Stand Tall My Sweet Dandelion Girl
Fiction Novel
Javier Jimenez
Copyright © 2014 Javier Jimenez
All rights reserved
First edition, 2014
Psychological—Fiction. 2. Coming of Age—Fiction
Illustration by Javier Jimenez
—Thank you to my mentor, my family, and my friends.
Stand Tall My Sweet Dandelion Girl
Written by Javier Jimenez
Does your day start when you wake up?
Or with the dream you had moments before you wake up?
Part 1
Chapter 1
I finally opened my eyes. Beams of sunlight were flooding the room. Luminous rays were bouncing from the four pearl-colored walls. I hunched upwards, sitting up, as the thin white bed cover and white blanket slid down and dropped. The cover and blanket sat atop my legs that I had crossed.
My long thick hair was hanging down my face. Tangled and wavy, starting from all of my head, some of it was dropping to my back, while the rest fell, down my forehead and in front of my eyes. For a moment, I shut my eyes and opened them once again. Then I turned to face the thick glass window that never opened. Looking towards the white light that permeated through the partially covered sun and pale morning sky, the luminous beams struck my hair. The sun struck my dark brown hair, transforming the strands into a light bronze color. It made me wonder. Was I the only one who could see this color transformation? If someone looked at my face, would this light bronze stream down my face as a shadowy, transparent color or was I the only one to witness this color? Was this color only visible to me?
I fixed my gaze towards the window again. The crisp cold fog bit at the corners of the glass pane. I saw moist droplets forming on the other side of that clear crystal frame, and I laid one finger gently against a lower corner of the window, not pointing, but softly pressing, almost as if I was caressing it. Then a formulation of water trickled down from the other side, disappearing momentarily behind my finger and reappearing under it once more. I looked down out the window and stared at the cold low mist that was now dissipating. It seemed like it crawled away from the building. I shifted over, and moved my feet over the bed, where they hung for a while because of my short stature. I realized I wasn’t wearing socks and felt the fresh and cold air of the room. It was cold—the sky wasn’t yellow from the sun or blue from the sky, just a gentle foggy abyss that lingered outside this room. It was perfect.
I waited a few seconds, enjoying the peace. I noticed that I had woken up several minutes earlier than everyone else.
Everything was still. I heard the faint echoing caw of a crow somewhere in the distance. I placed both palms on the light mattress and after a few seconds I pushed off. My feet finally came in contact with the cold solid floor. The wheels on my bed had grinded a little against the surface, making a faint ruckus as it moved about. The floor had a glossy waxy looking texture, not that different from the four walls that surrounded me.
Pushing my hair aside to get a clearer vision of the surroundings, I walked over to the small restroom located near the entrance of the room. I proceeded to pick up my toothbrush, apply paste, and brush my teeth. I wasn’t really thinking anymore as I distanced myself from that airy ocean outside my window. I brushed my teeth systematically, back and forth, and side-to-side. I rinsed my mouth, washed the toothbrush, and put it away once more. My feet were growing colder and colder every minute I was out of bed, so I finally put on some socks and went back to bed, the wheels shifting once more. Knowing I had some extra time to spare, I snuggled back, white sheets and blankets covering my light grey pajamas. I stared at the wall mindlessly, until I finally closed my eyes again. I took a deep breath and exhaled, the crow’s caw faintly echoing once more, “caw, caw.” It was loud, yet soft, because it was so far away.
It was so peaceful; I sort of retreated into my own mind. I was transported to an earlier time, when I was a little girl. I was five years old and my mother was getting me ready to go to school as she turned her keys in the car’s ignition. As she turned her car on and pulled it out of the driveway, I would patiently wait outside along with the ever so still mystifying mist that surrounded me. I couldn’t explain it—the mist. It was something rare that could only be spotted in early mornings. Nothing was really certain, because in fifteen feet of distance, everything became hazy and difficult to decipher. I don’t know how she was able to take me to school when it was so foggy. If I had to guess, she must have driven me there by memory.
I took a breath trying to inhale that distant mist—trying to inhale the past, but only found the cold, hollow, and unoccupied air of the room, and exhaled with the failure to align myself to that past.
I heard the door slowly open with a sound of mechanical switches moving within the door’s handle. After a few seconds, I heard it close once more; I could have sworn it had been locked. I looked over to see if anyone had come in. I came to realize that it was my mom who had entered. I felt a smile growing from my lips and sprouting up to my cheeks.
“Hey there, sweetie.” She called to me, and sat on the other empty bed a couple of feet away from mine. She was so graceful, the way she sat. She didn’t even shift the bed.
I rolled over and scooted to face her while still remaining in bed. I was so content: a cold morning, warm blankets, and my mother’s arrival.
“Hey, Mom. What brings you here?” I asked her.
“Oh, I just haven’t seen you in such a long time. I have been meaning to stop by. You know how busy things get,” she responded.
