New Life: Chapter One

Tori Comes Alive

Victorious

I remember when I was a kid…my mom would pick the most beautiful flower she could find; sometimes from her garden, sometimes from the field, sometimes from a single stem growing on the beach, and she would put it in my hair before I went out to play. My hair was shorter then, and each curl was so thin and free. I heard Trina talking to Mom and Dad one day; she was saying how she remembered when I was an infant, and how she seemed to learn how to love. At night, she would tell me how I would wrap my little hand around her finger when I was in the crib; she would reach her arm through the wooden bars and touch my newborn head. She said she'd smile, and I'd smile back at her, and there was love. I don't think that ever went away. Mom and Dad let me see the videos of when they were teaching me to walk, teaching me how to stand on my own, teaching me how to ride a bike. I remember when I was eight, and my mother took me to ballet class. I loved it so much; I wanted every moment of my life to be ballet. When I'd get home, Trina would dance with me; she let me lean against her when I needed something firm, took my small hands in her own and let me spin in her trust, and held me close and tight when I needed her to. Daddy called me his little princess and kissed the crown of my head. Mommy helped me make my own dresses, then walked me though the fields, saying I belonged with the flowers and the kind wind.

Running after Trina and Daniel, Victoria laughed as her little legs carried her forward, her dress flowing with each step. The sun was so bright and warm. The sky was so perfect, so blue, and so free of flaws as the gentle wind cascaded over the land. Trina and Daniel giggled, then felt the little girl jump on them and send them rolling down a small hill. Landing atop a dreamlike patch of dandelions, the children watched the seeds blow away in the breeze like warm clouds of snow. Her mouth open in a wide smile, Victoria held her hands out into the air, and felt the seeds brush against her arms. Katrina and Daniel watched the innocence and love of the little girl, not yet able to understand what it was that made them smile with her.

When I turned thirteen, I asked to see the other videos. My mom said it was okay, so I sat down and watched; my mom was pregnant, and Trina and Dad were beside her, giving her support, and already loving the child inside of her. They were all so excited. Mom said she'd never experienced anything so wonderful since Trina was born. She lovingly cradled her stomach, whispering words of love and trust to the woman I would grow to be. At first, those videos didn't mean much to me.

As I got older, I changed; I stopped having fun. Started worrying about everything. My weight, how I looked to other people, my changing voice, my hair, wearing makeup; it was all piling up so fast. I didn't think I could take it, so I cried. School dragged on forever, and everyone noticed I wasn't the same happy little girl I used to be. Trina started growing quiet, and Daniel didn't come around as often. I brushed and cut my own hair. Mom was sad about that at first, but she said that she had to let me grow up.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Victoria stared at what was becoming her weary reflection with dull and dissatisfied eyes. The pure little face that once held such joy and trust and love, now grown and matured, sheltered fear, self-hatred, and dreariness. In the distance, the young woman's mother cried.

Not taking my eyes off my reflection, I yanked a pair of scissors out of the drawer, pulled my long curls down hard, and began cutting through them. Piece after piece; torn lock after lock, the strands of dark brown hair fell to the soft-pink floor. After what felt like an eternity, the cuts grew smaller and lighter as I trimmed the edges and my bangs. Running cold water over my head, I shot my head up out of the sink and saw myself; my dark hair was short; blade-like and clinging to my face and the back of my neck. Once my face and hair were dry, I slowly removed the spiny applicator from its container, and spiked out my upper lashes, coating them with black intensity. Then, I took a sharp lining pencil, and traced a teardrop shape around my eyes, darkening the flesh but bringing out something in my irises that I could never understand. There was life, light, and passion in those eyes. I didn't understand; they told me the eyes are the window to the soul. My soul, anymore, was so dead, so cold, and so…empty. How could my eyes say what they did? Was the connection to my soul separate from my eyes? Was I that bad? It was almost like a punishment for my irises to appear so beautiful when I was anything but on the inside.

Breaking away from my eyes, I laced my lips with black, nearly reflective lipstick. Stepping back, I looked at myself; the new image I now lived within. I still had bright, preppy clothes. I was going to have to ask Mom to get me something in black. Once I walked out of the bathroom, things changed; Mom was mad, and I heard her crying that night, Trina just started ignoring me, but Dad was furious. I heard him talking to Mom. He was saying I was losing it; not acting right. I didn't realize it at the time, but there was something forming between my father and I. It was a wall.

