Authors note: i decided to put that there cause i dont kno how else to start anything. anyways... alright, i promise, first off, thaty i will really really try extremely hard to actually finish this one. (unlike pearl teardrop. cough cough sry, its...uh..well dead.) still very bored. i decided that i would acutlaly put this up cause it would take time. eliminate some boredom at least. not for long but c'est la vie. (thats french.) not sure what else to say but... oh yea! if the first section you get a little confsued, well, then i did my work. just so that you are forewarned, its the point. dont worry, eventually it will make sense. hehe. (i hate beginnings so i started from hte middle and worked from there.) haha! ok byebye.

Chapter 1 --present

There is a long corridor that will lead to one room and one room only. A decision is to be made there. A decision that could change the lives of certain individuals. Destiny awaits many in that room. What destiny, you wonder. Well, I cannot say. Not because I don't want to, but because I myself don't know. You see, fate likes to throw little twists and kinks into matters that seem so simple.

With all of the twists and turns, the mind starts to question different ideas. What is the right choice? What would happen if I made the wrong choice? Why did he have to come into the picture? Is he good or bad? When does the borderline between good and evil become distinguishable? Where do I fit into everything?

There must be someone somewhere with all of the answers. If there are questions, then there must be answers. It's just a matter of being able to find those answers. One thing is for sure though, the answers won't be found here in my mind. There's nothing but endless questions that I can't seem to escape.

My arms are raised above my head and a dress of sunset satin is slipped on. The pinks, oranges, and purples change and intertwine, the colors combining with the light as I move. Small silver beads make various patterns on the dress, giving the dress a distinct shine.

The tie is growing closer and closer yet. Closing in on me before I even know it. I'm not ready! It's too soon! Which choice is right? Which is wrong? Why me? This is too much pressure for just one person. It's not even as if I'm special or anything. I'm just me. So maybe everyone thinks that I have some special… talents, but I don't and I'm not ready to make these sort of decisions yet.

I know that soon I will find myself in that room with all of those people watching to hear the words from me announcing the finality of my choice.

What's there to be afraid of? The answer, everything.

How much time is left until….

---A couple of weeks earlier

I'm traveling to my father's house today. Unwillingly, mind you. He and my mother first separated and then a divorce was filed. Ever since the divorce was final, I have now been constantly traveling between mother and father. I've often wondered what went wrong but no ideas ever come to mind. Well, that's not quite true. They were never really happy with each other ever since…. Well, I guess, ever since I was born. Talk about guilt trip.

Mom always said when I got older she would explain but I'm sixteen and she still hasn't told me anything! Nothing! Okay, that's not totally fair. It's not as though she actually had the chance. She was diagnosed with a malignant form of cancer and just passed away. That's why I'm on my way to my father's house. I don't have anybody else. A loner, I guess you could call me.

"Rae, I'm glad you made it okay. How was the flight," my father asked.

"My name is not Rae. It's Rochelle. Not Rae, not Roh, not Chelle or whatever stupid variations you can come up with. Rochelle. That's it."

My father's hurt face never registers. Why would it? He never registered when he hurt my mother. I'm still blaming him for all the problems we've had. Her left four years ago, fight before my thirteenth birthday. A life full of guilt trips. Isn't it wonderful? Since then my mother and I had moved every couple of months. Never moving by choice but forced. Freak floods or rainstorms or hurricanes rank up at the top if the list of disasters.

"Rochelle," my father said, jerking me back to reality. "I know you…and I…have many obstacles that we need to overcome, but I do hope that start to feel like home here."

"My home was with Mom in Florida. Not here with you."

"Roh-Rochelle, please, give me another chance. Can't you see that I'm trying to make amends?"

"Why should I give you another chance? Give me a good reason? I'll tell you why I shouldn't. Did you ever think to give us another chance? No. You didn't want to make amends with Mom and now look what's happened. You broke her heart, you know that right? She loved you and when she asked you to come, what did you do!" Frustratingly, I brushed my hand across my eyes. Hot tears began to flow freely down my cheeks. "You killed her! Not some stupid cancer! You! You did, the minute you walked out that door and left her forever! don't you realize that?"

"The s-seperation was…hard for b-both of…us," my father said tightly.

