Episode 15

The sun rose quite early today and it seemed to have dried out my motivation to go out. I laid on my bed reminiscing the odds that stood against me: no Family, no Friends, and no College.

"Keren, this is not life." My negative inner self informed.

It would be easy to live in this lie and act as if nothing was wrong but in my case; I'm hooked in-between a lie and truth. How did I get into this mess?

It all happened days after my parents' departure. Heeding Diogo's advised, I was determined to "get a life and be happy."

(Flashback)

"A life of freedom is madness. Does that even make sense! Nah". I murmured to myself as I crouched by the fire side, cleaning the hearth.

My tattered hair was in a messy bun. As the particles of ashes filled the air, I sneezed twice almost hitting my head on the hearthstone above me. So I pushed myself out, collapsing on the wooden floor.

"Ouch!" I winced, quickly rubbing on my bum. My blue board short had reduced the effect of the hit. I simply dragged myself away and stood by the aid of the wooden centre table.

I looked around, with a whisper of smile for the sitting room was sparkling clean. I’d endeavoured to place a Midas touch on the few properties in the sitting room: from the croaky clock , to the two pitch black arm chairs and grey velvet couch.

To the centre table, the two grumpy lampshades and TV. I cast my eyes on the bookshelf, coffee table, picture frames and a few other miniut properties which reminded me of the good old days.

"I'm so alone."

My only companion was the ancient squared clock. It made an annoying croaky sound, but dad did not see a need to change it. How empty this home of mine was? Long ago, it reverberated with laughter and glee!

"Hmm!" I sighed.

As awkward as it seemed, over the weeks I kept myself busy with the weekly Diàrio de Viseu- newspapers. These also reminded me of dad.

I beamed reflectively glancing at the hip of newspapers on the shelf. When I think of those days, it only bring to mind the length of time that had passed.

Although mom and dad called almost every day, I still felt a strange loneliness. it was like being the only inhabitant of planet Mars.

I watched the Portuguese movie- Mad Love, a third time and saw the RPT news every evening, in hope to see news about the deportees, sadly, it was the opposite, some people took to the streets protesting against welcoming immigrants.

Disappointed by this, I created a Facebook account and began a chatting with friends online. However, as soon as I went offline the loneliness returned.

"I wished I had friends now more than ever. I wished Babette was still my friend."

Babette was the only friend my parents allowed me to visit and I totally understand why: Babette lived in the next cabin.

I laid on the couch with my hand under my chin, reflecting on why our friendship ended. After the police incident in freshman year, I vowed not to be friends with Babette.

"If not for Diogo," I wondered, "what would have happened to me that night?"

My mom had tried to find out the problem but it was certainly not a topic to discuss with the nicest parent. Babette would not say a word either, thus, it became our secret.

These days, Babette would peek at me from her door step or from a corner of the hedge which separated the two cabins. She even waved at me twice but I snubbed and pretend not to see her. I remember the day after my parents left, she came by the cabin but refrained from knocking, she simply went back.

Even when I tried to let go, I find myself renewing her hurtful words in my head. "...because no one want you, you're taking it out on me. You're just jealous!" I snapped the thought out of my head.

“Finish up Keren,” my mind replayed my mom's voice. Quickly, I grabbed the short broom, packed the ashes from the hearth into the waste bin. I cleaned the old, 15 inches TV screen above the hearth. In the process, my eyes fell on a picture stuck behind the TV.

I dropped the piece of rag in my hand and remove it. surprisingly, on this picture, was the face of 14 years old Keren smiling beside, the blonde Babette. "4 long years!" I grinned.

The picture held memories of our last day in junior high, Babette and I celebrated. We were so happy that day, who wouldn't be? Successfully moving to the next stage in life was a good thing.

My mind quickly diverted to my poor result in the national exams, "I was this close to getting 10 points in English language and History." I mumbled, "this close to getting a pass!" I held my forehead in both hands cowering at the thought of the adverse effect of my failure.

I always wanted to be a journalist, like the famous Fátima Ferreira of RPT news channel. The day I saw my grades, my heart sunk and fear crept in. The fear that my grades may not fit the standard of some universities. How would I be a journalist, without an education?

As surprising as it was, dad was not too hard on me. He even encouraged me to be hopeful for the best. Mom on the other hand, cheered me up and made my special milk tea. Ever since then I was no more gloomy. Now I feel like a boat left adrift in the middle of the Mediterranean sea.

Just then the thought came into my head, "what if I talk to Babette, or Patricia. I could reach out to other classmates in the neighbourhood.” I had sent a few friend request on Facebook already.

I stepped away from the hearthside, "I could speak to Babette. Yes." I convinced myself.

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