I cannot look to you without reminding myself of all the pain and confusion I’ve caused you. I know that it isn’t your fault that you are here but…just, dammit I wish you wasn’t.
Lisa is stifled by tears, overwhelming her body and her will to write. Pen and paper on the dining table, now smudged with blued-black ink. Her sweater sleeved used as a napkin to wipe tears of fear and frustration. What does she write? Littering the pages with the fear of judgment that may implore her with questions of ‘why?’ She may regret this letter written she thinks. She sobs in tears. A letter to her secret child, wanting forgiveness. What is there to forgive? She had left her secret child confused and abandoned.
I tried my best but this thing, this relationship I cannot do. At least not now, I mean that I need time to learn how to love what I hated and blamed for so long.
Lisa takes a pause, a deep breath, while wiping away tears as she confesses:
See I wanted mom to take you away. If she could not do it, I wanted to take it away myself. I spent those months with you, inside of me, causing pain. The pain so unbearable sometimes that I even contemplated suicide. Not just to take my own life, but yours too-the subject of my pain and discomfort. I wanted you out, right then, taking pills if I could. Drinking what I was not allowed to drink. You have to understand the mental anguish you see, draining every bit of my… ‘soul’- I don’t know how else to word it. But now I look to you and see everything that is sweet and beautiful.
Trembling now as she writes the last words-to each written word turned into a sentence. With every letter revealing her cruelty, misplace blame and hatred on a child innocent. A child that did not ask to be, but has become something quite pleasing to the vision, quite pleasant to hear. How can she shatter the perfection? This now young woman, almost, face crumbling due to disappointment and a product of family shame. But her secret child needs to know the truth, to then understand that though it hurts, it is a story called life. Here in this story exist no person perfect; no feeling of emotion provided the correct course of action. These emotions written are matters of the heart and as it is sensitive, prone to cause more harm and trouble, it has every right to be read aloud.
JR pushes the clothes on the rack in excitement. Her first day as a senior, last road trip as a teenager. Where does she go? Pursuing her dreams in ‘Cali’, hoping to be something more like a national icon. She has the beauty and the smarts, well, we know that her beauty will take her far.
Turning to mom, asking for advice on the color, size and style of her crop top or off the shoulder look for the first day. Mom disapproving of new generation, but yields, pretty baby will get her way. Anything for her she supposes, not that she is treated any differently from the other girls. Dad walks up from behind to ask mom for the keys. He had left his wallet in the truck and thought to bring it round to the front. To sit and wait per usual, or whenever they were satisfied, purchased and ready. Mom hands the keys over, without turning, from her purse. Dad leans in for a nudge or something. Stepping away to the side-she’s too busy for an affectionate touch. She’s really trying to monitor and parent poor, almost raunchy styles.
Time for a break.
Lisa scoots back her chair, stands up to enter the kitchen for a drink. Who cares if she counts one more day of sobriety. A moment of afterthought, she grabs the juice. Closes the fridge, walk and sip. Where to go back to? She enters the dining room again, yet walks past the paper and pen. She is need of rest for her mind. Into the kitchen again for a tall glass and some ice. A preference for chilled juices. Walks into the living area for the television.
A wonder the imagination can be-but nothing remotely interesting today or any other day. Plopped down on the sofa, relaxed, frustratingly pointing the remote every which way for recognition.
“Ugh, turn dammit” Sport clips, baby mama drama; bored to death wealthy people constantly in drama…Oh, scientific discoveries or the classics?
Too much time to think, too much on the mind. Lisa chose the classics.
Mr. Grant thinking he was fine as ever. Who is this? Another damsel or dame? Never mind, the characters were well dressed, naturally rehearsed. The music and time presenting something fine and delicate during all the shit storm going on then.
Her mind, where is her mind? Stop. Her mind clouded with thoughts of her, then thoughts of she. What and where? How come this and why not that? Her mind running through every obsessive thought of what cannot ever become altered through introduction, or intervention. Stop.
She calls twin from her room.
She’s probably hungry.
Not every story is about emotional devastation, yet these are the stories that make for good, or rather decent, writing. What more relatable than the topic of love, anger, or something so emotionally devastating to cause a person the imagination of wrenching out a bleeding heart forever pumping and gushing for familiar continuity.
Like a nasty break up:
Heart in anger- a contest to prove who was better in stating the same concern over again. Passionate anger now, to hear the other out. Love, the two will speak of it in different languages it seems. Love spinning around and round again in a room. Dizziness follows as the two contested are falling out of breath, out of words to express more of what will be left misunderstood. This exhaustion clinging for understanding-begging and pleading for affection, or really to be heard.
What have they produced instead? A tormented child caught between two extremities of the words love and hate. Twin, too abandoned and forgotten. Left isolated at so young of an age that she fell into silence. A deafening silence for whenever she enters the room. Slow, mechanical like walk to and from where she is called. To and from and where she may go, to walk aimlessly at night in the woods. Where does she go and for how long? No one knows. Lisa knows she is troubled, so let her be…she understands.
Lisa makes lunch for Twin, something simple as she’s unable to voice her thoughts. Fried egg hard seasoned with salt and pepper, slice of ham, tomatoes and olive mayo spread between two whole grain slices. Perhaps some chips around the plate and juice as well.