pain, but I would turn eighteen in seven days, and I couldn't wait. On the ninth of June, I would no longer be considered an orphan anymore because I would be an adult. It would be one more weight lifted off my shoulders. My best friend Asta, more commonly known as Ace, honked her horn, pulling me out of my daydream, and I rushed out the door and over to her little red Toyota. She was the epitome of beauty, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a slim figure; some said we looked similar, but I never believed it. A grin was plastered across her face when I looked at her from the passenger's seat.

"Someone's having a bright morning," I said, smiling back at her.

"Aren't I always?" she asked.

It was true; Ace was always in a good mood. Even on her bad days, you would never be able to tell because she was always smiling. I was blessed to be her best friend and to experience her positivity every day. I truly loved her.

"You're certainly a joy."

"Why, thank you," she stated formally, bowing her head.

I was almost finished high school, so the days were a blur. I just went to school, did my work and went home. Grades were never really that important to me so long as I graduated, and so I'd always done just enough to pass.