My mom says it’s time for me to think about my future. You know what I mean, career, life purpose, or plan. To be honest, all of these aren’t my things. You might be wondering what my things are. Well, I can do split (side and front split), cartwheeling, and rolling forward on the bed, even though I never joined gymnastics class. Maybe I’m just exaggerating, but for me, being physically active is easier than thinking about the future.
Unfortunately, society always underestimates my favorite things. Aside from being active, I also love the smell of damp earth, the cats that always come to my house when they’re hungry, and my bestie’s late-night call. However, my mom always tells me to stop loving that stuff and move on, because she is a part of society and she has a productive life: a general practitioner, a writer, and a social media pep talk speaker. That’s why she can tell me to stop loving my things.
Making plans and sticking to them isn’t easy for me. I think only dreamers like my mom can do that. So, instead of sitting still in front of my laptop to figure out what kind of subject I would like to delve into, I am doing my things, being physical. I find myself climbing a red oak tree in the front of my house, to retrieve my brother’s kite.
“You need to go higher!” My brother, Grover, shouts from the grass, looking at me, who is afraid to look down.
“I know! It’s just the kite is covered by these damned leaves.” I step on the higher sturdy branch. My hand is reaching for the kite, but it is so far inside, almost unreachable.
“Is it possible?”
“Of course. I just wish I was taller.” My feet on tiptoes and my hand keeps reaching it.
From the high, I can see the circumstances of the city Chester, Delaware County, Pennsylvania, in small size.
After struggling to grab it, finally, the kite is on my right hand. “I got it, I got it!” I say, cheerfully.
I bring the kite with one hand and my body slides down. My back rubs on rugged and gnarled tree’s trunk. “Here.” I give the kite to him.
“Thanks. You okay, Petra?”
I laugh, “I don’t know. My body feels itchy right now. I think there is an insect inside my tee.”
“What?”
“I’m going to take off my tee.”
I pull off my T-shirt immediately, just leaving my body covered with a bra. My T-shirt is half in my arms when a caterpillar is on it. I groan, scratching my itchy skin. My skin burns like fire ants are crawling under it. It isn’t just the caterpillar, I hate that feeling. Like something dirty sticking to me. Grover notices the caterpillar first. He cries out.
“Throw your tee, Petra! Throw now!”
“Are you crazy? Am I going to go home topless?”
“There is a big caterpillar on your T-shirt. We must beware of this tree. Come on!”
My eyes are looking for the caterpillar. It always moves. When I find it, I just flick it off from my T-shirt, put my T-shirt back, and follow my brother walking home.
He hugs the kite while we are walking side by side, “I’m not going to play kite anymore.”
His voice trembled. I rub his head compassionately, “No, you are. I know you love it so much. So don’t stop doing things you love. Because it’s better to love difficult things than doesn’t have things to love at all.”
“But I made you ashamed.” He wipes his eyes and his mouth is down.
“Oh.” I freeze. “Tell you what, I should be ashamed of myself to take off my tee, but I wasn’t.” I giggled. “Anyway, it’s not your fault. Just keep your mouth shut from mom.” I said.
*
Grover is such a soft boy, and he is lucky to live only with me and my mom. If my dad is still alive, he must be upset with his fearful, easily disgusted, and unassertive nature. Like me with my mom. You can say my mom is an idealist, at least in her teenage years. She always has ambitions in her life. That’s why she is often annoyed by me who always wants to play along, make things go unplanned. I sometimes frustrate her in many ways.
However, as her child, I want to make her proud too, who doesn’t want to make her parents proud? I am thinking of becoming a lecturer or teacher. Like she always shows me her favorite film about a teacher in school for future poets. Growing up, I’m always forced to watch that by her. So, I think that’s good to be an educator. She must approve it.
Then I realize my whole life. I don’t like reading, and I can’t think logically. Managing those two is really pressure for me. So, I don’t think being an educator suits me.
I look at the window of my room, touch the glass, and hide my half body behind the draperies. Should I write a letter for future me? Will she find what she wants in life? Is it normal to think like this?
I decided to call my bestie. Her name is Elle. I will ask her whether Melissa, her mom, is also pressuring her to be decisive about her future career.
She answered my call.
“PETRA LUCIA EDLEY! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” she said, dramatically.
“Hey, thanks! Guess what, I am fifteen now.”
“Fifteen looks pretty on you, girl!”
“Seven months later will be you. Just wait, I will smack you in the face with a tart!”
“Oh, I won’t show up to anybody on my birthday. How’s your mom and Grovey?”
“They’re good. How’s your mom and dad?”
“They’re busy as hell, and I watch over the house.” Elle’s parents are a judge and a lawyer. It’s kind of impossible her parents ask what she wants to become.
“That sucks! My mom asked what I want to do in the future. I was thinking of being a teacher, but then I realized I dislike studying. Do you like studying, Elle?”