"It is not the strongest or the most intelligent who will survive but those who can best manage change." -Charles Darwin

Contentment is the inseparable companion of ignorance. 

I was undoubtedly content with where I was, where I lived, and where I planned to be.  As a self-acclaimed perfectionist, I had my entire life plan written in fine print.  After finishing my studies, I would become a volunteer medic, eventually finding solace in helping others.  I'd hopefully find someone along the way, and if not, I could survive. 

It was simple

It was right.

But all good things seem to come to an unexpected end. 

***

There's been an avalanche in my house.

Not that there's any snow around where I live, but from the mountains of cardboard boxes strewn around the living room, I'm convinced some sort of natural disaster has occurred.  The couches have been pushed to a corner, as if the boxes needed any more space to conquer.

"Lia."  I whip my head around to see my brother standing at the threshold of the front door, his hands full with—who would've guessed—more boxes.  Just as I'm about to throw a string of questions at him, he slides past me, placing the box down on a dangerously lopsided stack of boxes.

"Chase," I call out my brother's name, making an effort to stand directly in front of him.  "What's going on?  What's with the boxes?  Are we moving?  Oh my God, who went through my underwear drawer and put them in here?"

My face flames red as I unceremoniously scramble to close the box of underwear, as if blocking the view would erase the torment that is revealing your wide assortment of undergarments to your brother.

"Calm down, Lia." Chase places his hands on my shoulders and steers me to the most barren corner of the living room.  He takes a moment to let me even out my breathing.  "We're moving."

My breathing becomes erratic again.

"Moving?"  I practically scream as I momentarily lose all sense of civility and run around the room in a shocked frenzy.  Just as I'm about to mount one of the piles of boxes, Chase grabs my shoulders again, placing me back on the ground.

"There's...  No way we're moving," I pant, shrugging off Chase's hands from me.  "I'm having a terrible dream.  This isn't happening.  I mean, normal families would usually tell each other these things.  Like, hey Lia?  How are you?  How do you feel about moving from your childhood home?"

Chase attempts to add in a comment, but my insane babble continues relentlessly.

"I have a plan, Chase.  A plan that I've made for myself.  I have all these things I want to do.  And all of these things, Chase...  All of these things require me to stay here!"

Once again, Chase tries to interrupt, but I hold my hand up.

"Unless this is one of those things where we're moving across the street.  That wouldn't make any sense, but hell if I care.  I can adjust my plan to accommodate two doors down.  You have one of two options, Chase, if you consider your life to have any value:  Tell me I'm dreaming or that this is a joke.  Please."  I finally stop myself from talking in order to get his response.

"This isn't a joke," Chase responds, and after seeing my expectant look, he continues, "And you're not dreaming."

I'm about to run around the room in another frenzied sprint, but Chase puts his hand on the top of my head before I can move.  I muster my best death glare at him.  At this point, the only way I'll be able to recover from this god-awful news is if I run a few laps.  There's something divine about exercise.  It can help you go from murderous to exhausted in just a few minutes.

"Lia."  Another voice calls my name.  As I look toward the front door, I'm greeted with the image of my dad carrying another stack of those life-ruining boxes.

"Dad," My voice breaks as I run over to my father.  Maybe this'll make more sense if I talk to him.  "What's going on?"

After carefully setting his cargo down, my dad turns to me, his forehead creasing slightly like it always does when he's deep in thought.  I wait patiently for him to say something substantial to me.  So far, I'm unconvinced by this random "we're moving" crap my brother is selling me.  There's no way in hell that my father would go for surprising me like this.  He knows I hate surprises.

"We're moving," He states after careful deliberation.  I gape at him silently, waiting for him to continue, or say he's just pulled a sick joke, or maybe he's even decided to renovate the house for no reason.  But he just stands there, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he watches me intently.

Mayhem.  If there was an avalanche in the living room before, my thrashing, fury-ridden body is creating a tornado.  I don't feel the boxes topple over me one by one.  I don't feel somebody grab my shoulders, trying to shake me back to reality.  And I certainly don't feel streams of tears flowing down my face into an ugly mess.

Self-control is slipping through my fingers as I scream curses at my dad, all of which I don't truly mean, but at the time feel the need to express and a consolation to my aching heart.  Just as I'm muttering my last few hateful words at my father, I feel as if a heavy weight has suddenly been placed on my chest.  I begin to choke for air, my lungs burning in desperation, but all I get is utter and complete blackness.

***

"A light blue Victorian house with huge windows.  There doesn't need to be a view.  Just family.  And... contentment."

She smiles at me before gripping my hand firmly, as if afraid to let me go.

A light blue Victorian house with huge windows.  No view necessary.  Just family and contentment.

I wanted it, too.  I wanted to share that with her.  I wanted a lot of things, like many other children, but the frequent visits to the medic and repeated result of "fatal" with each blood test made me want different things.  I wanted simplicity.  I wanted to fulfill her promise.  I wanted it so badly that I was blind to her rapid loss of weight.  I didn't see her hands shake more often with every visit.  I didn't notice how her voice seemed to lose strength more and more.

I didn't want to notice.  But as long as she could only wish for her contentment, I could only remain attentive.  I watched as she slowly degenerated to something I couldn't bear to see.

But I did see.  On the last day that they allowed me to visit her, I reached out to hold her hand one more time, as she didn't have the strength to grip mine anymore.

I didn't notice her glazed stare.  I didn't notice her black fingertips.

I didn't notice the promise I had broken.