“Yeah,” I chuckled a little. I then asked her, “Mom, what really brings you here? Visiting hours aren’t till afternoon—”
She hesitated a bit. “Well, you see—” She took a long pause and I began to question whether she had an answer for me or not. She finally added, “I just haven’t seen you in a long time. I really wanted to see you again, sweetie.”
“I guess?” I said with a slight uncertain pause. “Mom. Did you talk to anyone in the front office to get here?” I asked her, still bewildered by her unannounced presence. I really didn’t comprehend why she had come to visit me.
She focused her attention at me and said, “Yes. I did. I talked to Nurse Jackie. I came back on a business trip, and I wasn’t really sure how long I was going to stay here.” She pushed her bangs out of her face and adjusted her purse to her side as the clamoring of items being repositioned filled the silence from where she sat. She finished with, “So I figured I would stop by. Jackie said it was perfectly fine to come and see you.”
“Well, that’s good. I am really glad that you can spend some time here,” I replied. I really was happy that she was there. My mom had a tendency to come and go for long periods of time. She appeared randomly, and it was hard to keep track of her. But in all honesty, I really was happy to see her again.
I hadn’t had the chance to take a long look at her; and when I did, I noticed how young she looked; if I didn’t know any better, I would say that she was only a little older than my age. She had this complexion that was so similar to mine and had the same small and narrow jaw and flat cheeks. Although my face might have been a little thinner, the resemblance was uncanny.
“It has been a long time,” she said, taking a pause and letting her eyes rest on me for a second, before finishing with “hasn’t it?”
There was a short pause in the room. Light still bounced from wall to wall, hitting the waxed floor and ceiling. The fog had not fully dissipated. I know this, because I had hunched over once again and caught a glimpse of what was outside. “Yeah. It has been” I answered her question with neutral emotion.
The grass was moist and fresh with the fog’s residue, almost as if an ocean had spread over the surroundings of the building, and would eventually retreat into the distance to appear for another day. It must have been a good twenty minutes since I had woken up.
My mom broke the silence, and asked, “Sweetie, tell me what happened to you. It really has been such a long time since I’ve seen you. If I can recall, the last time I saw you was towards the end of your high school years.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I admitted. “I can’t really explain it. A lot of things have happened, but it’s been a really long time since then,” I added. My mom stayed silent and gave a gentle smile before looking away again. I think it was towards that window again. I couldn’t blame her; I often found myself staring at it too.
Sometimes, I imagine that it is like looking through the window of a shipmate. A window that is submerged in water, where you can only keep yourself entertained for so long in a room. From time to time, the window catches your attention—and can suddenly become an opening to another world. It’s sort of odd in a sense. It is nearly impossible to see with your own eyes through the salty waters of the oceans, yet glass gives perspective and the ability to see. We give up the sense of taste, touch, smell, and some hearing, to be able to see through water. This window in the lavish white painted room is similar in that sense. I give up the touch of raindrops, the smell of moist grass, the taste of mist residue, and hear the faint calls of the outside instead of the unaltered sound itself. As compensation, I gain the ability to see some of that foggy world, safely, from my own room. I wonder, if a ship’s submerged window were to shatter, meaning danger for the crew members, would my window, if it were to shatter, cause any problems for me?
“Are you okay?” My mother asked of me, with a bit of concern and confusion.
I responded, breaking my thought. “Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about that window.” I recomposed myself, turning to the window and then my mother for a second. I asked, “Mom, what do you think about that window? Does it restrict your vision in any sort of way?”
“What do you mean?” My mother asked. I don’t think she really understood me.
“If a window underwater can give partial vision while protecting shipmates from drowning, than what would this window protect me from?”
My mom took a few seconds to think. “Well, there is a lot of fog outside. It could be to protect you from getting lost. From this side of the window, you can see anything that is close enough, the same way a shipmate can see an object that is close enough to his window before it gets obscured by the salt water, or in your case, the fog.”
“Mom, how are you so clever?” I laughed a bit and smiled. I love her—she is about as clever of a thinker as I am.
Chapter 2
She stood up and walked slowly and steadily to the window. My mom was now facing outside of the window. I was now sitting up, leaning on the wall so that the window was out of my vision. While feeling calm, my mind also felt blank. There she was, with her beautiful and graceful complexion. Her light caramel-khaki dress was dropping slightly to her right side while her brown blazer covered her arms and most of her torso. The buttons were open, revealing the rest of the khaki colored dress.
A couple of seconds passed, and looking out the window, she said to me, “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so many years.”
I glanced at her, not angry in any way, but with a little bit of hesitation. I wasn’t really sure what to say.
She added after a quick pause, “How did the rest of high school go? I really want to know. Tell me all about it,” she smiled eagerly.
