The Struggle of being different
"Reach into that deep freezer and pull out some steaks for dinner", was the solution for any problem at our house. Go get some meat and we will have a feast and talk this through. There wasn't anything to talk through. I was going to college in New Hampshire and that was that. I worked really hard to get there, my norm id to be part of a pod. To have individuality for once in my life and not be counted as the just one of the "Griffin Girls" was the goal. It wasn't bad to be counted as one of them. I looked like them, I dressed like them, I sometimes talk like them but my mind raced everyday with thoughts of my own and no one cared to ask me who I was as an individual, not once. Father was so pleased that they all got into college and so close and wondered why I chose to move far away. Did we do something wrong? Was your childhood not loving? The neighbors, the friends, the holidays, the birthdays, the trips out of town(which we stayed in the house for every year) was that not good enough for you? Everyone else seems to love the life we have given them, why not you? Of course they would never say anything like this to me, they would just ask lots of questions to change my mind towards what they wanted. No one ever asked what I wanted or who I wanted to be, no one. Mother sang when she cooked in the kitchen, I loved it. Hearing her voice was a sign that God had favorites. She would smile really big and wink at one of us as if she knew this secret, we were all too happy to try to figure it out. Perfectly dressed, hair quaffed, shoes sparkling and not a bad word uttered about anyone ever. My mother was a saint. My parents must have had a very hard life before this because they never speak of it. We know our family's history but we haven't met any of them. We know how we got to the states after the war, who was lost, who made it through the dust and who came out smelling the best yet there was no mention of a visit to see any of these people. I wondered what happened to them. I wondered if we would ever meet them. I wondered if it was all a lie to keep us safe but from what?
Em set the table, Sacha made flower arrangements and I helped put the food on the table just like always. We would sit down and have grace before eating, tradition. Giving thanks to a God who never answers your prayers or pays attention to the death and carnage that this world sees; God isn't high priority after you realize it doesn't exist but you put on airs so that you don't upset the natives. I half ass close my eyes watching everyone get into this praying thing with all of their might." No one is listening", I want to tell them but what difference would that make? They have already drank the kool-ade. Once the ritual ends we get to eat, not today. Today we have the discussion about why I am leaving to New Hampshire for school when there are perfectly good schools in our town. Questions and hurt feelings flying about the dinner table made the food taste less than wonderful. No one noticed I began eating without them. The barrage of blame coasting from parent to parent charged with loving anger separated by parted smiles. I stopped eating. I watched them argue about me as if I wasn't even there. They had suggestion towards behaviors, upbringing unsupported, faculty which played a small part in the why yet no one asked me. Em speculated that it was her fault for not being the big sister she could have been all these years. Sacha said it could be the boy I have been hanging around with this last year at lunch. Father shoved his fists into the table so hard it interrupted all talking and shut down the noise in a flash. "You were talking to a boy everyday at lunch and you didn't tell us about him"? This is a crime in my family. Everything is shared no matter what. Em talks about her fashion buddies and how they plan to be on project runway someday to show off their wares. Sacha talks about her friends in the science department who want to find the cure for cancer or lupus or some pathology and win a pulitzer. I talk about how my teachers and their fascinating lives. We go on walks in the schoolyard and postulate life, love, happiness, war, genocide, birth, death and all things human and not human. We talk about the world and all its glory, splendor, the possibilities of life on other planets and how we would welcome them to our little circle of life, but I dare not tell anyone that part of our talks, private, individual and mine. I didn't talk about the boy because he was a close friend. We have been friends for over 6 years and no one knew about him till now, how did this happen? I was careful not to be too close to him or make him seem special but he was special. He was my everything, not in a sexual way. He has traveled to many places and seen so much , I wanted to be him, I wanted his reckless life. My life was packaged, stamped and store bought for stepford wives in an unrealistic plastic way. Mother and Father kissed and hugged without one argument. My sisters didn't have a disagreement, they have spirited conversation which ended in them hugging that shit out, who does that?! I was the weird one who wanted to taste life, feel it's broken back upon my idle hands and breathe it's filth deep into my lungs for the fight I have never been introduced. I have been coddled all my life and all I wanted was a piece of this life that was mine and mine alone. no one asked me what I wanted, no one asked me who I wanted to be, no one asked me anything. Father glared in my direction but I wasn't there, confusion set in and the family began to eat in silence for the first time in our history. I literally walked away from a small table which held my family who are suppose to love me and know me inside and out. No one noticed I was gone or had eaten without them, except Father. He saw me leave, said nothing. Father led a new conversation to avoid conflict about my departure. Magic, my Father. No one challenged him. No one asked why it just was.
