Written in the Stars (5 page)

I woke up early the next morning with my eyes swollen and crusted shut. I stumbled into the bathroom and warmed a towel to hold against them until I was able to
open them without ripping any eyelashes out. After I was able to make out my reflection, I quickly went through my morning clean-up routine, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail before getting dressed for my morning run.

It was
the summer of my ninth grade year that I made the switch from running track to cross-country. It was a way to escape from the world for a long period of time without anyone worrying. Running has always been my own personal form of meditation, since it helps me clear my head for whatever life decides to throw at me that day.

I made sure my IPod had a full charge, and scrolled through my playlists to find the perfect set of songs to get lost to. I’ve always envied people who are talented enough to write songs, especially the ones that could change a life.

I tried writing a song once. I was twelve, and I wrote it for Geoff. It didn’t take long for me to realize that writing was not one of my given talents and, since I can’t carry a tune for the life of me, I was just going to have to change a life some other way.

I allowed the music to take over my thoughts as I sang along. Most of the music I listen to is dark and dreary since that’s the mood I’ve been in for years, but I still had a few of my favorite song left from when Geoff was singing. It was shortly after his concert here that he switched to acting and hadn’t released any new music since.

When I finally reached my halfway point, the park, I found my favorite spot around the lake to do my midway stretches. To me, Rhode Island has some of the most beautiful parks in the world; even in the worst area of town, they are breathtaking.

Weeping Willow trees hover over the paths, creating the perfect amount of shade, and wildflowers grow along the lakes edges. If you’re lucky, in the early mornings you can catch the swans taking their morning baths.

When I was ten, my dad took me into the heart of Providence and while he was shopping in the hardware store, I wandered off to the park across the street. It didn’t take him long to come bolting out of the store, yelling my name.

“Sophie, we are in the worst area of town,” he said, dragging me back to the car. To this day, I don’t understand how something so beautiful could have been so bad.

I turned down the volume on my IPod and sat on a nearby bench to watch some ducks and a few swans splash around. I envied how carefree and peaceful they looked, as if they didn’t have a care in the world. I felt myself go into a daze as I started wishing that I knew what it felt like not be broken. What true happiness felt like again? I couldn’t help wondering if ducks and swans had feelings like we do. That if they knew how hard it was to live with nothing but anger inside, and if they ever hated the world around them as much I as do. Something I’ll never understand is how God chooses whose life he’s going to ruin, and who gets to live a life full of nothing but happiness. My Aunt Jackie has been trying to convince me that God didn’t take my mom to hurt me, and that everything happens for a reason, so I need to stop blaming Him. I seriously doubt I will ever agree with her, or my mom, who to me, always gave Him too much credit. I put my faith in Him once, and He paid me back by breaking my heart beyond repair. To me, God doesn’t deserve to be a part of my life anymore, and He definitely doesn’t deserve what’s left of my heart.

With a
heavy heart, I turned my music back up and finished my run. I was ecstatic to see my dad unloading his car when I returned home.

“You’re home,” I said cheerfully.

“What are you doing out this early?”

“Running, like I’ve been doing for years,” I replied.

“I knew that.” He smiled. “I got something for you in Paris.” He walked into the house.

“I’m guessing it’s not the car I’ve been hoping for.”

“I couldn’t fit that in my suitcase, so I got you this instead.” He pulled out a picture frame that had the word Paris written on the top of it, and inside was a picture of him standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

“Wow, thanks, Dad,” I said. “Now I can always be reminded of all the places you go without me.”

“No problem.” He smirked.

“Are you hungry?”

“Nothing but airline and hotel food for almost two weeks, I’m starving.” He replied.

I listened to his adventurous passengers stories as I made breakfast for us. Most of the time, I’m pretty sure he makes up stories for my entertainment since some of them are so far out there, and nothing remotely close to what he tells me ever happens when I fly, but I don’t care. All I care about is the time we get to spend together while he shares them.

I was smart and let him do most of the talking, since the lack of packing my room was the only interesting thing that has happened since he left, and that was a subject I didn’t want to discuss at the moment, if ever. If he found out how little I actually got done, he would take over, and I would come home to little pink rabbit walls again.

After another hour of looking at pictures of his two-week stay in Europe, I finally headed to a much-needed shower.

“Sophie?” I heard my dad yell through the door.

“I’m in the shower.”

“What do you have planned for the day?” He got louder.

“Not much.”

“Do you want to play some tennis?” he asked.

“Sure. I’ll be out in a few.”

A little spark of excitement rushed through me as I quickly rinsed my hair. I couldn’t remember the last time we played together, and I really needed to let out a little steam.

“Dad?” I hollered when I walked outside.

“I’m in the garage.”

A dreadful feeling
stopped me in my tracks when I turned the corner and saw what he was wearing. He had a neon yellow sweatband on his head with matching wristbands, a pair of bright green seventies running shorts, and an even brighter, blinding orange tank top on, with black socks pulled up to his knees. Why I ever thought we could have a normal day together was beyond me.

“I almost wore t
hat same outfit.” I tried not to laugh.

“You should have; then we could have been twins.” He smirked.

“Yeah, but then we both would look like idiots.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. I will make sure you look like one when we get there.”

