Being forced out of my escape-from-the-world room to go to some country half way around the world , wasn't really my idea of how I should spend my summer . but with mom and dad , there are no buts, ifs, or whys . I was going to Libya with my legs and hands tied together like a sacrifical lamb to the gods. Or that's how my dad put it. We were leaving on the 23th of June , at 6:30 A.M. I marked it on my calender as D-day. I spent every second i could in my room, with exception of going to the bathroom , was really the only time I left my room. I even ate in my room. Mom's constant naggging about it being unhealthy spending that much time in my room , and that I showed designs of depression, and bla bla bla . You all know how mothers/doctors can be.
The night before "D-Day" arrived , my mom walked in to see if I'd packed already. There were a pile of clothes in the corner in an open suitcase. As she always did , she started to make that annoyed sound all mothers make when their dissapointed. " tsk tsk tsk" .
" Hey , at least I packed ! "
My mother looked back one last time at the pile of clothes , moved her head-sideways in the disapproving way mothers do when their children lack discipline and left the room .
Having the weakness of always trying to please my mom , even though reluctantly , I staggered off my bed and dragged my feet across the room , and to the suitcase . Being the lazy person I am , taking the crumpled up clothes out of the suitcase and folding them neatly to be put back in again was a sheer miracle . With every shirt , pants , skirt , and any other piece of clothing that I folded , I became more and more depressed about leaving for Libya for the summer . What the hell was I going to do in Libya for god's sake ? Adopt their traditions and ways , and ride camels with burqa on to keep my complexion from burning and peeling off like an over-rippened tomato ? Or count how many grains of sand can I find in the Sahara Desert ?
When I finally was done folding everything , I slammed the suitcase shut , hoping the clasp would break off , and that would be my excuse not to travel . Yea right , they'd probably tell me to stuff everything in duffel bag and drag it along through the many airports we'd probably transit it . With thought in mind , my lack of any strength would bite me in the ass , cause God knows I can barely go up and down the stairs without panting like a stray dog .
Oh god , if only I hadn't slammed the suitcase so hard , the clasp wouldn't have broken wide open in Heathrow , and I would've never met...Killian.
