Sentiments

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Life is very unpredictable.

One moment you're so sure how life will go on. You think it's simple; you expect a series of events that are bound to happen one way or another.

Or that's what you think.

Life is all about unexpected events, tests, and that's exactly why life is said to be a rollercoaster.

Some people's rollercoasters seem to go down, down and down.

Anyways, that's what I learned from last week when I thought Ethan might have died.

I was taken aback and reminded of the harsh reality of life and unexpectedness that comes along with it.

I mean, if you think about it, he could have been seriously injured if he had been a few minutes late. And if he had, well, died, what would have happened to me?

I would have been devastated. It didn't take a genius to figure that out.

I am growing closer to Ethan each day, we have a bond that is beyond our understanding. We just clicked.
He's such an ignorant fool though. I mean, what the hell, right? He had freaking earphones on and didn't hear the freaking explosion and when I was going crazy worrying about him he was relaxing.

I shook my head, smiling at the memory.

“Yep. You're really weird.” I heard Ethan say.

I blinked. I had been staring AND smiling.

And that's, well, embarrassing.
“Sorry. I was just thinking about how stupid you are. Let's carry on,” I said and picked my pen, working on the questions for a test we had, for which we were currently studying for in the library.

“I'm not stupid!” he said, sounding childish.

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at nights,” I said, glancing at him and going through the notes while he pouted and I resisted the urge to pull his cheek because he looked so stupidly cute.

“What's your favourite colour?” he asked.

I raised my eyebrow before answering, “Blue.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't find any shade of blue annoying. What's yours?”

He made the not-bad face before answering, “Green.”

I nodded and solved a question.

“When's your birthday?” he asked.

“Tomorrow. 18th October.”

“WHAT!”

I widened my eyes to make him shut up before the librarian kicks us out.

“Shut up.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked.
“You never asked.”

He huffed in annoyance and disappointment before I continued, “I don't celebrate my birthday anymore. It's no big deal.”

“But it's your birthday! Who doesn't atleast not eat a cake on their birthday?”

I pointed at myself.

“I'll treat you tomorrow.”

“No, you don't need to. I'll probably be home all day tomorrow.”

“No, you're coming and that's it. Tomorrow is Saturday. We don't even have school. I'll text you.”

I decided to leave it there then ditch him last minute. Which is probably the most selfish thing I could do, but hey, who thought I was a nice person?

“When's your birthday?”

“1st August,” he said.

“Can't we just wait for that?”

He shook his head and I gave up.

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I went home and checked the time.
03:47 pm.

I went straight to my bedroom, putting my bag on the bed and taking off my scarf from around the neck and retying my hair.

After that, I came downstairs and went into the kitchen.

Mom was there, chopping green pepper for some dish she was making.

“Hey,” I said.

She looked at me, clad in an apron, her hair loosely braided falling down her back.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“Very,” I said.

She gave me a bowl of macaroni from the fridge and I sat on the wooden table that was in the kitchen.

“So tomorrow is your aunt Mary's death anniversary. It's been how many years, 5?” she asked and I nodded.

She was mom's sister, the only family member I was close to. She was more of a mom to me than my own mother.

“Oh, tomorrow is also your birthday,” she said casually, putting the pepper in the frying pan and stirring them.
My heart clenched painfully. I said nothing, the macaroni suddenly hard to swallow.

“She died on your birthday. How weird.”

Yeah mom, it's not like someone planned that. We've been over this so many times now. That's what I wanted to say but I couldn't.

It was like this every year. Mom would remind me of how my aunt, the one person I was close to, died on my own birthday. She was also weirdly superstitious and thought that this was more than a coincidence, therefore making sure that I would be reminded painfully of her every passing year, and making sure I don't celebrate my birthday because ‘we don't want anything like this happening again, do we?’ is what she says.

“You're not planning to celebrate tomorrow, are you? Because, it would be really weird, don't you think?” she said, her green eyes searching my face for clues.

I shook my head.

“Yeah, that's good. Too bad her grave is miles away. We could have paid our respects but we'll go some other time, yeah?”

I nodded. I was not hungry anymore. I set the half-eaten bowl aside, muttering that I'll eat the rest later and rushed upstairs.

I turned off the light and sat with my back against the door.

Why does mom have to do that every year? Why does she so painfully remind me of her? People are supposed to remember the dead but not like this. Why could she not have said something like how my aunt would have been happy if I went out and celebrated because it's not my fault? I mean, I'm not particularly fond of celebrating and parties but a birthday where I won't have to shut myself in my room in the fear that mom would start a ruckus and start blaming me would be good.

Ethan was going to call me out tomorrow.

I WANTED to go. I wanted to have a birthday where I would remember my aunt and all the happy memories with her with a smile on my face as I ate her favourite fudge cake remembering her.

I didn't want to sulk around tomorrow and feel suffocated in my own home. I didn't want to face mom because she looks so much like her down to the same black hair and same twinkling green eyes, the same nose and face structure and the same freaking voice. The voice that reminded me of her except it was cold and harsh.

It's so painful. My heart hurts.

I stood up and lied on my bed, thinking about my aunt as a single tear of sorrow trickled down my face before I fell asleep.