With a forlorn sigh, Olga Pataki watched from the window as yet another plane touches down and drives along the tarmac. Any minute, the intercom would announce the departure of her flight back to Washington State. In the meantime, all the woman could do was turn attention away from the window and watch the suitcases go round and round on the conveyer belt, each different than the last in terms of size and color. That got boring rather quickly and she focused instead on one of the interactive posterboards as it displayed a pop-up factoid about how many bags are processed on a typical day at the Heathrow International Airport (11,500 for those curious).

"Still not enough to handle all my baggage." Olga thought to herself with a sad chuckle as the boarding call for her flight was finally announced.

England was supposed to be a clean slate, a fresh start. But as the elder Pataki daughter robotically stood in the line and gave a final forlorn glance around the terminal (and by extension, England itself) she could feel a lifetime of mental/emotional fatigue, pressure and disappointment metastasize in her heart. Wasn't it yesterday she too stepped off the plane all those years ago? Eager to start a life beyond Hillwood? A life beyond hacking up trophies on command in some attempt to save Bob and Miriam's marriage? But now more than ever, she wanted to forget the swaths of sightseers of whom she once counted herself amongst once upon a time.

"HEY!HEY!HEY! BLONDIE! GET THE LEAD OUT ALREADY!"

The sight greeting Olga as she turned around was an all too familiar tableau:

A preppy and perky girl wearing acid-washed jeans and a Navy Blue T-shirt marked with the caricature of a fierce looking Narwhal above the words 'Millburn University' which were written in standard college font.

A blowhard dad adorned in beige cargo shorts and a maroon college hoodie from a more renowned establishment of higher learning (which he clearly wears in spite) crossing his arms over his chest.

A harried mom standing behind the duo shaking her head and averting her eyes in hopes that the floor would swallow her alive. Like her daughter, she too was adorned in apparel from Millburn.

"Bill, please." The wife chides. "We're sorry ma'am."

"The fault is mine, I…I'm heading home after a long-"

"Aw, tell it to the Marines." Bill shot back while shoving Olga out of his way as he boarded the plane. "MaryAnne! Opal! Put some hustle in it."

With a final apologetic glance, Maryanne and her daughter follow Bill as he boards the plane back to the United States; running into them only once again as she makes her way down the aisle to her seat. Bill petulantly stares out the window muttering to nobody as his wife and daughter occupy the row behind him; both are all too readily make use of the complementary earbuds provided for them.

"…freakin' nutjobs like her probably crawlin' around Millburn in droves…all the schools in America ripping down our door…and Opal goes and chooses that one… "

A swift kick from Maryanne ends Bill's grumbling, to which Olga suppresses a chuckle. But it does little to stop the mortification of the intended scholar as she quickly fishes about for her earbuds. With a deep sigh, she taps the shoulders of the mother and daughter.

"Huh…Oh, you again." MaryAnne begins contritely. "Look, I'm sorry about Bill. He's-"

"Think nothing of it." Olga replies. "I just want to congratulate Opal over getting into Millburn. My mother and father went there many years ago. And they did alright for themselves…so I couldn't help but smile a little seeing the Narwhal on your shirt."

"Oh, Thank you." The girl replied with a relieved sigh. "Truth be told though…(she cocks her head toward her dad in the row ahead)…feels I should've aimed higher and that I'm pissing away my academic potential."

"Language young lady." Her mother chides, while secretly agreeing.

"Look. I get it. Growing up, I also had a small museum of trophies, an extracurriculars resume that could choke a giraffe, acceptance into a prestigious school, [the] reserved spot on the Dean's List, you name it, I had it. But, I got burnt out real fast and now, I'm going back home after over a decade away from my sister and her husband…I know you're probably sick of everyone and their pet giving you advice right now, but can I tell you something I wish someone told me?"

"Okay." Opal said with a shrug.

"College isn't everything. Yes it's important, and this isn't a blessing to tank your grades or become a party monster... but don't be afraid to unwind. You'll thank yourself down the road."

With a small smile and a final thank you, Olga left Opal and her parents to their business and continued to find her designated spot on the plane. As she closes her eyes and emits a groan while practically melting into the seat, one particular sentence from her exchange with the forthcoming freshman leaves a bitter taste in her mouth:

"…My mother and father went there many years ago. And they did alright for themselves…"

(Olga POV/FLASHBACK)

Millburn University seems like the last likely place for the story of "Olga Pataki: Wunderkid of Washington" to begin, but if there's any appropriate starting point, it's here.

