Chapter One: My Recycled Soul by Lynette Ferreira
I smile broadly all the way home from school.
There is a skip in my step and a song in my heart, and it feels as if my life is on track, everything is perfect, and nothing could ever change how I feel—nothing at all.
I have always secretly liked Jason, and although he went out
with Carol for almost two years, I still have a serious crush on him. He is,
after all, the most popular, most handsome boy in school, and now it appears,
he is eventually aware of my existence.
This afternoon I saw him standing on the steps leading away
from school, waiting for someone, and I was going to walk past, as always. I
usually pretend I do not notice him, and then at the last moment, I will look
up and say, “Hi, Jason,” casually, in my over-practiced voice.
Just as I opened my mouth to deliver my line, I heard him
say, “Hi, Elizabeth,” in that deep, husky voice of his.
Me?
Abruptly my mind went void of all thoughts and intentions,
and although my gut feeling urged me to walk away, the butterflies in my
stomach tumbling and dropping, my feet stopped moving anyway.
I turned to face him and said, “Hi, Jason,” a bit awkwardly,
but making sure to let his name almost whisper over my lips–once again over
practised, and my feeble attempt at being sexy.
My mind filled rapidly with screaming and shouting, so
loudly, it was difficult to hear myself think and besides, I did not want him
to realize he had just made my day, in fact, made my life.
I made a quick exit, before I started babbling, making a
fool of myself. My feet started to walk me away, and I smiled sweetly over my
shoulder, catching his gaze following me.
I cannot believe he knows my name!
I replay this very short conversation with him in my mind
over and over again, the entire way home. I cannot wait to share my news with
someone, anyone.
What I did not realize, is that my future is not in my
hands, and change is not a choice.
As soon as I walk through my front door, I know something is
wrong.
My mum and Sean approach me, and if not for Sean’s happy
smile, I would be thinking someone died. My mum looks cheerful, but nervous, as
she comes to stand next to me, putting her arm across my shoulders
reassuringly.
Then the radiant, happy smile fades from my face, as my
world crashes to my feet.
Sean announces with great excitement, “We are moving.”
I look at him shocked. “Where?” I feel my mum’s hand on my
shoulder tighten encouragingly.
“To Ireland,” he beams.
“When did this happen?” I ask in disbelief. This cannot be
happening to me. Not now. Not today.
“Your mum and I have been discussing it for a while, and we
made the decision last week. I have made a few phone calls, and everything just
fell into place as if it was all meant to be.”
I feel fear push up in my chest, from the immense
despondency suddenly filling me like a flash flood, permeating every cell in my
body. I move away from my mum, mumbling, “I am going to my room. Homework.”
Moving away from my mum, I feel her hand drop from my
shoulders. I sense she wants to say something. Something to encourage me, to
motivate me, but I do not want to hear what she has to say.
I need to be alone.
As I climb the stairs to my room, thoughts rush through my
mind: we are moving not just house or city, but country.
Sean has Irish ancestors, and his great, extremely great
grandfather was a lord of some importance about a million years ago.
Unfortunately, being the only son, he inherited an apparent manor in the west
of Ireland from his dad last year. A house that has been in his family since
the time of this great grandfather and this is where we will be moving to now.
In the weeks that follow, I start having the strangest
dreams. My friend, Rebecca, says it is my subconscious trying to prepare me for
the future.
Although I try to hold onto these dreams, to try and make
sense of them, they escape my mind as fast as water down a blocked drain. They
linger for a few days at the back of my mind, and then they melt away,
forgotten.
In my first dream, I am dressed in a funny medieval kind of
dress and my hair is tied up in twisting braids on top of my head. I am crying
despondently. The sobs shudder through my body until I become aware of someone
watching me. I look up, but I do not recognise the boy looking down at me. He
has dark curly hair, intense blue eyes, and his lips match his rosy cheeks
perfectly. He has the face of an angel. Looking up at him, I feel a sense of
peace settle over me.
I sob, “Who are you?”
“Devlin.” He says casually as if I should know who he is.
“What do you want?”
He does not reply, but he sits down onto the fallen tree
trunk beside me, while looking at me sympathetically.
I continue crying, dropping my face into my upturned palms,
while he sits next to me in silence.
After a while I look up at him, with red-rimmed eyes, and
say, “It’s just not fair, you know.”
He looks back at me solemnly.
“I am my da’s only daughter and he always told me to be
independent in a world where women are second-rated, so I cannot understand why
he is doing this.” I glance at him, wondering how much I can say, but then I
decide I just do not care who he tells. The whole world needs to know the
injustice of what is being done to me. “He only wants to further his own
aspirations of being more important than what he actually is.”
