Unconditionally

Chapter Fourteen

"Some people live in a bitter, angry, hate-filled world. Some people live in a friendly, caring, love-filled world. Same world. ." -José N. Harris

Finals are a horrible thing. All your lessons from the teachers begin to feel crammed, you seem to never have time to hang out with friends, everyone gets easily annoyed, it's as if you need to study every second of every day, and the stress level is high. Very high.

During that time, I booted up my laptop and searched 'how to calm your nerves'. I searched that specific question because I had do public speaking- or as other people call it: the day when you pray yours knees stop shaking and you don't stutter -the next day. Links to different websites popped up immediately, and I submerged myself into them until it dawned on me that I need to study for a different class.

The next day, I stood in front of my high school, senior public speaking class trying to remember how to calm my nerves. Instead of gum, I had a mint. I internally told myself a joke, had the notes written chronologically, and took a few sips of water. None of those things worked except for three things. I remembered to breathe, counted backwards, and did creative visualization.

Now as I stand in front of Ashton in the parking lot, I do those exact three things. I can't help that I'm nervous! For some reason, I have this heavy burden of guilt, and I don't know why!

5 . . 4 . . 3 . .

Ashton rubs the back of his neck, and I wring my fingers together.

2 . . 1 . .

I take a deep breath and visualize what it would be like if my parents were still alive.

Mom stands beside the sink, cutting up bell peppers and chicken breasts on the wooden cutting board. She hums under her breath and every few seconds moves a piece of her blonde hair away from her face (just like I do). I sit at the dining room table with my hair up in a bun, doing some form of homework. I quietly write down the equation answer before looking back at my mom.

Her floral print apron is wrapped tightly around the white t-shirts she's wearing; whenever a piece of her hair falls in her face, she scrunches her eyebrows and moves it away. The front door slams closed, and mom drops the knife and turns around.

Dad walks into the kitchen with a bright smile on his face. He wraps his arms around Mom's waist and whispers something in her ear. Mom blushes but still smiles as she looks up at him.

"I love you." She tells him. Dad chuckles and kisses her on the lips. "I love you more."

I smile at the two of them. Dad releases Mom and heads over to me.

"Homework, baby girl?" He asks me.

I nod my head and set down my pencil.

"Homework that I rather not be doing." I tell him. Dad laughs and pokes my bun. "Hate math just like your mother, huh?" Dad's brown eyes twinkle as I roll my eyes and pick up my pencil.

He kisses my forehead.

The visualization did not work like it did with my public speaking class. The urge to cry seems to become harder as each second passes, I wish I could hear my mom's voice again (even though I hardly remember it), and it seems as if I can still feel my dad's lips on my forehead. I miss them even though I hardly know them.

Ashton looks up, ready to begin speaking, but stops when he looks at me. Confusion crosses over his features. "Are you okay, Mackenzie?" He asks me.

He can't see me cry.

I nod my head and inhale deeply. "Yeah. You wanted to talk?"

For a moment, Ashton doesn't seem to believe me but thankfully he allows it to pass.