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She seems upset at first, frustrated as if I just can't see things the way she does. And maybe she's right? Maybe I just can't because our upbringings were so different, because we were raised and trained so differently. But when she yells, something in me snaps and before I know it, I'm yelling too and instead of her retaliating as I thought she might, she actually seems brighter, as if this is the reaction she was looking for. My ears flicker uncertainly. Then she tells me that she doesn't have to like my answer and I scowl. But after a minute of contemplation, I decide that she's right. I can't make her like my answers. As I spread my legs and use the stance she taught me, she nods and tells me that if my throat is grabbed, I'm dead. I gulp but find myself nodding. "Okay, don't let her get my throat. Got it." I repeat to make sure she knows I was listening. Then she starts going over tactics, telling me how to bluff and go for the opposite of what I'm acting like I'm aiming for. At first it's all very confusing and awkward and I trip over my own feet trying to change my aim mid stride but after a few tries, I think I'm getting better, my moves more graceful, smoother. I practice and practice until she tells me to take a seat. I do so with a huff of breath, feeling a little satisfied with myself for my accomplishments. I smile and nod to her question. "Of course. I need to go back. She has to talk to me. She's all the family I have left." My voice quiets on the last sentence, my gaze dropping to the ground in sadness. Yes, she's all I've got left. It's not like I made a lot of friends growing up. There was Octavia but she's all grown up now and has a life and friends of her own. I'm going to have to grow up and find friends of my own, I guess. Tristan.male.6 years old.son of |