My name is olive.
This is a story of difference.
This is the story of the time I fell in love with an adventure. His name was Matthew. Matthew James Wright III.
However, this is not the start of my story the story starts 7 years before. When I was 8 my mother and father put me in an all-girls private school. For almost 7 years I didn’t talk to a single boy. No, I wasn’t miserable, until my father died. My mother didn’t have enough money to pay for private school so she sent me to a stupid invention called public school. Not only did I have to go to public school, but I had to move out of my big house into a much smaller one. My mother saw that I was sad and depressed so… she signed me up to be in the cheerleading squad. All of this happened in a period of two horrible weeks.
My aunt Carla came to live with us and help mother with her grief. She bought me a car and told me to leave the house as much as I could and to stay away from mother. While some might take it offensively, I took it as a sign of relief from my mother. I didn’t wanna deal with her.
I went to the nearest yogurt place and that’s when I saw him, standing outside the door.
Short hair pulled back greaser style, wearing an obnoxious yellow shirt that said ’yogurt palace’, and a cigarette in his right hand. He was the perfect image of a beautiful destruction.
He saw me staring at him and asked in a faint British accent, “Lovely weather we’re having, eh?” I nodded. “We don’t get this kind of weather in England I’ll tell you that much.” He smiled. I smiled and we went our separate ways.
When I got home Carla was cooking.
“Are you hungry Olive?” she asked with a stern voice.
“Yes ma’am.” I said. I was afraid to say no.
“Alright then sit down, child.” She hurried.
“Where’s mother?” I asked.
“She’s asleep, it’ll do her good. After all she’s been through, poor thing must be exhausted!” she said in a tone of concern.
I looked at her puzzled. “What has she been though?” I asked.
“Your father is dead! Does that not mean anything to you?!” she spoke as if It was an abomination for not missing your own father.
Maybe she was right, maybe I was an abomination, not missing father. Even if he was never around or when he was it was only for a few days at most. He had that heart attack coming, and he knew it.
“no.” I replied. I got up and went to bed.
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