Jan 2018
She sits in a wooden chair in the study of her grandfathers master bedroom. Even at 19 her feet barely touch the emerald green carpet. She has always been small. Her growth halted at 12, reaching her final height by 7th grade. She curls her toes into the carpet. It feels soiled and stiff from dog *****. A testament to her grandpa not moving well enough to take the dog out. His room is the only room with a carpet because of this fact.
The house is quite. Everyone else went out to dinner, probably happier that she stayed home. Her defeated posture speaks volumes. She stares at little specks of dust dancing around on unseen currents but not really seeing anything. Her mind used to be her safe place but even that has turned against her.
"Why do you act like such a baby?" reverberates like a ripple through her. Words spoken at another time but still holding space within her, trapped in her cells. She sighs heavily. She knows the chorus is about to begin. Once it starts it builds on itself, trying to overtake her very essence.
"Why can't you be more like your sisters?" "We are all tired of seeing your sad face. If you can't smile and be happy then stay in your room." The momentum builds, the words begin to crescendo, joined by scoffs, eye rolls, and sighs that always make her feel like she is impossible to love.
With each sigh her stature shrinks, slowly pulling herself inward. Tears form and want to fall but she refuses. She has already cried too many. Crying is associated as weakness and for as sad as she is, she is just as determined. These two emotions she knows well. Over the last 7 years they have slowly coalesced into anger.
Anger and pain her constant companions. She is too young to understand why the anger has taken root and yet clings to it and wears it as a shield. It protects her but also does not allow the ghosts of the chorus out. She has often thought about suicide but her determined nature will not allow others to win. And so she sits in a nesting doll of invisible cages that she feels but cannot see.
She is startled by voices. Her family returning, filling the house with chatter and laughter, and once again she disappears.
The house is quite. Everyone else went out to dinner, probably happier that she stayed home. Her defeated posture speaks volumes. She stares at little specks of dust dancing around on unseen currents but not really seeing anything. Her mind used to be her safe place but even that has turned against her.
"Why do you act like such a baby?" reverberates like a ripple through her. Words spoken at another time but still holding space within her, trapped in her cells. She sighs heavily. She knows the chorus is about to begin. Once it starts it builds on itself, trying to overtake her very essence.
"Why can't you be more like your sisters?" "We are all tired of seeing your sad face. If you can't smile and be happy then stay in your room." The momentum builds, the words begin to crescendo, joined by scoffs, eye rolls, and sighs that always make her feel like she is impossible to love.
With each sigh her stature shrinks, slowly pulling herself inward. Tears form and want to fall but she refuses. She has already cried too many. Crying is associated as weakness and for as sad as she is, she is just as determined. These two emotions she knows well. Over the last 7 years they have slowly coalesced into anger.
Anger and pain her constant companions. She is too young to understand why the anger has taken root and yet clings to it and wears it as a shield. It protects her but also does not allow the ghosts of the chorus out. She has often thought about suicide but her determined nature will not allow others to win. And so she sits in a nesting doll of invisible cages that she feels but cannot see.
She is startled by voices. Her family returning, filling the house with chatter and laughter, and once again she disappears.
Short story from bygone days