"Sure it was. I can see how much it has hurt you through the years."

My father pulled the car to the shoulder of the road and turned it off. He looked at me and I could see the new wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. These years have been hard on him too….

"Let's get this straight Rochelle. I loved you mother, deeply. I see that look and know what you are thinking. Your mother was my life. Don't you roll your eyes at me. I know exactly what you are thinking. Your thinking that I only loved your mother while we were together. That's not the case Rochelle. We both loved each other. I know that you don't realize that. You probably don't remember much before the separation but know this, no one loved your mother as mush as I do."

Emotions crackled through the air in the car. There we sat, my father and I, locked eye to eye. Neither one of us willing to be the first to look away. Suddenly a crash of thunder sounded right above us, breaking our concentration. I glanced at my father and could see his thoughts easily on his face.

He's wondering how such a sunny bright day could turn to thunderstorms in the matter of minutes. I've been trying to answer the question of 'how' these past few years.

I hear my father start the car again and I take another look at him. The four years had hurt him. The sandy colored hair was thinning and turning gray at the temples. The once vibrant blue eyes, which match my own, had grown slightly duller. His skin was still fair, but there were new wrinkles around his eyes, mouth and a furrow in his brow that I don't remember there before.

My father noticed me looking and sends me a questioning look. I take a deep breath and reply quietly, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that stuff and…I'm sorry."

Dad, I guess I can call him that now, puts an arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick hug. "Hey, it's alright. No hard feelings right? Well, nothing too hateful anyway. You have every reason to be mad at me and I understand. Now that we are okay, how about some ice cream? Yes? No? Maybe so?"

For the first time in three months a true smile graced my face. "A bribe, Dad? That's not what this is, is it? But I guess I can call you on it. Yes."

A smile that matched my own graced his face as well. At the word 'Dad' the smile had grown and I remembered all the times when I was little. My father teaching me to ride a bike or pushing me to the sky on my swing.

My father pulled the car into the parking lot of the ice cream parlor. We walked up to the counter to order our ice cream. I ordered my traditional peanut butter cup sundae and my father, as I subconsciously remembered, ordered a chocolate chip mint sundae.

We ate our sundaes in a comfortable silence. When my father was almost done, he drew a deep breath and began to speak again. "You know, Rochelle, I really am glad that you are here."

Finishing off the last bit of my sundae, I replied quietly. "I know and I…I'm happy to be here as well." My father just gave me a look as I dove back into my cup.

"You know, if we had a dog, I'd say that's the dog's job." I opened my mouth to bite out a retort when he held up his hand. "No, I'm not saying anything other than I think the sundae is gone. But I do know that you'd rather spend more time with your mother and I wish I could change the past and maybe find a way to prevent the cancer…."

"I really don't want…"

"- but your mother would want to know that we were able to get along with each other again. It may take some time…"

"- to talk about…"

"-but one day we'll be friends again and it will…"

"-this anymore!"

My dad let the end of the sentence drop. Always when things were going well, there comes Dad making matters worse again. A silence, similar to the one previously in car, grew between us. Questions and answers, emotions and memories all filled the silence, forming a wall.

"Roh," my dad started. I decided to ignore the annoying nickname. "Did your mother ever mention…did…."

"When you are ready to form a complete sentence, let me know."

"Did your mother ever tell you that there was something…important that she had to tell you?"

My eyebrows shot up to my hairline at that question. How would he know, I thought puzzled. "Once or twice. Why? Did she ever tell you what was so important?"

My father sighed sadly. "I was hoping that she'd have had the chance to tell you but, no, I don't know what she wanted to tell you."

Disappointment filled my body. She had constantly told me that when she thought I was ready, she would tell me. Not even as I sat by her bedside day after day as she steadily grew weaker and did she tell me? Before she had…left me, she said that what I needed to know I would find out by myself one day. She said that she had faith in me and that one day I would know.

Trapped in the memories of my mother I forgot that my father was still there staring at me. Why did he bring it up if he doesn't know the answer, I asked myself. Does he enjoy bringing up the painful memories that are better buried.

Without another word I got up, throw my sundae cup away and walk to the car. Silently, my father followed. When we are all settled in the car he glances at me as if he wants to say something else but then thinks better of it. He starts the car and we are on the road again to his house.