Situated somewhere along the outskirts of Pierre, South Dakota was Millburn University (formerly Millburn College back when Mommy and Daddy were students) was pretty much America's Safety School. From the quaint and photogenic acre and a half of property to the football team that could barely squeak into Division III, it was the kind of place designed for neurotic white-bread parents worried that their kids would come back from Strawman University as keg-stand kings and sorority sluts.

The pregnancy test sat at the bottom of the bathroom wastebasket. A blue plus sign on the screen confirming that its user was indeed with child. It was the only sign that dorm room 320 of Bartlett Hall had once been occupied. All other furnishings had long since been disposed, or packed into the luggage of twenty-three-year-old Miriam Weeks who stole one final look at it through the threshold while cradling her stomach; imagining how in only a matter of months it would swell as the life within it developed. For the first time in her life, Miriam felt uncertainty drape around her like a heavy shawl. Her life up to that point was one of much promise, but also much mental strain.

The only daughter of Matthew Weeks and Lisa (nee Van Houten) of Teddy Bear, South Dakota, Miriam was a vivacious, almost tomboyish child; and unlike many fathers of the time, this fact pleased Matthew highly as he expected to hold her own alongside her older brothers Phillip and Jeff. "I ain't in the business of raisin' some little princess" he would often tell her. Swimming proved to be the arena where Miriam showed the most athletic promise, and her father made sure to be there to give that competitive push which would separate her from the rest of the crowd. Often, he tried to impart maxims about winning at all (honorable) costs: "no mercy", "gratitude breeds complacency", etc.

But deep down, Miriam began to lose the enchantment she had for swimming as it became less and less about the peace she felt in the water and more and more about what award she was going to bring home this time. These feelings began to bubble up, so to speak, by Junior year of High School as that was the year college scouts began to look among the literal pool of pubescents they would want to represent whatever respective academy they represented. Secretly, she wished to throw one of these competitions and maybe have one academic experience dictated by simultaneous athletic and academic rigor. Sadly however, her father was wise and would smell it.

In the end however, Miriam did get her wish; though Matthew pushed her to the limit of what she could take, it still wasn't enough to get considered for any big scholarships to the top tier schools. That said, her efforts didn't go unnoticed and were rewarded with the proposition of a reasonable ride into Millburn (a local collegiate institution that had a NAIA Swimming Program) upon finishing high school. Though disappointed by this turn of events, Matthew begrudgingly accepted them yet still pushed Miriam to remain steadfast in keeping up her competitive edge academically and athletically in hopes that she could transfer down the line to a more prestigious institution.

"Ready when you are."

Miriam came back to earth to see her boyfriend Robert Pataki waiting at the end of the hallway, ready to escort her out the door and into his car. He too can feel the constricting sense of unease while glancing about the dormitory as they begin the long drive to Bob's childhood home town of Hillwood, Washington as Matthew would tolerate neither a grandchild conceived out of wedlock or her in some shotgun marriage to a man he regarded as beneath her station.

Much like his pregnant girlfriend, Bob's attendance at Millburn also stemmed more from athletic letdown than anything else. The only child of Janos Pataki and Boriska (nee Négyes) grew up having a first-hand look at the struggle for the American Dream. After fleeing from Hungary in hopes of escaping the encroaching talons of Communism, the Patakis settled in the bustling city of Hillwood where they found menial but honest livelihoods: Janos as a file clerk and Stockroom Supervisor at the Federal Office of Information while Boriska took secretary jobs here and there once Bob was old enough to go to school. If ever there existed a definition for 'Working Class' it was them, and that upbringing instilled in Bob a dual sense of shrewdness and raw confidence that would define his personality. As adolescence gave him a frame that matched his ambitions, sports seemed to be the appropriate venue for the Pataki boy to find his American Dream; particularly football where he became one of the few to make Varsity as a Freshman. A year and a half later, he was team captain.

The perks of High School sports stardom quickly went to Bob's head, especially as college recruiters began to size him up. All he needed now was to get to a good college, keep his winning streak, maybe scrape through some classes and then the NFL would come knocking on his door in no time.

