Guilty pleasure

Little boy

"Have a good day today, and thanks for waking me, Julie." expressing my gratitude, I walked over to the hot jug, pouring some water into a cup for my morning dose of coffee. I heard a snicker coming from behind, conveying clear distaste for the girly nickname I mentioned.

"Don't call me that," he grumbled, wrapping an arm around my shoulder as a sentimental gesture. Much to his disappointment, it had never stopped me from saying it. Like everyone else blessed with a sibling, as audacious as it sounds, I secretly got a twist out of pulling his leg. Minutes later, I watched him waltz out the door, hopping into his car as he waved goodbye.

The clock droned away in the background, similar to the sound of my heart thumping, as a reminder that I was still living in this colourless world. Tick, tick, tick, it went. I had about thirty minutes before the better part of my day officially started. I was scoffing down some cereal before I got up to prepare a minuscule bite for lunch.

It wasn't until I walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway with my lunch, and work bag that it dawned on me how bare the inside walls of our house looked. It almost knocked the wind out of my sails, and I'd completely lost the ability to smile. Overwhelmed with a familiar sense of sadness to see that we'd taken down all of our family photos because it was too much to handle looking at them.

Our parents, I mean.

Convinced that I was living in a distorted reality, my heart broke, and those wounds I buried deep inside were renewed with an uncured form of pain. The only small sense of relief I had was knowing that they died together. Harbouring those thoughts made me realise two things: first, that there is something terribly morbid between sympathy and pain; it was something I knew all too well. Second, the concept of my parents dying together as a final assent to their love was something I could only hope to one day resonate with.

Sliding into the black SUV I owned, it was only seconds later that my fingers fluctuated against the steering wheel. Leaning forwards just an inch to get a better glimpse of the road ahead, it was difficult given that the rain was plummeting down against my windscreen, alleviating my vision. Somehow, possibly by a miracle, I made it safely to the local primary school, where I was hired to work as a teacher. Despite the horrible weather that imitated my despairing spirit, I'd mastered the perfect smile. It was one I'd honed to perfection over the past few years, helping me to conceal my true emotions that were helplessly tangled in ruins amongst my heart.

Striding through the hallways, I was headed for the staff room office, where I gracefully greeted the other teachers, most of whom I found bounteous. Perhaps God was on my side today, for I was fortunate to be working with friendly colleagues.

"You must be Miss Williams," said a soft, chirpy voice coming from the left side of me as I placed my work bag down on the desk. Slightly turning to the side, I came face-to-face with an elderly woman wearing a soft smile. It was her eyes that I noticed first; they held a vigourous amount of wisdom and kindness.

With my hand out in midair, I greeted her, saying, "Yes, but call me Aria. It's nice to meet you..." My voice trailed off waiting for her to put a name to the face.

"Oh, I'm Evelyn, but Eve for short. I'm teaching in the classroom next to you; if you need any help, don't hesitate to ask," she said, making me smile brightly in agreement.

"Thank you, Eve," I replied instantly, giving her a smile. We exchanged a few more words before I scurried off to my classroom.

Setting foot inside the space I planned to work in for the next few years, I reached the decision that I would reorganise the classroom during my free time. Something about the desks lined up in rows made it feel as though I was conducting a military mission. Moreover, the walls were a little too dark and quite depressing; they needed more colour. Heck, it almost reminded me of the bare walls back at home.