“Dad, we both know tennis isn’t the only thing I’m going to kick your butt in today.” I grinned.

“Don’t be so sure of that. I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing what, tennis or being stupid?” I teased him.

“Both.” He smiled.

“Well, then, let the games begin.”

“And the most embarrassing one will win.”

“Are you sure you want to start something you know you’re not going to win?”

“I’m positive, because I will win.”
He grinned.

Our little game had started when I was young, and he would embarrass me whenever we were in public or I had friends over. At first, I just cried, but then I caught on and started fighting back. Other than tennis, being a prankster is one of the best qualities I inherited from my dad.

The courts were full when we arrived, and as soon as my dad stepped out of the car, people were looking at him. Some were laughing, and others just shook their heads. Like me, he didn’t care what anyone thought about him. That’s what made this all the more fun.

“What are you looking at?” my dad asked various people that we passed.

“It’s okay, Skippy; just go to your happy place and ignore them.”

We only had to wait a few minutes for a court to open up. I grabbed a case of tennis ba
lls and took my spot at one end. After stuffing some balls into my pockets, I looked across the court and almost died when I saw my dad acting like a rock star, using his racket as a guitar.

“Look at me, I’m Geoff Mann,” he sang loudly.

Of course, being the lady he didn’t raise me to be, I did the only thing I could think of to get his attention. I got into serve position and hit the ball as hard as I could, aiming straight for him, barely missing his leg.

“Hey, what was that?” he yelled at me.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were having some kind of spasm attack. I was only trying to help,” I said with a straight face.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?”

“It’s the only way I know.” I grinned.

“Bring it on, little girl.”

With a joker grin, I eyed my target spot as he bent over to pick up the ball. Without hesitating, I sent off another one of my famous serves, which hit his butt exactly where I was aiming.

“That hurt!” He turned around.

“You should know never to turn your back on me.”

“Okay, you’re going to pay for that.”

“I’m sure I will, but until then, will you please try and keep up?”

“Oh, believe me, I will.” He glared. “Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t.” I smiled and got into serve position. “Are you ready?”

“Just serve.”

It was hard to concentrate watching him bounce side to side as if he actually thought he could distract me. I closed my eyes and pictured myself at a real match. Taking a deep breath, I tossed the ball up perfectly, and waited until I heard the sound of a whistle the ball makes when it flies away from me. I opened my eyes just in time to see it hit my mark, and then speed by my dad’s head, and his jaw drop.

“What in the world was that?” he asked, stunned.

“It’s called a serve, Dad, and I do believe you’re supposed to return it.”

“That wasn’t a serve. That was a speeding bullet.”

“You told me not to go easy.” I said.

“Okay, maybe you can start easy, but only until I get my groove back.”

This time I lightened up enough for him to at least see it coming. We played the first few sets neck to neck, but only because I was taking it really easy. After our third match, we took a water break.

“See, I told you I could get the old groove back.” He took a drink of water.

“I never said you couldn’t.”

“I wish you could have seen the look on your face, when m
y natural talent kicked back in.”

I looked at him with one eyebrow raised, shook my head, and chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” he asked me.

“Nothing. Are you ready to play again?”

“Ready to kick your little butt again is more like it.”

I contemplated on being nice and letting him win since he was getting up there in age, and who knew how much longer he’d be able to play. That was until he started taunting me, and making sure everyone around us knew that he was going to teach me a lesson. The little voice in my head telling me to play nice disappeared, and I knew it was time to knock him down a couple of levels.

“Are you ready, Skippy?” I shouted.

“The question is, are you ready, sugar plum?”

“You’re about to find out,” I mumbled, and served without getting a return. “Sorry, Skippy, was that too fast for you?”

“Nope, just wasn’t warmed up.” He got back into position. “Keep them coming.”

So I did, killing him in every match we played.

“Well, that was nothing short of embarrassing.” He put his racket away.

“Wait, we can’t be done. I didn’t even break a sweat.” I had to tease him, since he was soaked head to toe with it.

“How did you get so good?” he said between breaths.

“Let’s just say I had an awesome teacher.”

“I can agree with that.” He smiled. “I think we need to start playing more often when you return from Italy.”

“I would love that,” I replied. “So, Skippy, what’s next?”

“I say we walk out of here like champions, and once we’re out of the public eye, I’m going to literally crawl into the hot tub and soak every muscle in my body.”

“Can it be true?” I gasped. “My father is not only getting old, but he’s out of shape also?”

“I may be getting old, but I’m definitely not out of shape.” He flexed his biceps.

I had to laugh since he flinched when he lifted his arms to flex them, and the fact that he was barely able to breath didn’t help his point. Of course, neither did him asking me to gather up all the balls since his legs felt like jelly and he couldn’t walk.

“You forgot a ball by the back fence,” he very nicely pointed out for me.

“Thanks, Dad.”

After putting everything in the car, I turned around to make sure he didn’t need help walking, and was a little thrown off when I saw him standing in the middle of a busy parking lot, watching the cars drive past him. I was almost worried that something was really wrong with him, until he winked at me. He then started running around, screaming like a lunatic and waving his arms wildly in the air like an orangutan. People from all directions came running to see what was going on. If only he knew how stupid he looked, I doubt he would have gone this far to embarrass me.