Home
The warm air envelops me as blissful smell of spring greets
my senses. The school bells chime and I am hit with the feeling dread of
knowing that only isolation is yet to come. 3:05. Home time.
Day by day my walks home have gradually slowed down meaning
my happiness will be extended. Euphoria runs through my veins as I frolic,
feeling the cool soft wind through my hair and hearing the clatter of my thick
leather school shoes on the pavement. The freshly cutgrass, the fragrant roses,
the splash of the sprinklers on my bare calves, I wish I could wander forever.
From a distance I hear the cry of children. My feet begin
to swerve as I turn toward the park. Crunches of breaking sticks and crumbling
leaves direct me to a series of youngsters, flying high on swings and dropping
down on slides.
I sit, for a bit, on a splintered, graffiti infested chair
all weary and black. A man catches my eye with his darling little girl decked
in a red tartan dress and pigtails aged around 5.
She grins graciously as her father holds her tiny palms
tightly. On a short stonewall he lifts her, telling her “spread your wings and
fly!” If she were to fall he will be there. She reaches the end and with a
jump, he catches her and holds her above his head. “I’m flying daddy!” she
exclaims with a joyous laughter. Without a moment I zip home.
My hands shake and my chest have some sort of ache, feeling
the anxiety raise I take short abrupt breaths to somehow calm down. Aimlessly
walking I feel my throat turn into saw dust; somehow I am outside the door, my
door.
Once I drop myself on the couch I freeze, remising about
what I saw in a cycle of emotion, downing in envy, my wide eyes begin to sting
but nothing happens. I am paralysed in
this plight of angst and anxiety, and I can’t even shed a tear.
Hours pass and I remain still until a jingle of keys snap
me out of whatever I was in.
“Did you eat anything yet.” He scolds, not even a question
in a tone nowhere near friendly. Not even a hello, not even hi.
“What the hell are you doing?” he continued in voice which
stabs you in the heart a million times over, making you feel worthless “lazy
girl, get changed! Why are you still in your uniform, goddammit you do nothing
all day!”
His mutters and complaints are ongoing as I rush up the stairs
and change into my pyjamas. Coming back downstairs in no time I stare into the
dark silence “Dad?”
He left. He’s gone, like always, not even a goodbye.
Slowly I drift back into my cold mattress and I watch my
ceiling. So alone. So numb. The horrible, neglectful, lonesome, loneliness
concave my body like hard cold waves on the prickly, invasive sand.
A loud thump wakes me up, he is home, and the stale drench
of alcohol fill my nose, as his loud heavy footsteps count each step, sounds of
hesitation and confusion are outside my door. My heart races.
My door swings open and I quickly bury myself under the
sheet, I revert back to my childhood, thinking of a monster trying to get to me
but can’t reach me with this blanket on my head. But deep inside I know otherwise.
My bed tilts as his radiating warmth is
by my feet, I don’t react, I try and keep deep breathes although I’m almost
shaking. His hand is on my foot and my heart races ten times faster, then I
hear him slur.
“I'm sorry,” he mutters through drunken lips “I wish I can
be a better father, but you don’t really get lessons do you? My beautiful
little girl I’m sorry”
He shuffles and gives me a kiss on my head and head back to
his room.
I cant help but smile and the tears come naturally.