I was greeted by my Father after dinner on my way to brush my teeth; he says the most intelligent things sometimes. "You can go where ever you want to go in this life or the next. You are not a prisoner in this house or to this family. But, why kitten( my name when my Father gets serious), why do you want to go so far away"? I simply said,"Em has a place here in town that accepts her with open arms and no matter what she does, she will always be the favorite. Sacha is the brains of this family and it wouldn't matter where she went because she is that keen on her subjects like a bloodhound". "What about you", Father asks, "What about you my sweet girl"? I could only say this through warm wet eyes and perched lips, heart beating like a bat out of hell with gasoline drawls, " I feel deeply". I turned on my heel and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me softly. I could only imagine his face and disappointment which made me cry a bit more. At that moment, Father knew I would not change my mind. Father's chest heaved big gulps of air into his lungs gathering his composure in front of the softly closed door. He could hear the soft sobs coming from the other side. Father placed his hand gently on the door and waited until the cries subsided and wiped his own tears.
Em set the table, Sacha made flower arrangements and I helped put the food on the table just like always. We would sit down and have grace before eating, tradition. Giving thanks to a God who never answers your prayers or pays attention to the death and carnage that this world sees; God isn't high priority after you realize it doesn't exist but you put on airs so that you don't upset the natives. I half ass close my eyes watching everyone get into this praying thing with all of their might." No one is listening", I want to tell them but what difference would that make? They have already drank the kool-ade. Once the ritual ends we get to eat, not today. Today we have the discussion about why I am leaving to New Hampshire for school when there are perfectly good schools in our town. Questions and hurt feelings flying about the dinner table made the food taste less than wonderful. No one noticed I began eating without them. The barrage of blame coasting from parent to parent charged with loving anger separated by parted smiles. I stopped eating. I watched them argue about me as if I wasn't even there. They had suggestion towards behaviors, upbringing unsupported, faculty which played a small part in the why yet no one asked me. Em speculated that it was her fault for not being the big sister she could have been all these years. Sacha said it could be the boy I have been hanging around with this last year at lunch. Father shoved his fists into the table so hard it interrupted all talking and shut down the noise in a flash. "You were talking to a boy everyday at lunch and you didn't tell us about him"? This is a crime in my family. Everything is shared no matter what. Em talks about her fashion buddies and how they plan to be on project runway someday to show off their wares. Sacha talks about her friends in the science department who want to find the cure for cancer or lupus or some pathology and win a pulitzer. I talk about how my teachers and their fascinating lives. We go on walks in the schoolyard and postulate life, love, happiness, war, genocide, birth, death and all things human and not human. We talk about the world and all its glory, splendor, the possibilities of life on other planets and how we would welcome them to our little circle of life, but I dare not tell anyone that part of our talks, private, individual and mine. I didn't talk about the boy because he was a close friend. We have been friends for over 6 years and no one knew about him till now, how did this happen? I was careful not to be too close to him or make him seem special but he was special. He was my everything, not in a sexual way. He has traveled to many places and seen so much , I wanted to be him, I wanted his reckless life. My life was packaged, stamped and store bought for stepford wives in an unrealistic plastic way. Mother and Father kissed and hugged without one argument. My sisters didn't have a disagreement, they have spirited conversation which ended in them hugging that shit out, who does that?! I was the weird one who wanted to taste life, feel it's broken back upon my idle hands and breathe it's filth deep into my lungs for the fight I have never been introduced. I have been coddled all my life and all I wanted was a piece of this life that was mine and mine alone. no one asked me what I wanted, no one asked me who I wanted to be, no one asked me anything. Father glared in my direction but I wasn't there, confusion set in and the family began to eat in silence for the first time in our history. I literally walked away from a small table which held my family who are suppose to love me and know me inside and out. No one noticed I was gone or had eaten without them, except Father. He saw me leave, said nothing. Father led a new conversation to avoid conflict about my departure. Magic, my Father. No one challenged him. No one asked why it just was.
I was greeted by my Father after dinner on my way to brush my teeth; he says the most intelligent things sometimes. "You can go where ever you want to go in this life or the next. You are not a prisoner in this house or to this family. But, why kitten( my name when my Father gets serious), why do you want to go so far away"? I simply said,"Em has a place here in town that accepts her with open arms and no matter what she does, she will always be the favorite. Sacha is the brains of this family and it wouldn't matter where she went because she is that keen on her subjects like a bloodhound". "What about you", Father asks, "What about you my sweet girl"? I could only say this through warm wet eyes and perched lips, heart beating like a bat out of hell with gasoline drawls, " I feel deeply". I turned on my heel and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me softly. I could only imagine his face and disappointment which made me cry a bit more. At that moment, Father knew I would not change my mind. Father's chest heaved big gulps of air into his lungs gathering his composure in front of the softly closed door. He could hear the soft sobs coming from the other side. Father placed his hand gently on the door and waited until the cries subsided and wiped his own tears.
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