My head, turned away from my father, my gaze focused on the scenery passing by. Houses that all look alike on the same block and street, random gardens and trees and then all green. Somewhere far away my father is speaking telling me that this town we just passed through was some dot on a map called Wilkes-Barre. The colors blend and mix becoming one never-ending blur. The dizzying mix of colors act as a transporter as my mind travels back to my mother.

Long golden locks, that matched my own, and wide green eyes were the feature most remembered about her. She had a tall willowy frame. Slender, but strong. Often I wondered how I ended up barely five foot three with two parents over five foot eight.

When my mother diagnosed cancer, I remember crying each time my mom asked me to brush her hair. Softly, gently, I would glide the brush through her long hair, weeping softly as huge clumps fell into my hands. Once vibrant golden locks were dull and lifeless. Quickly I wrench my thought away from them. That's not how I want to think of her. No!

My mother was beautiful. She was one of those lucky people who could be upset or cry and still look beautiful. No splotches or anything. I like to call my mother a 'Renaissance woman' instead of a 'Renaissance man.' Actress, seamstress, dancer, writer and athlete, she did it all and could do it well. She was one of those mothers who was 'very down to Earth.' Elizabeth, my mother, was known for her advice, particularly the advice she gave to my friends.

Still lost in my thoughts, I subconsciously registered the fact that the car had stopped moving.

"And here we are. Home sweet home."

Although my thoughts were still dwelling on my mother's face, her singsong voice, her small but strong hands, there was still a part of me that was aware of my new surroundings. There was a small creek to my right not a ten minutes walk from here and there was a river than ran not two miles from my fathers house. But there was something else. A waterfall? No way? Yet I could sense that there was some sort of 'waterfall' not twenty feet from me. Slowly I opened my eyes. So that was the waterfall. It was a fountain of some sort that gave off a sound similar to a small waterfall. So I was correct. Recently, it seems, I have developed this talent for locating water. Not really quite sure why or how for that matter , I just I know it is.

My father's house was of a medium size, presumably three floors by the looks of it. There were five steps that led to a porch on the front of the house. Glancing around it seems that another deck ran around the back on the second floor. Large French windows graced the house at random intervals.

"Your room is on the second floor I believe, Rochelle. Rochelle? Rochelle can you hear me," my father asked concerned.

Mom would've loved this place. No! She wouldn't want to be associated with him or his house. She deserves better!

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes! I answered you, didn't I? You said, and I quote, 'your room is on the second floor I believe.'" With that said I stalked away from my father and into the house.

This isn't home. Home was with Mom in Florida. Pennsylvania wont ever be home. Not without Mom here.

Opening the door I find myself standing in a foyer with no sense of where to go. There is a set of stairs in front of me, a room to my left and a hallway to my right. With a grunt of frustration, I headed up the stairs. My father's words echoed in my head. Your bedroom is on the second floor. Alright, here I am. Time to start opening doors.

Starting with the first closed door on my left, I began searching the rooms. Master bedroom, no. Bathroom. Closet. Bedroom, okay. Bedroom. How many bedrooms does this house have anyway? Standing at the two bedrooms doors and trying to decipher which one may be mine led me to one solution. Eenie meenie miny mo. It never fails!

Eenie meenie miny mo, catch a tiger by the toe. If her hollers let him go. Eenie meenie miny mo. Solution (since the two bedrooms are next to each other): the one on the right is now mine.

Walking into the bedroom the first thing I decide is that this it's in desperate need of some love. Empty white walls, dressers and trinkets perfectly arranged. It's like a show room. No one lives there; it's just there for decoration. As I survey the room, I hear a clunk! And then a step and then a moan. The pattern continued to repeat itself. Oh Dad. I guess I could be nice and help him.

Looking out of the bedroom door, I see my father carrying…actually it was more dragging than carrying…two of my suitcases up the stairs. In all actuality, it was quite amusing to watch. I guess I started smiling for my father sent me an odd look.

"Are you enjoying me struggle to carry your suitcases," my father asked sarcastically.

"Actually…yes. It really is quite amusing to watch. It's like a consistent pattern of clunk, step, moan.

