Quotes added on Wednesday, September 25 2013
Cookies&cream
❤
chapter 9:
When Pa finally walked through the door at 7:30, I was sitting cross-legged in the hall in front of my boxy black Yamaha keyboard with my neon-blue headphones jammed tightly over my head, figuring out a frustrating new chord progression to my latest song mix-up: Maroon 5’s ‘Payphone’ with Beyoncé’s ‘Best Thing I Never Had’. I almost didn’t hear my father enter the room – I was so absorbed in my music I only noticed him talking to me when his shadow hit the corner of my vision.
Everyone has a secret, and I guess this is mine: I was obsessed with music. Not in the way every teenager in the planet was glued to their iPod – hell, I didn’t even own an iPod; all my tracks were downloaded directly onto my phone’s SD card. Music gave me an outlet for all the pent-up emotions I kept tightly screwed inside me, a chance to figure out my own way out of my crisis’s by transforming my bitter, fragile thoughts into songs that screamed my secrets. It relaxed me, calmed me down to a state of almost meditative peace ... like a prayer, making my own music silenced me to state of pure and utter control it was almost spiritual. Once I got into my music, I was another person – I had power, I had hope, and I had a chance at surviving the next nightmare in store for me.
I shook my hair free from my headphones and looked up at my father. Gaunt face, chiselled jaw, with eyes that shone like black diamonds, it wasn’t hard to see how my mother had fallen for him. When I was younger everyone told me I looked just like him, but I knew I’d never match my father’s looks – not with my mother’s dimples that only appeared when I frowned, or the deep, dark brown of my eyes Jesse said made me look like an old wise tree. Compliment much.
“Ma said she’s been held up at work today,” Pa said, looking down at me with his usual expression of perpetual indifference. He didn’t mean to look unfriendly, but the forced neutrality and lack of emotion my dad adopted to many a situation really didn’t help. “I have to go pick her up in half an hour. If you and your brother are going to shower, take it now, because when we get back I’ll give you two minutes to get in the car before we drive off.”
“Ouch.” I said, unblinking.
He smirked at me, turning round. “Tell your brother,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going to use the loo quickly and light the candle.”
My parents were orthodox Catholics; so typically Portuguese. Well, not that orthodox. My dad was the youngest of four brothers, made rich through the generations through dirty profit and blood money – and my mother descended from a line in the desperately poor outskirts of Lisbon, where single mothers relied their female advantages to make ends meet. But their unshakeable faith in God that had brought them to this country alive when so many died trying was something special: every day, they lit a candle and said their prayers for the dying, the suffering, and those in search of hope.
Maybe I wasn’t religious, but there was no harm in spreading a little love in a world like ours.
“Hey Pa,” I said. “I’m ready though.”
My dad popped his head around the doorway, chomping on something I’d left in the oven for him and my brother when they got home. He scrutinised my outfit.
“There’s a stain on your sleeve,” he said. “And in those trousers, you’ll be turning the heads of all the poor boys sitting next to you. Pity them, muñeqita – wear something more appropriate for the New Year’s Prayers”.
Why do fathers always believe their daughters are prettier than they actually are?
Switching off my beloved keyboard, I moved it to the corner and trudged back upstairs to my room. Hearing the familiar vibration ringing from my desk, I ran to pick up the phone.
“Hello?” I breathed, not checking the caller ID. Probably Sonia or Maya, checking whether we’d be able to make it early today.
“Hey – Nix?”
My phone started slipping through my shaking fingers; I grabbed hold of it again. “Yes?” I said.
“Um, I called your mum, she’s not picking up ... you guys are coming today, right?”
Of course. A last resort. Struggling to control my swelling disappointment, I replied. “Oh yeah – don’t worry, we’ll be there around eight, eight-thirty.”
“Okay, cool. Just ... checking.”
“Alright, Desh. Bye.”
And I cut the call before my shaking breath finally betrayed me.
thanks you for reading this guys :')
take care!Love Dapz xxx
I always learn from the
mistake of others who take my advice.
I wish I was tall, I wish I was fast
I wish I could shop with a bag full of cash
'Cause if I want you I gotta have that
I wish I had style, I with I had flash
I wish I woke up with a butt and a rack
'Cause if I want you I gotta have that
I wish I could shop with a bag full of cash
'Cause if I want you I gotta have that
I wish I had style, I with I had flash
I wish I woke up with a butt and a rack
'Cause if I want you I gotta have that
I don't own any five inch heels
just got my Nike's on
<3
<3
I've learned that people will forget
what you said,people will forget what you did,
but people will never forget how you made them feel.
-Maya Angelou
Bitc*, you're 12. You should be losing teeth, not your
virginity.
