“Stevan Daniel Conway!” I heard from the kitchen. The only person who would use my full name with such an angry tone was none other than my mom. Seriously what was she doing here? I blinked a couple of times, and then I got up and threw on some clothes that look so mismatched that even I had to do a double take. “Shit,” I said under my breath. This was a regular occurrence since I moved out of the house around two and a half months ago. Mom would come by to make sure that I was still alive and breathing. Of course, she would cook some breakfast every now and then just because she felt like it. It was getting close to my birthday and which meant only one thing. Another year older, and another year closer to death. Yet that didn’t seem to bother me as much as it used to.
After all, two of the most important people in my life died before I was even a sophomore in high school. My father died in twenty-ten, and my grandma Lily a year before and both times it was while I was walking home from school that I got this terrible gut feeling that something was really wrong. I played it off, of course as just a big joke like death could really be a joke. Little did I know that I should’ve listened to it, and prepared myself for the heartache that was about to follow each time. The Christmas before my dad died I had bought him a present, and I wanted to see him before we went home. My mom of course was irritated about that, for reason that seemed so stupid to me now, like it did back then. Regardless of that though she did take to where my dad was, and it was pouring rain on the way back. That was the last time I saw him before he died in May of twenty-eleven. If I could go back in time I would have told mom to leave there and I would have spent Christmas Day, and as many days as I could with him…
My alarm clock started bursting out some “It’s My Life” by Bon Jovi. A song that I loved since I was a child. My mom came to the door of my bedroom and knocked lightly. “Stevan get your butt out of that room and come eat the breakfast I made for you.” She said. “I’ll be right out mom. Give me a minute.” The music mixed with my mom talking to me got me out of remembering dad’s death. I was thankful for that. She and my two older brothers are all I have in this world now. Well besides my extended family. Anyway, I changed my shirt to match the pants I was wearing and headed out to the kitchen where my mom was standing over the stove, that came with the apartment when I moved in, she was humming to a tone all her own. She did that sometimes. I sat down and start to eat the food that was in front of me. Even though mom didn’t cook often she made some of the best food I have ever had.
Later that day I moseyed on over to my next class, which was in the theater next to the food court. I was a college freshman now, and I moved closer to the school because it was easy to walk there and back. Seeing how I didn’t a car currently. My last one got totaled because I let a friend borrow it for a day, worst mistake I have ever made in my life. I sighed while passing through the door of my “Music Theory” class. I had pretty good grades in high school, and this year I was determined to get a “four-point o” average and keep it. Music came easily to both me and my brother Geoffrey. He taught himself, and I tried to learn the guitar, but it wasn’t for me. I always felt like my true calling was singing, and the piano. So, of course, I started the new semester with music theory and piano for beginners. My class schedule was like this, Music Theory from one pm to two pm, and Piano for Beginners from three to four pm on Mondays, Algebra III Tuesdays from one pm to two pm, Wednesday Study hall from eleven in the morning to twelve in the afternoon. Thursday English III from the afternoon to two pm, Friday Business Theory from ten in the morning to eleven, and Econ from one pm to two pm. No night classes and I get the weekends off. Unfortunately for me, I had class today.
I kissed my mom on the cheek, and said, “I love you, thanks for the breakfast. I have to go, or I’ll be late.” Rushing out with my backpack slugged on my shoulder, and through the door before my mom could say anything. I barely made it to my class on time and waited for the teacher to get there. It was about ten minutes in when Mr. Evans walked through the door with…
My eyes went wide. I had not seen the jerk since he saved my life that day three months ago when school started for the fall semester. “Everyone!” Mr. Evan’s said gaining everyone’s attention. “I’d like you all to meet a late transfer student. This is Andy Bailey. He’s from Clyde Ohio. I expect you all to be kind to him, and not have any problems.” So, that was his name. I wanted to know that day, but I just couldn’t spend another minute with him. I stood up from the sheer shock of it all.
Everyone just stared up at me. This wasn’t happening how could he be here, and in my class? I realized then that I was standing, and in embracement, I sat back down in my seat, and Mr. Evans continued lecturing on something that I could not pay attention to. I was transfixed by the fact that he, being Andy, was attending the same college and I wished to know more about him, even though he was like I said a jerk, and very much arrogant. I just couldn’t stop staring at him. The class passed then, and it was from there I was still awestruck. Why was it that I felt an immediate connection to this person whom I was not supposed to connect with, he whose eyes were that of a green color with hazel flecks. They were more than green, it was almost like they were emeralds the brightest, and yet darkest green possible.
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