"Well, I'm glad…you…found…it…amusing," my father said between breaths as he dragged the suitcases up the last couple of stairs. "Your bedroom," he pointed towards the room on the left, "is this one."

"Oh, well, whose bedroom is that," I asked pointing to the one I had recently claimed as my own.

"Guest room. By the way, how much stuff did you bring anyway?"

"Well, let's see. I'm moving to Pennsylvania with my father where I will live permanently…. I would have to say everything. What else did you want met to do with it?"

"I don't know. It just seems like a lot of stuff."

"Ok fine. Next time you move somewhere permanently, see how much stuff you bring with you." With that I grabbed the handles of my suitcases and dragged them into my room. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my father approaching my room and slammed the door in his face.

I could hear my father still at the door, lightly tapping it. Not answering it, a defeated sigh could be heard from my father as he retreated back down the steps. Like a caged animal, I began to pace the room. Maybe I'm being too hard on him. No! He never thought he was being too hard on us! But he is trying to make things up with me so maybe…. Can he bring Mom back! No! And besides how could I ever forgive him? He killed Mom! Killed her! But…but….

Thousands of thoughts kept coming back and fighting with each other. It's like in the Little Mermaid. Ariel has the flower in her hand and picks off the petals saying 'he loves me,' 'he loves me not.' Except this time its 'forgive him,' 'forgive him not.' But can I? A, I willing to betray my mother in order to forgive this…guy?

"Rochelle," my dad called up the steps. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I don't care," I called back.

"What?"

Opening the door, I stuck my head out and repeated myself. " I don't care."

"Okay, pizza it is."

Oh dear lord, is he deaf. I didn't say pizza, I hate pizza. Hate it, hate it, hate it! It's so gross and greasy and makes you fat. Then again who am I to talk. I willingly eat ice cream and chocolate and all of that bad stuff. Of course in reality, it's all harmless really, but it just will make you fat.

Twenty minutes later I find myself in the dining room eating pizza. Actually it cant be considered eating as that require chewing. This was more bite and swallow, bite and swallow. Conservation between my Dad and I was minimal. We had nothing to talk about, even if I had decided that I wouldn't mind talking.

Finally, and blessedly, dinner was over.

"Well, it looks as though we'll have enough for tomorrow," my dad commented lightly on.

Oh heaven help me! Don't gag. Don't gag. I could feel my insides churning. That pizza just doesn't want to stay down. With one hand clutching my stomach and the other near my mouth, I rack my brain for a bathroom. Bathroom? Bathroom? Where is the god damn bathroom! There's one upstairs. Can I make it?

I take one step and feel the ground wobble underneath me. Nope, definitely not going upstairs. Where to go? Where to go? Frantically, I start looking around, trying desperately to keep myself steady. My dad looks worried and I would tell him if I thought I could open my mouth. Garden! Sorry Dad, this is an emergency.

Sprinting for the back door, I fling it open and run to the nearest set of shrubs. My body heaving as I emptied my guts into the garden.

"Rochelle? Hey, it's okay."

I found myself wrapped up in my dad's arms. Jeez, I hate it how when you throw up you always cry. My dad is still rambling on while I try to sop the hiccups and tears.

"Are you sick? No, no fever. Aching body parts? Was it something you ate?"

At the mention of eating I find myself puking what little was left in me. There really wasn't much. Wiping my mouth on my sleeve, I take a deep breath. "It was the pizza. Before you go running off to complain to the pizza place, you should know that I just threw up because I hate pizza with a passion. Me puking my guts up should give you a clue as to why."

"Why didn't you just say something? We could've ordered something else."

"I don't know. I thought that I could handle it. Although it didn't turn out very well for me."

My dad just laughed. "No sweetie, it didn't turn out very well for you at all."

At that moment, I was just too exhausted to even bother with the first argument that came to mind. Instead I curled up against my father's chest and fell asleep in the backyard under the stars.

I don't remember getting picked up, or remember being carried through the house, or even remember my father gently tucking me into bed. What I do remember is sleeping fitfully, peacefully and dreamlessly. Falling asleep under the stars was my last waking thought.

yea, i think it blows a little. but so far i have had two ppl read it and they have said that it was good enough for me to put it up here. please R&R and tell me if they are lying or not. (is that the wrong lying? i dont kno. oh well. it stays now.)