Caufield's girl

Chapter One

I am once again reconsidering all of my life decisions as I casually sit at my favourite café with an iced vanilla latte in my hand. I'm just being hypnotised by the strangers passing by the window at Maple Avenue and enjoying the fall atomsphere that makes my first semester at Concordia University more bearable. I initially came here to finish some assignments for my creative writing class, but my thoughts didn't let me even try. My mind is just too occupied to think clearly. Just too many thoughts are haunting me this Thursday afternoon.

It's my first year at this university, and I'm not sure if studying creative writing and journalisim was the right choice for me. Or even moving to Canada just to get away from home. I have regrets about the decision I made a few months ago, but eventually, every time this happens, I remind myself that there's nothing I can do about it now. I have to carry on with the thought that it was all for the better.

I miss my hometown and my old life, but at the same time, I don't. Deep down, I know I had to leave. I couldn't stay there after all that's happened in recent years to my family and our relationships. We've all changed, and somehow we grew apart and our principles were suddenly different. The turning point was when my father passed away two years ago, and everything seemed to go downhill ever since.

But I'm fine. At least I try to pretend I am. The slightest memory of him used to bring so much pain that I started to suppress my emotions instead of dealing with them. Back then, it all wrecked us entirely, but I found my way out of it. I had to. Things at home started to be unbearable, so I filled out a university application as far as possible from Boston. I chose the university course based on what I really want and not what everyone else wants me to do, especially my mother.

She was the one trying to convince me that studying pharmacy or some other shit related to medicine was for me. She expected me to finish the local university and become a doctor in Boston, just like my two other siblings. But she forgot about one thing, I'm not like them. We've never really had a good relationship, but after the incident, things began to get even worse. Our constant fights, misunderstandings, wasted tears, and toxicity... I didn't want to deal with it anymore, so I made a decision, and here I am. I'm stuck in Montreal, without any friends, single, and still not quite sure what I really want to do in life.

The only thing I know is that I don't want to go back. I love my siblings, but I couldn't force myself to experience the bad nostalgia my hometown would give me. I couldn't torture myself by staying there and reliving those painful memories over and over again. I couldn't bear to live under one roof with my mother anymore. A few phone calls from her every day seem to be simply enough. I know she's the one who gave me life, and I should love her, but my feelings began to grow cold. Over the years, we became strangers, and our opinions and priorities turned out to be fundamentally different. But deep down, there is some kind of love—maybe pity for her. She's not the same, and maybe I shouldn't blame her. We all had a rough time, but I can't forgive her all the time she hurt me emotionally. I could never forget.

We're all different, but somehow I'm still the same old stubborn Sophia Spencer who doesn't like to be bossed around in any way. I'm still the same as five years ago, with the exception of a few traumas that I don't really like to talk about. I learned to transfer my feelings onto paper, and that's why I like writing in general. I learned that paper won't judge you, ever. Unlike everyone else, writing and music are the only possible ways of pulling me out of my darkness and healing what's been damaged. But everyone has their own problems to deal with, so I just accepted the fact that I'm broken. I learned to live with it.

I would've been overthinking for another hour if the ringtone of my phone hadn't snapped me out of my thoughts. Of course, it was my mother. Calling at least for the fifth time today, acting like a loving and caring parent. That's what it's looked like ever since I moved to Montreal. She's suddenly acting like she actually cares about my wellbeing, but the truth is, she's probably just bored. Since she's not busy doing anything more productive, she decided to fix the hole in our relationship, trying to act like the perfect mother. I had to get used to the daily phone calls that make my blood boil. I'm just wondering what's going on this time.

Did you eat enough today? Did you take your vitamins or did you spend enough time outside today? And don't forget to do some exercise, sweetie. And of course, call me more often; I'm your mother, and I miss you. Remember, your father wouldn't be proud of this; we didn't raise you this way. I get goosebumps from those ironic remarks she likes to make more often than necessary,only bringing up painful memories.

Yeah, I really wasn't in a mood to listen to her today and spoil my peaceful afternoon, so I didn't pick up. I've had enough for today. I pack my things and get up from my favourite spot in the corner of the Celestine's café. As I'm walking back to my dorm on campus, I'm astonished by the colorfulness of the leaves on the ground, enjoying the pleasant coldness of this October day. Taylor Swift is playing in my headphones, and for a slight moment, it feels like there's nothing that could be more perfect. Actually, there is—having a boyfriend, or at least having a functional family. Unfortunately, I'm not lucky enough to have either of these, at least for now. Well, I almost forgot about my Tinder date tonight.