Friday, March 27, 2015It has been three days since I "ran-away".
Look, I know what you"re thinking.
"Wow, three days. You"re really a stubborn and so self-centered!" To that I say, "Yeah, you are absolutely right." For the past three days I have been exploring the little town. It"s shops, its beaches, its forest walking-trails, everything. I have been staying in a motel that charges fifty dollars night per person. And I never thanked the Lord so much for the three-hundred dollars I saved in 8th grade for a trip to Italy I never went on.
This town feels like it was trapped in the past.
From the diner that looks like it didn"t change it"s decor since the thirties, to most of the shops residing in Victorian beach homes. This town was quaint and peaceful, it held the sounds of the waves, and two women chatting about their lives, salt crunched under their shoes as they walked, the occasional chime of a bell that rang every-time someone entered the diner, and the meowing of a certain cat that wanted me to pet its caramel colored fur.
Despite my stubbornness, I truly love it here.
I sat in a booth as I eat my sandwich. I had taken a walk around the town this morning. My cheeks are red from cold and my ears are numb, but I"m happy. Well, I would be. If I didn"t know that I was still in the same predicament I left in. In fact, maybe even worse.
My aunt called me twelve times. She knows about my "little adventure" my parents probably told her. My mom and dad both called me at least fifty times, even Carrie called me, only once, but she still did. Guilt threatens to make me run back home into my mamma"s arms and beg her for forgiveness.
But I don"t do that. I"m not ready, I don"t have a solution for the problem I"ve created. Actually, I"ve been avoiding thinking about it all together.
"Well, it"s time you start thinking about it."
"You have to go home soon, everyone"s looking for you, they probably even called the police."
I lay my head on the dark-oak table and stare outside the window.
"Sorry" doesn"t fix anything. You have to put in effort to make all the wrongs right."
"What is wrong is that my family only have so much in common."
Blood, shelter, and our silence towards one another"s business.
I can"t fix anything but myself. But how does that guarantee that everyone else won"t stay the same.
The conversation I was having with myself wasn"t new. I"ve been having it since I was young. Laying in bed. Determined, that by being a "less needy child" I could bring happiness to my quiet family.
I"d do all the ch.o.r.es so my sister wouldn"t stay in her room.
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I would do my homework without asking for help so Mommy had time to make dinner.
I swore that I would stay extra quiet so that my Daddy wouldn"t have to work at the dinner table.
I went to work on my plan everyday.
At first, my grades plummeted. From to a D.
I scrubbed our bathroom until bleach fumes stung my eyes, and I was so quiet that my Dad forgot I existed.
The more I worked the more invisible I became to them. Everything I did to make them notice, made them completely blind to me trying to win their affection.
My grades began to rise slowly. I"ve gotten my first in months. No one cared. I learned not to put the white clothes in with the colorful ones. my sister still hated me for ruining her top in the last load. The only thing that changed was that I stopped calling my parents mommy and daddy.
I could only fix myself so much. The whole foundation was a mess and with that, I decided to stop.
I was not good enough.
I could only make sure there were no leftovers.
Reality sinks back in, I"m not there, I"m still in the diner watching the rain hit the gla.s.s panes. I slowly stand up.
"G.o.d, I"m such a crybaby."
I wipe my eyes with my scarf, pay bill, then leave.
I open the door and the bell jingles.
My mind wanders to the towns old theater. Today they are playing "Roman Holiday" I"ve only watched it once when I was young. Watching it again? That should be fun.
***