It was now bright as could be. My antique blacken curtains were now opened up wide. It was morning, maybe the afternoon. I could not tell. I did not want to get up. I was so comfortably put in my king size bed, but I could feel the day calling me. Straightening my body out, I grabbed my robe and heading to the bathroom. The tiled floor was freezing; I must’ve forgotten to light the furnace last night, because the heat was not working correctly.
All of a sudden I catch myself staring at my reflection. So secretive, so well hidden, I couldn’t even see the dishonesty that now covered the reality. Wishing that it would change just like that? But I knew it wouldn’t. I understood that, but what I didn’t understand was why me? Why did this unordinary event have to happen to me? Hideous, disgusting, is who Maya was. Not the little girl that would to swing on the swing set out back, making sand castles in the sand box. The girl who had hopes and dreams to becoming a beautiful princess, no longer strived for life, no longer cared to breathe.
I twisted away from the mirror. Staring at the wall that seemed so much closer, tears swamped my eyes. Truthfully, it felt superior to allow it out. Then I heard Michael below. Rushing to collect myself, I stroll out to the bedroom, noticing that the door was formerly opened, making me obligated to go downstairs.
The house that I live in was about fifty years old by now, so every motion that is created is heard. So it didn’t do me any good but trying to tiptoe downward the staircase. I shifted my entire body towards the fresh fragrances of the kitchen, seeing Michael upright near the stovetop, mixing some kind of ingredients in with each other. Right when you walk into the broad opening you can catch a glimpse of the woodland, such a stunning view. Only if everything looked as that did, life would be more uplifting.
Michael moves awfully slowly around the house, maybe because he is misplaced. However that’s all right. It’s his first occasion of being in my residence. I come up behind him by the sink, and cover my arms around him. He turns and faces me. He is attractive; caramel skin, golden eyes, juicy lips, and waves in his hair. His body is well built. Whenever we are next to one another I think I am petite.
“Good morning Maya,” Michael spoke. Placing his hands on my face and pulling my lips to his for a sugary, gentle kiss. It takes my breath away for a second, but I recover. Then he laughs. Did I mess it up?
“Why are you laughing at me?” I yelled.
“You constantly appear scared when we kiss babe, why?”
“Oh, I never noticed. But I am not scared babe; you just every so often make me tense.”
“Maya, I’m sorry. If you don’t want to be with me, man let me know.”
“What? I would never leave you Michael. I love you too much to just say f*** you.”
“I love you too and I know you wouldn’t. But listen you need to start talking to me about s*** that is bothering you or I will never know what is going on.” He was serious. Those words haunted me. A lot of s*** was bothering me. But he couldn’t handle the truth, I couldn’t even handle it. Without responding to him, I cuddled to him.
That’s how you dodge that. Michael then stepped away from me, only to stir the food that was now in the process of cooking.
“What are you making?” I wasn’t necessary hungry, but a healthy breakfast, or any type of food would help me with some energy right now.
“This is something my ma showed me how to cook it’s called Asparagus egg omelet. But I’ma make some French toast too though, to go with it”
“Yummy! I can’t wait to try it!” my enthusiasm sounds fake. What the f*** is wrong with me. I place myself upon the stool at the dinner room table. I stare at Michael. He smiles at me so I automatically make it look like I wasn’t looking at him.
The atmosphere is silent. All you can hear is the sizzle of the frying pan. I get up and make a cup of coffee. Maybe a little bit of caffeine will help me get energized. S***. I think to myself. I forgot about those pills that I had put away upstairs. Oh f*** it. I couldn’t bare to be high around Michael. He cares too much and would take it to the extremes of calling someone about it and then oops look at me; I would be in some kind of rehab. So I tried to relax.
It was now around one in the afternoon. Michael left to go to work. So I decided to clean up the house. It wasn’t that dirty, but why would it be. I was the only one home. Always. It didn’t bother me that much though. Being alone is useful. You get to think about stuff without people bitching about their existences. People really take s*** for granted these days. I would love to be normal. A girl that didn’t have a scar on her heart, this kind of scar that does heal over night, a beautiful life. Instead I hurt every day.
No one knows. I don’t even think anyone assumes that I am in pain. I walk around this world like everything is perfect. A well played masquerade. You just have to laugh it off, that’s how I deal with it.
