Cinda-Reila (Complete 1.0)

A story about cinda-Reila

The Beginning
At the time of this entry it is 2:35 p.m., a Saturday and very hot. I am 16 years old and it is the summer before my junior year in high school. This is my first entry into this journal or any journal for that matter so I feel a bit of a recap is due. The beginning for me was June 25, 1987 in a small hospital, in a small town with an inconsequential name. There a baby girl was born. It was a stunning; birth taking twenty-three hours total and ending at exactly 7:16 am. Upon my debut I was named Reila. I suppose I was a normal child, I probably cried, was probably held, and was probably happy. I cannot remember all that much of my early years in this world; to tell you the truth I cannot remember my own mother’s face too clearly these days. As we get older we seem to be able to recall these events less and less vividly through our mind’s eye. It is like looking out a window as fog slowly covers it until all you are left with a vague blurry outline. Although the emotions these fading memories evoke grow ever more potent. It was at the age of five that the fog began its encroachment and this is because it was at the age of five my mother passed away. My mother had heart issues since she was young and one night while she slept, the issues left her and she with them. I couldn't understand then why I wasn’t able to see mother anymore or why it was my mother and not someone else’s. I know now the world’s justice cannot be seen by the eyes of man; if indeed there are scales we shall never know exactly how they balance. When I look back I really wish I hadn't attended her funeral. I know this seems like a terrible thing to wish, it is just I wish the last memory I had of my mother was when I sat on her lap two days prior eating Cap'n Crunch and watching my Saturday morning cartoons ever happy in her warm presence. That would have been a much more delightful farewell memory than one bid in the presence of mourning strangers and a cold casket bed. Time does not wait for one to mourn and before I had the chance to exhale, two years passed me by. It was at the age of seven that I was allotted the freedom to travel the full perimeter of my block; this is when I began to run. It is still a mystery what inspirations led me to run until my shirt clung close to my body and my legs burned, but I ran. I circled that block every day until a trench lay two feet deep in the cement. Running became my ritual and a natural part of life. Just as one must sleep daily lest their body break down, I had to sweat and breath and burn. Come September, the lush green leaves of summer begin their transformation into a decorative array of oranges and yellows, so slow one can never see the change, yet in just a few weeks the whole world is colored differently. Just as subtle and seamlessly I changed too and eight more autumns have passed since I first pioneered my block. This is by no means a detailed description of the first sixteen years of my life, nor is it a description of all the important events that took place in that period. It is merely the foundation needed to understand fully the events that have occurred in the very recent past. And it is these recent events that have led me to the writing of this Journal. I feel the change of the seasons again in my life and I can no longer settle for foggy windowed memories. It is in this book I intend to catalog the ever flowing transformation of my world through the years.

Start of a season
The beginning of this most recent climate change can be traced back to an unpleasant evening last week. After a vigorous post school run around the neighborhood, I stumbled through my front door to take a seat at the dinner table. To my surprise there were two guests; dinner had already been consumed with the particularly delicious desert pudding already distributed among the three; the three being my father, his girlfriend and her daughter (two years my senior). I sat down and began to fill my plate when I grumbled a comment directed at my father as to the whereabouts’ of my portion of the desert. This is when that evil child with pudding filled spoon in hand replied that I would have gotten some had I been on time. I made a face that screamed injustice, it was then that the follow up blow was dealt by my own father, stating he had reminded me this morning of the dinner plans. The one two of no pudding and the defecting of my own father the guests allegiance was enough to leave me dazed. The Knock-out punch came just a few seconds later when he announced that he was engaged to his girlfriend and they would be married this coming October. This came as a great shock I knew they had been together for some time but this merger of families had never entered my mind. I suppose this announcement shattered my blissful ignorance. I spent the rest of my meal in silence, loathing of the pudding thieves. Afterwards, I excused myself to clean up and then retired to my room where I completed my day’s worth of homework. Please do not misunderstand, my father loves this woman and I had no issues with her up until this point. However, what was enacted at that table was a declaration of war which I intend to follow through.

Enter a Prince
I found myself still full of rage the next morning as I sat at a cafeteria table before school. Across from me was my long time running partner in crime Shane. Here I will take a moment to describe Shane and my complicated relationship with him. At 6’1” he towered over my 5’3”, an intellectual with mediocre looks. At first glance you would guess Shane was athletic but the sad truth is despite his slender appearance he possessed the athletic prowess of a one armed sloth. While I maintained physical exercise everyday, his athletic regiment consisted of sprinting to the refrigerator during commercial breaks. He possesses a very calm disposition though, like water to my fire, and I think that is why we get along so well. Our first encounter happened soon after I began my daily running ritual. During one of my laps I noticed a boy drawing on his driveway with chalk. With every passing lap he was still there drawing away, he would always and look up at me as I passed by. After the fourth lap curiosity got the best of me, jogging in place I tried to grasp what exactly the master piece was that this boy was creating on the pavement. When he saw me he explained it was a dinosaur, a tyrannosaurus-rex from the cretaceous period. I asked if all boys were interested in dinosaurs, to which he replied “Do all girls like to run?” Tilting my head in thought I said “No” to which he quickly replied “No” as well. And off I was again. The next lap around he flagged me down and handed me a glass of red Koolaid, this peace offering sealed our friendship. The very next day as I was out for my jog I came across some writing on the sidewalk “I got new chalk, come draw with me today. Just knock on the door OK?” Being an only child with no friends in the immediate neighborhood, I was happy to oblige. Our early days were filled with drawing on the sidewalk, becoming engrossed in books about pre-historic reptiles (my favorite was Deinonychus) and delicious red Koolaid. One time, Shane decided he was going to run with me, though after being lapped several times he decided it was more fun to watch from the porch as I circled our block. As we grew older our activities gradually changed to include playing video games, reading comics, going to the movies, grabbing food, shooting pool and fishing by the river. It was somewhere in this mesh of activities that our relationship gradually began to change. This became most evident in the strange way Shane behaved around me. Recently, odd questions would leave Shane’s lips directed at me. Questions like “Reila do you have a boy you like?” or “What kind of boy do you like?” You would have to be a fool to not catch on to what this boy was thinking about. However, I dodged this bullet as best I could with responses like “Ummm, something like that I suppose” And “A kind, probably…” Apparently there are some things that cannot run from and the culmination of these strange questions would assault me that morning. As I sat there explaining the injustices I had suffered the night before, he finally said it. Those dreaded words “Say Reila, why don’t you go out with me?” I was horrified. It is here I want to note that although time is constant, a person’s perception of it is most definitely not, the next few minutes spent in silence felt like eons. It was during this period of silence that I compiled my rebuttal "I'm much to fast a fish for you to catch boy." which I used to announce my retreat as I headed off to my first class of the day. The rest of the school day maintained a state of normalcy, we talked during breaks and at lunch without touching upon this morning’s topic, which led me to believe my get away was a triumphant success.

