Starlight

Starlight

I stared brightly at Amanda as she rattled on about something or another, while, behind my attentive smile, my eyes were as lifeless as a desert.

"Sera! You're mother is here!" Lisa called to me from the doorway.

I automatically set my face in an apologetic smile, and began to turn towards the front door of my church's youth hang out. Then Amanda's voice caught my ears and realized that she wasn't done speaking yet. I stood there and listened to the last two minutes of her speech on her most recent shopping trip before once again trying to depart.

I found myself walking towards the door, and tried to remember if I had said goodbye to Amanda before walking away, or if I had just left her standing there. I was sure I had said goodbye; I always did, I just never remembered what it was that I had said.

As I headed out the front door, I saw myself looking around, but was unsure what It was that I was looking for - apparently, I didn't find it, for my dissatisfaction didn't go away. I was vaguely aware of saying goodbye to Lisa and a few others before getting in the passenger side of my mom's deep blue Grand Vitarra. Mom pulled away from the church without making one comment about my two-minute delay, which usually she would have thrown a fit about, but this did not make me curious in the least.

Mom began to talk to me, but I didn't pay attention - I knew I'd remember it all anyway. Instead, I felt myself going over the list of tonight's tasks and organizing them to be the most efficient, but I tuned back in when I heard myself responding. Sometimes I liked to hear what I had to say - it was almost like getting to know myself. But it was distracting to actually try to say something, because when I thought about what I said before it came out of my mouth it didn't make any since at all; it was easier just to zone out and let my "autopilot" brain do all the work.

"Yeah, that sounds great, mom, I'll be ready at eleven. Where do you want to go shopping?" I responded to the unheard question. Mom and my "autopilot" discussed the options as I tried to make sense of my statement - shopping? What in the world would I need more clothes for? Suddenly it settled on me with a state of uneasiness: The dreaded youth choir "End of School" beach trip.

How could the end of the school year be here already?

And why did I have to go shopping?

It wasn't just all of the crowded noisiness of 30 high school youth crammed into one small beach house that I dreaded; the inevitable socializing with people I had no relation to or relationship with was also at the top of the "My least favorite things" list. Ok, so maybe 'dreaded' was the wrong word, a little strong - perhaps "uncomfortable" was more the word to express my opinion on youth gatherings.

The sound of a shutting car door drew me back to the present to realize that we had arrived at home. I grabbed my Bible and my purse and headed up the classic brick walk to our quaint two story house to our vibrant red front door.

Overall, our house looked better on the outside than the inside - our meticulously groomed and excessively watered lawn contrasted pathetically with the disorder of our internal home. My parents' and brothers' room were on the first floor, along with all the traditional boring stuff - kitchen, offices, etc. - but it was our second floor that I was most fond of. Consisting only of my room, bathroom, and small yet notorious closet, it was this part of the house that was really my home. While the rest of the house was left daily, despite my efforts, in chaotic disarray, I was in control of my floor and kept it sparkling clean and tidy.

I checked the kitchen to make sure the kitchen had remained clean during my few hours away from home, which it miraculously had, and headed upstairs to my room.

Three messages since I had left the church. That was only 15 minutes ago - how badly did they want to talk to me? The messages were all from the same person too, Lisa McDaley of all people, the girl I couldn't get away from earlier, all begging me to call her. As soon as she picked up the phone, I knew this would not be a "one quick thing" phone call.

One hour later, we had decided exactly which outfits she was taking on Friday and when she would wear them. I, naturally, did not remember a word she had said; instead, I sat down at my computer and tried to finish the week's assignments for my World History class on Florida Virtual School. I was either done or almost done with all my other courses on flvs, and would be "out of school" for summer, but this class wouldn't end until mid-July. Either way, FLVS sure beat public school, that was for sure.

I was just finishing the last assignment when mom came in and sat down on my bed. She had done this every night since I was 8, and our talks always lasted a while, sometimes, on weekends, turning into all night "mother daughter" sleepovers. My mom was my best friend. These talks always seemed a little bit easier than the ones with my friends, but I still rarely paid attention. It just wasn't worth it to make a fool of myself.