Comfortably put in my own misery, I lay down on the teal colored futon and cover myself with a knitted cotton quilt that my grandma gave me when I was five years old. I never got rid of it. It grew on to me, then she passed on and I couldn’t even think about throwing this out. My grandma was a strong woman, just like my mom. They believed family came first. My mom never went without the accessories that were needed in life. I didn’t get to witness that kind of things. My mom has been in a treatment home. She had a cocaine addiction. I remember seeing her walking out the house when I was only nine years old. It made me mad. These people were taking my mother away from me. I didn’t understand back then. As years went by, I slowly adjusted to being with my dad. An excellent father, he is. In no way do I ever have to ask him for anything, only I ask him is to never mention mom. With that one rule, our relationship is wonderful. Best friends.
All of a sudden the phone starts to make music. I let it ring twice before I answered it.
“Hello.” I spoke kind of loudly.
“Maya is everything okay there?” my father asked.
“Yea. I mean why wouldn’t it be?”
“Okay. I won’t be home for a couple of more weeks. They are sending me to an out state business meeting.”
“Ummm, okay, I guess. Well call me when you get there. I might go somewhere but I am not sure. I think Michael is going to keep me company for a week so you won’t have to worry about me.”
“Okay dear. I love you. Talk to you later.” I pressed the phone on the hook.
Was abandonment the right word for this type of behavior performed by parents? I’m not quite sure. Hopefully not, but then again, I guess it couldn’t mean that, because I am fully capable of taking care of myself. Maybe I’m the one abandoning myself, because lately I have not been the same as before. Like A fragile piece of art work that breaks easily when tempered with. Putting an original back together did not make the picture the equivalent, a slight deformation, a little diverse. You can see that it was not unmarked paint or paper; you can see where it was broken at. But deep within, you recognize that it is still a genuine masterpiece no matter how many scratches and injured edges.
I, Maya, was a tour de force.
I settled back down into the futon. To anxious to wait for him walk through the door, I texted him.
Babe when do you think you’ll be back?
This was unusual for me to feel. I’m a lightweight at the gushy love thingy; easy for me to fall, hard for me to get back up. But no, I insisted to do it. Forgetting my morals, my standards, and my wisdom. My phone started to vibrate. He responded.
Umm, prolly ‘round 5.
That is a couple of hours from now. I had nothing to do but sit here. Boredom wasted most of my life which was absolutely fine with me. No biggie. But then again, I need to get my ass out of this house. Maybe hang with friends or go to the movies. Consequences are I have recently diagnosed myself with anti-social. Symptoms being; lost interest, self-center, scared anxiety. Side effects; no friends, self-destruction, and being called lame. Treatment/Medicine; being silent. So far I have overdosed on the medicine and became so addicted that I know longer have vocabulary or a voice.
Speaking was easy though. But I didn’t like the activity. I was no good at it. So listening is what I became fond to. As long as you nod your head, look interested, people will never know. It’s not that I’m a stuck up brat that thinks she doesn’t need to communicate, it’s because I am scared. I’m scared that one day I will pronounce a couple of words that will not be understood or took seriously. Or the weight of each letter in each word will be too heavy for people to deal with. It isn’t something you share with everyone. You keep those types of memories, or bad experiences in your head. Nowhere else.
My eyes shift to the window. The wind is growing larger. Snow blowing anywhere that it can stick. I personally favor winter, not so much the holidays, but winter itself is amazing. The plantation undergoes a transformation. All the blossoms and leaves are frozen still, letting time take care of them; they were resting, resting from life. A white wonderland was right in front of my house. No footprints were in sight. There are waves in the snowfall; the wind was moving in a slow motion, picking up bits and pieces of the snow and shifting them. The sight begun to burn my eyes, the land was reflected by the sun, giving it a shine. So I turn away from the window.
Christmas was right around the corner and that meant cheesy get together with people you really cannot stand but somehow you manage to get along with everyone that day. My family has a tradition that keeps going year to year; my Aunt Louise and Uncle Antonio from New Jersey come with their children Antonia and Luke. Antonia and I are really close. She comes to Chicago every summer to spend time with me. She is the only one that has been there during everything in my life. I can’t wait for her to visit. With just ten more days until Christmas, I know I don’t have that long.