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I lost interest with NBK - it was getting too complex. So I started writing the truth... And here it is.
This isn’t my story, and as such I do not know all of the facts. I know what I have seen, what I have heard, what I have been told – which is never the whole truth. This is her story.
The beginning will always be in Tala’s POV, and the main text will always be Celia’s.
It wasn’t always this way. I’ve lived with my grandparents since before I can remember, and my grandma was the one who took care of me. But she died last year, and my grandpa has pretty much given up on everything.
Brrring Brring Brring
I pick up my cell phone, and it’s none other than my savior, Tala.
“Burger King again?” she asks. We’re done with the formal “hello”s and “hey”s. She cuts right to the chase.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well… We just might have an extra spot at the table, and we just might have a whole bunch of spaghetti noodles that I will never be able to eat… And I just might be thinking about calling Kenna…”
“No. Way. I’ll be down there in five.” I quickly hang up before I can hear her laughing. The nice thing about where we are is that I can just walk about two blocks downhill to get to her place. It’s always so nice there, with her mom always making sure I’m okay and everything. They’re my other family, and I know I’ll love them no matter what, and they’ll love me back.
I run downstairs and write a note for my grandpa (telling him anything in this state is like telling it to a rock) and grab the French fries I ordered before grabbing my light jacket and starting the walk to Tala’s. It was chilly but warm, a trait common for a North Dakotan autumn. There were leaves carelessly blown around, some still green. The sun was just starting to set, another one of our beautiful sunsets. Vibrant reds, pinks, and purples were smeared across the sky with no shape or form. Rounding the corner and starting the hill, I saw a familiar shape about halfway up. Tala had come to meet me halfway, as always.
“Hey!” she yelled out, waving her arms madly. I grinned and waved back. She starts jogging, something she detests with every bone, muscle, and cell, in her body, and quickly we’ve met up.
“So,” she says, turning around and facing the direction of her home, “what did you order tonight?”
“The usual. Brought you the fries.” She grins as I hand them to her.
“You’re soo good to me…” she says as she eats one. It’s no secret that Tala adores French fries. She’s been known to steal them off the plates of people around her if they don’t eat them. Me, I’m more of a potato ole girl, but it works out.
“You know it.”
“So… You think we should pick you up for school tomorrow?”
“Well…” I want to say yes – there’s no way my grandpa will be sober enough to take me there, but I want to say no, too. I’ve learned that if they take me to school, Tala waits an extra hour outside in the cold. She claims she enjoys it and uses the time to finish her homework, but still. Her family’s always doing stuff for me.
“I take that as a yes.” She smirks. That’s the thing that I love about Tala; if she thinks it will help you, she will do anything that she can, from storming into your house and yelling at your parents to bringing you a cup of coffee.
“You guys really don’t have to-“
“Yes, we do. You’re my sister for Pete’s sake!” Okay, so we’re not really sisters, but we think alike, listen to the same music, and we spend so much time at each other’s houses we sometimes think we are. We’ve even managed to fool teachers at our school with how alike we look.
Tala’s got this oriental look to her, with the slanted eyes and the oval face, though she’s not Asian in any way. She’s got blue eyes and really dark brown hair, with a pretty natural curl that’s as stubborn as she is (I actually pity it sometimes, because she’ll stop at no lengths to get it to be nice and flat). She’s short and chubby, but she doesn’t care and flirts like she’s a baby-blue eyed blonde with a size 1 pant.
I, however, look totally English (or whatever you want to call it), and have blue-green eyes and hair only a few shades lighter than Tala’s. But I’m the tall and thin one, and guys pay more attention to me. She’s the brain, she says, and I’m the beauty.
Before I know it we’ve rounded another corner and are at her house. I could hear her little puppy barking from inside.
“C’mon. Dad’s probably trying to eat already.” In Tala’s house, even though her mom was the only Christian, they all had to wait until she said grace before they could eat, and her dad hated that rule.
She walked up and opened the door, allowing the Sheltie to get his nose out of the house.
“Milo, back,” she commanded, and the puppy dutifully slunk back into the house. She opened the door fully, and the smell of spaghetti hit my nose.
Spaghetti beats Burger King 10 to none.
I followed her inside, and wasn’t surprised when her poor little puppy couldn’t contain himself anymore and started jumping up and crying. Dutifully, I reached down and petted him for a little bit, before Tala called out to me, “Are you coming or what? I know I’m starving! And you really don’t wanna mess with me when I’m starving!” It’s true. She’s worse when she’s got PMS, but at least I can’t control PMS. I can control her not eating.
I sat down across from her, her parents on either side of me, and looked at the steaming mass of noodles. If there was one thing I knew for certain, her parents would always be willing to feed me.
“Like your mom would let me.”
“Hey, she would! Really, the get-ready room is all ready for you!” The get-ready room is what her mom called the room she spent her time getting ready in the morning.
“Really?”
“Yeah, totally! The Jack Sparrow towel is even yours to use in the morning.” She gave me her lopsided you-know-you-want-to grin.
“Really? You’re not kidding here?” I couldn’t let my hopes get up. Tala was known for her little jokes.
“No way. C’mon, I’ll prove it.” I followed her up off of my very comfortable beanbag on the floor and upstairs to the room right next to hers. She pushed open the door and I really couldn’t believe it. Sure, it wasn’t anything fancy, but for people who aren’t even related to do this for me…
There was a air mattress on the floor, filled up just perfectly. Her giant stuffed dog, Paul Anka (named after an episode of Gilmore Girls), was propped up, as if waiting for me. There were tons of blankets on the mattress, along with a fair amount of pillows (Tala was a pillow-hog). The towel of Jack Sparrow was folded up neatly on the floor, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“You did all this… for me?”
“Duh! Man, you’re like my sister. Of course we’d do this for you!” She grinned as she handed me the phone. “Call away. I’m going to go get changed and I’ll meet you back in the lair, okay?”
“Yeah, see you there.” I flopped down on the mattress. It was so perfect in all of its simplicity.
Review please! Thoughts are loved! I'm writing this off of real events, so it should go pretty smoothly. Thanks! Luv - KR