Mom forgave me, helped me pick out darker clothing, though she refused to buy anything purely black, lacey, or leather. That was fine, but something just wasn't right. I couldn't place it until afew years had passed. Dad, on the other hand, was quick to turn from kind to vicious. I would come to him with my worries and problems, and he scolded me; said my problems and worries were my fault. For awhile, I believed him. It was easy to beat myself up instead of trying to see a bright side. I didn't see any way to get better, but he didn't seem to care. Things happened; he made things harder on me. I don't know if that's what he was trying to do, but the scars are set. He let me down so many times, then I turned to my mom. Dad didn't like that. I still remember the day I told Mom I needed to talk to her in private, and Dad angrily followed me into the living room, told me Mom had enough to deal with, and that I should start coming to him. Mom heard him, told him he was wrong, and she never left me.

Tensions kept rising, though. Something I never noticed started to eat away at me; overlooking the horrible things he said, the secrets he betrayed and used against me in front of my family, the psychology appointments he manipulated, and the disgusted lectures he gave me, that hateful snarl in his voice hurt the most. There was so much anger, resentment, and hate in his voice when he talked to me. He despised me. It wasn't fair. Why didn't you help me, Dad? How could you blame me for what was making me cry?

Years later, Dad saved me. That was one of the only times. Trina came around later on, I got a hold of my life with new therapists and medication, and the undying love and patience of my mother, and I finally realized I wasn't as bad as I thought. Mom told me a story one day; she couldn't get through it without crying, but she told me everything: She said she remembered when I was a child. I was so happy, willing to smile, and carefree. Then, she told me about how I changed; how I was miserable and upset all the time, and that wasn't her Tori. I'm back now. I don't hear her cry, and I think I'm done mourning the life I didn't have, and could start focusing on actually living.

I started at Hollywood Arts in the middle of my freshman year of high school. Trina had been going there for about two years, but when she got sick before a big show, they asked me to stand in. I'd had some experience writing songs and poems, but performing was terrifying. But once I got onto the stage, took in the lights and the expressions of the audience, and heard the music start to blare, I felt a change. I was in love with singing, and the people begged for more. Backstage, one of Trina's friends, Andre' Harris, helped me get ready. To this day, I still owe him for helping me start all this. When the audience went crazy, he even played the music for a song I was forced to make up on the spot. The next week, I started class at Hollywood Arts, met back up with Andre', bumped into my future best friend, Cat Valentine and her friends, Jade and Beck. Pretty soon, Andre's friend, Robbie and his dummy, Rex, joined the group. We graduated, got jobs, and separated. However, Cat and I stayed close. We moved into an apartment near HA, and worked our way into college. Pretty soon, we started looking for gigs. Cat didn't have much luck, and decided to just focus on school. I took another route when I was discovered by a small-time agent. I started performing around town, then the ultimate miracle hit me; I was offered the spotlight in a one-night acoustic concert. I jumped at the opportunity; something I still think Cat secretly resents me for. After an unscheduled five-hour performance, I saw my name in lights.

Now, I'm writing the last song for my show in a couple of days. After that, I'm taking the first plane to Japan for the first act of my world tour. I begged Cat to come with me, but she couldn't leave her classes. She told me she loved me, wished me well, and walked me out to my car the night of the show. She said this had to be our goodbye, but that she'd always remember me as a friend. I made her the same promise, then drove into the heart of the city without looking back.

The show was a complete success. For the first time, I cried on stage. Then, Beck met me at the airport. He and Jade had been broken up for several months, and he needed a friend. I kissed him for the first time, and he told me he'd meet me in London. I still don't know if he's coming. I'm writing a letter to Cat right now. I just finished Trina's and Mom's. Dad and I haven't spoken for years, but I can't go back to how things were. My last letters are to Andre' and Jade. Robbie and I fell out of contact awhile back, and I told Beck he'd get my message when he met me. There's five shows coming up, then I'm flying to Colorado for a week, headed back to Europe Sunday morning.

After several years of performing, Victoria Vega and Beck Oliver made their relationship known to the public. The two spent five years madly in love. Now, things were calming back down; reflecting how things used to be.

I'm going back to Los Angeles in afew days. Jade, Cat, Trina, and Andre' are meeting me outside Hollywood Arts. It's funny; they say the best part of a journey is the journey itself, but I think it's really looking back on everything once you're back home. I don't know what's coming next, but I've learned not to be afraid of the future. And if I'm going to spend the future with my old friends, I can't think of a better way to live.