No such stinkin' luck.

Torpedoing Bob's shot at football stardom was a lunchroom brawl between him and Miles Shortman over some Anthropology notes the former of the two gentlemen felt entitled to. Notes that would have salvaged his paltry grades had he not been so complacent and cocky. With no real backup plan but looking to save face in front of his friends as they embarked on bigger and better things, Bob applied to the one school that would have taken a shot at accepting him, and sure enough Millburn did. To pay for tuition, room and board, Bob worked on his summer and winter breaks as a trucker for a nearby multinational food company.

Even with a campus as small as Millburn, it took the latter half of Sophomore Year for Bob and Miriam to finally cross paths; and cross paths they did courtesy of a pop-up rummage sale hosted by Millburn's Campus Crusaders for Christ in the main lounge of the Student Center. She needed closet space, he needed a new coat (as his letterman jacket not only failed to keep him warm on winter shifts, but also looked increasingly pathetic on him with each passing day of his colligate career).

The rest from there was history.

Like all young couples, Mommy and Daddy believed and made many promises under the influence of youthful idealism; most of which involved the little bundle of joy born to them on October 25th, 1976. I wasn't going to be pushed to compete at things, love was going to be unconditional…but having both dropped out of college and now scrambling to make a livelihood out for themselves before I could be born, youthful idealism wasn't something they could conjure up on a whim.

After trucking for an additional two years, Bob reconnected with some old friends of his from the football team, Manny, Trent and Victor, who were looking to start an infant/toddler furniture store. For the first six months, M.T.V. Cribs was greeted with apathy from the public. Not helping matters was the collective lack of business experience the three owners had. The friendship they had forged in the hallowed halls of Hillwood High became increasingly strained with each passing day, and as their issues began to spill out onto the showroom, whatever paltry flame of hope anyone had for the store was extinguished.

Going to work killed Bob; it wasn't enough that he was almost out of his twenties and still pivoting through life trying to recoup whatever losses he had from high school. Now he had mouths to feed in the form of Mom and I. And after one particularly godawful day (according to family lore) he looked down at me napping on the sofa in some hope of trying to tell himself it was all worth it in the end…and then he got an idea.

"Look this way for daddy, Olga."

"Smile for the camera Olga."

"Good girl Olga, now let's do one with the rattle."

Looking to salvage their friendship and keep himself from going back to trucking, I became the de facto company mascot thanks to Daddy. Having a photogenic baby grace their ads assuaged that coveted female demographic who felt uneasy with patronizing an infant furniture company run by washout jocks. But there was still one woman who for a moment felt disgusted with Bob's spur of the moment decision in making me do this.

"B!" Miriam said furiously. "Olga is our daughter! Our own flesh and blood! What kind of a father-"

"The kind who wants a better life for those he cares for!" Bob roared back. "The kind who wants more out of life than some crummy apartment for his family. [The kind] who wants his own things, and not whatever he can scrounge from Goodwill. [The kind] who wants to see his kids have the chances he never had and (dare I say so) seize them for themselves. Is that too much to ask?"

"We promised we'd-"

"Whoop-dee-doo Miriam! We made promises! Promises! Promises! Promises! Maybe I can haul some of those promises down to the bank and our checkbook will begin to look mighty plump about now, right?"

And as Miriam choked in her failed attempt to respond, Bob realized he had unwittingly stumbled into the silver bullet, so to speak, that silenced his wife's objections. For a time, it seemed to work as the store began to get on its feet and even rename itself Best Buy Baby in an attempt to relaunch and rebrand itself…but such changes came too little too late. Even with the modest success, the business had destroyed whatever friendship Manny, Trent and Victor once had, and the payoff was far too miniscule to fix things. In the end, the three ex-athletes rancorously closed shop and parted ways with only one piece of common ground they can unanimously share: Bob would get the deed to the building.

But what would he sell?

As fear and stress weighed daddy down, he failed to notice a man crossing his path and the ensuing collision caused both men to find themselves tripping onto the sidewalk. A little yellow square flew out in the ensuing jostle from the other man's jacket pocket and bounced for a bit as it landed on the pavement.

"Aw shit man, my beeper." He said before grabbing it.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey." Bob thundered. "Let me see that thing for a minute…"