High school. Where do I start? There’s so much. I haven’t really thought about it in a long time. High school…
What kind of person was I? That’s where I should start, I suppose. I entered high school at age fourteen. I was just like any other student who has very little understanding of high school, which continues all through freshman year for many students.
In all honesty, I was too busy in the new environment to plan into my adulthood, otherwise known as my future. But no one really thinks about that at age thirteen or fourteen. At the time, I was clueless—I did not make much of myself or do anything to stand out. As a freshman, I felt like I had little capabilities and did next-to-nothing to accelerate in my high school career besides maintaining my grades. I convinced myself that I did not have to do very much, because I was a freshman, and so did many other freshmen. Consequently, many of the upperclassmen ran the majority of the school’s clubs or programs.
It’s really odd. That somewhere in between the day you enter high school and the next four years, you are supposed to walk out as an adult. And no one really tells you how. It’s not written anywhere, and there’s no guide, but then it happens. All you are supposed to do in school is learn, but then it hits you. People will treat you differently one day. You will see that people will begin to weigh you down with responsibilities, even if you don’t want it. And if you fail, you are held responsible. An irresponsible child is usually seen as arrogant or unprepared, but an irresponsible adult can be perceived as something more, something dangerous. Sometimes, I would imagine it’s easier to have no responsibilities, but that’s not always our choice.
Freshman year. The goal is to become exposed and try out new things that haven’t always been available before. It’s a funny thing. We are encouraged to try new things, leave our household and explore. Join clubs, activities, participate in school events. In high school, or maybe just the stage where we are in our lives, we are encouraged to leave our comfort zone and meet new people.
This newfound influence became a catalyst for taking on my own perceptions, and my own preferences, ultimately, deviating from a parent’s (or otherwise, guardian’s), own mindset. The search for identity began.
Anyways, amidst the ‘trying-new-things’ idealism in freshman year, I made sure that I didn’t distance too much from what my grandmother taught me.
She would constantly advise me, “Always try your best.” And that’s what I did. I tried my best my freshman year; despite the fact that it was surprisingly easy for me.
Freshman year is designed so that nothing overwhelms you. Not everything is supposed to be extravagantly challenging; everything is supposed to be tangible. With the right amount of effort, things are completed. No one is going to give a life-or-death responsibility to a thirteen or fourteen-year old—that’s not the goal for most high schools.
But then again, those were my personal experiences as a freshman.
In my sophomore year, I started taking more challenging courses. I began testing out the intellectual playing ground through more honors classes. I took on the role of becoming an intellectual and committed student.
Around the same time, I lost a lot of friends. In the midst of becoming friends with everyone freshman year, I had the opportunity to choose the people I wanted in my life, as well as the ones I didn’t. So I began choosing the people who would become my acquaintances, my close friends, and the people who were to be forgotten. After all, I wasn’t the only one searching for where I would belong. Most of the other students were doing the same. Additionally, I did this because I couldn’t handle having so many friends while taking more honors classes during the year. I figured I would have trouble balancing the two.
Once I chose the groups of friends that would become my good friends for the following years, I quit the search for self—or at least, it wasn’t my focus anymore. Responsibilities began to grow and became more important in my academic life. The social spotlight didn’t shine so intensely on me, or maybe I just ignored it. I wasn’t so interested or consumed by my own social affairs or trying to figure out who I was. I had better things to worry about, which at the time were my academics. The challenging courses that I took during my sophomore year demanded substantially greater responsibilities from me. I began being held accountable for my work as well as for turning assignments in on time. This wasn’t mu
ch of a problem for me, because I was pretty intelligent and very organized.
With all this said, I believe that just because someone is not responsible, in no way, does it imply stupidity or inadequacy. Students vary from one another, and maybe, the more virtuous students could be the ones who choose to enjoy their high school years, or youth at that, then rushing into long-term commitments in advanced classes.
This also reminds me of how people measure “intelligence.” Does a person’s ability to follow someone else’s instructions define how intelligent someone is? In the same way that people decide that the intelligence of an animal is measured by their willingness to follow instructions. As a matter of fact, some of the greatest people who brought change in the world became important for their opposition to following someone else’s instructions. Whether you want to call them rebels or revolutionaries, how accurately do you think that intelligence is measured by the ability to systematically bubble in circles?
But then again, that’s just my outlook.
The rest of my sophomore year required intense organization. I maintained tight schedules to get everything done on time; I had my life pretty under control. I had a good group of friends to keep me company during my sophomore year. My grandma gave me a lot of support, and everything came easily for me. I received great grades, just like my freshman year.
I glanced back at my mom, who was still standing by the window.
“Always try your best,” my grandma would always advise me. Her name is Cheryl Grey, but of course, I called her Grandma. My Grandma Cheryl took care of me for a long time when my mom became a full-time traveling businesswoman.
“Always try your best.” My grandma’s words seemed to chime in my head as I thought about her. Her comforting, sweet voice always reminded me of home.
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