A pair of magical shoes

After school we headed for the mall to bum around a bit. Once there we traversed the assorted stores scouring book and compact disc shelves for new releases. I partook of several runs across an imaginary catwalk where I received much praise from my one man audience. Afterwards we ate remarkably delicious chocolate ice cream cones on a brown wooden bench and prepared to make one final stop before ending the excursion. A short journey from our departure point and we arrived at a gallery of shoes, shoes of all different colors, styles, sizes, and purpose. There was only one particular set of shoes I was interested in; a pair of black and red running shoes had forcefully seized my attention the moment we entered. Entranced, I headed towards the pair of shoes like a horse garbed with blinders. After a few seconds of examining the dears I concluded these are magical and I must have them. An employee asked if I would like to try a pair on to which I gave a slight nod and mumbled size seven. He vanished from my sight into the back room only to return a moment later saying “We’re out of size seven, would you like to try a seven and one-half?” Looking down at my feet I knew that they had not grown an inch, however, I resolved to try the shoes on anyway. Once adorned with said shoes I transformed into a ballet dancer I danced the short distance of the stage ending with a pirouette. This performance received much obligatory applause despite my having never taken ballet. Indeed these shoes were magical, except they were too big and far out of my meager budget, so with a sullen sigh I returned them saying "They are lovely, but I will have to pass". This ended our journey and my brief moment of diva stardom.

Waking from a Dream
Running down an empty school hall as fast as I can the surrounding lockers blur a streak of red, my ears catch the sound of each step as it carry’s down the hall. I make this escape with a person in tow, looking back smiling and laughing; bursting through the door the warm sunlight graces my face. I squint my eyes to see the clock, malicious light beams through the curtains and assault my face, 10:20 A.M. I am very late for school. I frantically rush to get ready then head off to school timing my arrival between second and third period. The rest of the day panned out normal, luckily today was a review day. Breathing a sigh of relief I found myself struggling to pick up my bulging bag of learning material’s, I swayed my weight to the side and heaved it onto my shoulder. As I started to leave I saw Shane laughing at my great feat of strength “Doing a lot of studying for finals over the weekend I see?” I glanced at his bag to see it mostly empty “I see you’re going to be hard at work too.” Shifting his eyes to my backpack he replied “Looks to be so considering every examination period I get stuck tutoring a certain girl.” “Aren’t you overjoyed such a cute girl allows you to be her tutor?” “You knew!” We headed down the hall for the exit along the way he asked me meet him by the riverbank I said I would be by after I dropped off my book bag. I am certain in the distant future I will have various back pains due to carrying that bulging bag.

The scale shifts

Upon entering my abode I was invited by my father to attend dinner at his fiancés to which I kindly declined. I headed up stairs and dropped off my book treasury preparing to head for the randevu. Before making it out the door a blissful smell entered my nose. I tracked the source of this scent to the kitchen; upon crossing the threshold I viewed the stove to hold a pot of fresh pudding. Deductive reasoning led me to believe this was for the dinner my father was attending at his significant others. Looking around to see there were no on lookers I grabbed two spoons from the draw, abducted the pot and was out the door in a flash. Reaching the river bank I found Shane sitting in the grass watching the horizon. He gave me the strangest look when he saw me carrying the pot to which I responded “Pilfered pudding” and flashed that I had two spoons. We sat silently watching the sun slowly sink for a while enjoying the spoils I had captured. After we were both satisfied he turned to me “Close your eyes for a moment ok?” Dutifully obeying his request I felt a box being placed upon my lap. A moment later I opened my eyes to see a shoe box which contained the magical pair of shoes that had so enamored me in the perfect size. I was breathless, Shane broke the silence this time “Beautiful fish you may be twice as fast as me, but I am twice as clever. Your favorite color is red, you hate everything sour, are very scared of heights, but most of all change and I would wrestle a bear for you. Will you go out with me?” By the time he had finished this speech I was sobbing and tears poured down my face, I replied by calling him a strange boy and giving a slight nod. After that we lay in the grass holding hands and staring at the clouds as they passed us by until I drifted into a deep warm sleep. Maybe we will never know how the scales balance, for now though, I can’t help but feel they are ever so slightly in my favor.