Sophia’s Story

***The title of my book won’t be “Sophia’s Story.” But for now, I’m not ready to share the title I’m leaning towards. Maybe when I’m done, I’ll have a better idea if its really going to fit. Does that make sense? Hope so…it’s all I got for now. So I hope you enjoy the opening chapter. It needs some tweaking and editing, but I wanted to share something with you. Let me know what you think.***

Slamming the door behind her, Sophia threw the messenger bag on the floor, took a deep breath and caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. The reflection looked like a stranger. A thin, tired looking young woman with dark circles under her eyes stared back with a look of accusation on her face. Sophia could have sworn she heard the stranger say something snarky like,

“This is what you get when you don’t take care of yourself.”

The voice, oddly enough, sounded a whole lot like her mom’s. Between midterms, deadlines, part-time job and study, the number of hours left for sleep sounded better if you said them in minutes. God, she wished there were more hours in the day – said almost everyone at some point in their lives. So, until she learned how to stop time, slow it down or add to it, burning the candle at both ends allowed her to check off her ever growing “to-do” list. 

She yanked the boots off that had been cramping her toes all day and rubbed her feet. Jacket, scarf, and beanie came next. Grinning at the beanie with the crazy wild colors, Sophia thought of her little sister, Hannah. Last year, the family had decided there would be no store-bought gifts for Christmas. Only homemade. Hannah took a knitting class all summer just to prepare. Everyone in the family received a knitted beanie, slippers or a throw blanket. That’s her baby sister for ya. Sophia’s homemade gift to her sister was a coffee mug she made at one of those pottery “do-it-yourself” stores. She painted Hannah’s name on the front, and as an inside joke, she wrote “Nancy Drew” on the back.  

Sophia freed her hair from the braid that had kept it bound all day and swore she heard a heart-felt “thank you” from the mahogany colored curls. Her mom always called it her “glory” but Sophia had a few other choice names for her hair and “glory” wasn’t one of them.

Her friends called her lucky to have such a ” lovely head of curls.” But Sophia remembers praying for straight, boring hair. Now that she had matured a little, the memory of her mom working tirelessly on her hair every morning before school made Sophia realize something. Joy can be found in the simplest of rituals. Along with the pain from knots and tugs,  Sophia learned about the adventures that her mom had when she was a young girl. Sophia could never wish that time away. 

“Your nana did not have one ounce of creativity for hairstyles. A ponytail or pigtails were the only two choices I had. On Sundays, I got a bow in my hair! So you should be grateful that I love trying new things with yours.” Sophia remembered that day as clear as if it happened this morning. Sophia learned that her mom had been somewhat of a tomboy growing up. She had to wonder how long that bow stayed in her hair on Sundays!

Sophia realized that even though she was 22 years old, a Junior in college and 3,000 miles away from home, she still felt far from being all “grown up.” Determined to follow her dream, she knew there’d be sacrifices along the way. Missing her family made it to the top of that list. Not an unusual story by any standards, but it belonged to her. Her pages to fill with experiences both good and bad. Her nana would call it, the joy of the journey. “No matter what happened in the past, my sweet girl, today is a clean slate. So get ready.”

The phone rang in the other room and jarred her back to the present and out of her nostalgic moment. Sophia prayed that she’d be ready for whatever lay ahead.