"~The move was quicker than I thought it'd be, which honestly was a relief. When we first arrived, the whole place was barren, and the emptiness was almost haunting. The day was full of unpacking, and minor, unnecessary theatrics from mom, which I guess is what I was expecting. Thankfully, dad saved me and sent me up with the box of my things. You have no idea how much of a relief it was when I found that decorating my room, to make it welcoming, homey, and mine, turned out to be easier than I thought it would be. Before the day was over, my pictures, paintings, trinkets and books were placed, and my room finally felt like just that. My room. It's amazing how small details make all the difference..~"
For thirty minutes, I'd been sat leisurely on my bed, one of many pillows propped up vertically behind me to serve as a backrest while I did what I do every, or rather most, mornings. Writing in my diary was an escape, a comfort that cleared my mind and gave it the break it constantly longed for. As with every time I filled in the navy, leather-bound notebook, these few minutes had calmed me, and for a moment any concern I had about the day ahead of me was gone, a typical teenager's anxiety washed away as black ink took to paper, my most private thoughts, feelings, worries all taking form in a languid, cursive script, my dreams, aspirations, and even doubts cascading effortlessly into my diary. Unfortunately, the peace I'd so eagerly reveled in was interrupted, a familiar voice tugging me out of my own thoughts.
"Isobel, you'll be late if we don't leave now."
I could hear mom's hurried footsteps as she wandered around the living room, the hallway, the kitchen, finding things she needed for work, looking for anything she may have forgotten to put in her bag. With a deep breath, I let the tips of my fingers lazily flick at the cover, the diary shutting with a muted thud.
"You should go, sweetheart."
Looking up towards the source of the tenor I could recognize from a mile away, an affectionate smile graced rose-tinted lips as my dad poked his head around my bedroom door, the words that followed laced with playful tones and executed in a pretentious whisper.
"You know how messing with her punctuality thing's like feeding a gremlin after midnight."
As he moves further into my room to lean against my door frame arms folded across his chest as he flashed me a grin, a delicate laugh escaped me, and I swung my legs off the bed to stand on my feet, both arms up as delicate fingers skillfully fiddled sleek locks into a simple ponytail.
With my head canted to one side, I let an assessing gaze roam my reflection, blunted teeth grazing against plush bottom lip as I conducted a swift evaluation of my outfit. How I dressed was never something I was particularly concerned about, but only two words swam through my mind, the same two words that clouded anyone's thoughts when starting fresh: First impressions.
"You look fine, Iz. Come on."
Holding a hand out to me, his head nodding in a wordless beckon, I took the rucksack that hung precariously off the end of my bed, draping its strap over one shoulder as I placed my hand in my dad's. With his gaze momentarily resting on the frame behind me, he raised entwined fingers above my head, twirling me towards the door. "Time to pirouette to school."
"Where are my keys? ..Isobel!"
Glancing in the direction of the stairs at my mom's second call, I turn to plant a chaste kiss on my dad's cheek, not another word spoken by myself as I display a dainty wave goodbye.
"Don't be nervous. Just like the poem, right?"
It was amazing how he could read me like an open book. He always said that, as with himself, it was my eyes that gave me way, but his reference to the poem meant that I couldn't help but let a sincere smile etch itself onto my features. 'I was pirouette and flourish. I was filigree and flame.' – Those were the lines from Rita Dove's On the Bus with Rosa Parks that, encased in a glass frame, hung on my wall. The comparisons, illustrative of beauty, strength, and the idea of an independent, modern woman spoke volumes to me, and with the day I was anticipating, all three were characteristics I needed to embody to make it to the end.