So chicos and chicas of the internet world here is my first shot at short storyesque writing. Let me know what y'all think!
Sydney: Home
She
wore dresses and climbed trees. She caught bugs and played with Barbies. Sydney
never was the type of girl made to fit anywhere. Even her hair wouldn’t settle
into a group. It was neither straight nor wavy, it wasn’t blonde anymore but it
was also not truly brown or red. Every once in a while she would meet another
“half-ginger” as she called them, and she would put aside any shy nature she
had, and compliment their unconventional locks. She wasn’t technically “from”
anywhere either. Her parents were staunch Texans, transplanted to Georgia with
their four seedlings in 2000.
Sydney’s siblings took to this new soil over different periods of time,
but Sydney always felt more like a cactus in a ceramic pot. Over 8 or 9 years
Sydney finally connected with this place and it’s people. She knew she was
half-georgian for the first time, on a drive through a tree tunnel, green with
spring or orange, red and yellow with autumn. She was returning from college to
the home of her parents, that “return” was the key word. To return requires a
fixed location a “home” if you will. Sydney’s parents taught her one thing
about home throughout her military brat nomad childhood: home is where we are
together. It was in her freshman dorm bunk bed, that Sydney first realized that
one day she would have to make a new home, of her own.
Athens
suited Sydney quite well, it was her favorite place in the entire USA (as she
knew it). She didn’t feel like a sore thumb there, or a butterfly lost among
giant moths. Much like Spanish, Athens was the cure for her natural shyness.
Every waiter, cashier, or barista was an artist, musician or writer. You see
Athens is a Mecca of artsy misfits (Sydney’s favorite kind of people). The
thing is, that she hadn’t dreamed of belonging in years. Long ago, like the
good middle child she was, she had set her expectations low, so as to not be
disappointed again. She still freshly remembered her self-transformation from
the miserable follower to happy weirdo, and she hadn’t planned on any group
mentality since.
In
the fifth grade sweet little, hand-me-down, baby dove heart, Sydney had made
her last official move. From Houston to Kennesaw, she was scooped and plopped
with 2 brothers, a sister and a herd of dog companions. So what happened to our
little yellow rose of Texas in Georgia? Well, she went from normal imaginary
game playing kid to dork with only 2 friends. Thus, our girl entered a phase of
good ol’ fashioned misery. A time of trying to fit in, of trying to be someone
she wasn’t. Until, one blessed day chica clamped her eyes on some punk girls,
it was the 8th grade. She fell head over heels for these half-ass rebels. Thus,
our mama-lovin’, straight A’s girl put on her black eyeliner and her ironic
t-shirts, and felt good about herself for the first time in years. Overtime,
Syd found her own style and her own voice. Mainly she wore a lot of vintage and
hippie inspired stuff and lots of colorful “unique” jewelry. And chica never
looked back, not for a freakin’ second. In high-school she discovered Spanish
and Art, her two tickets to specialness (finally). And in those same years she
discovered The Postal Service and indie music. The freedom of not giving a shit
of what people thought of her became quite an addiction to Sydney, sometimes to
her detriment.
But
no matter what she said or did on the outside, she was still that girl who
wanted to be a missionary since she was five years old and who could find
beauty in anything. The girl who loved three legged dogs the most. So our girl
found a home in Athens, a nest from which she could fly off to her adventures,
and to which she could always return to mend a broken wing.
