“Is there something you want to tell me?”
That question hit me like a ton of bricks. My mom standing there holding a pregnancy test that was marked positive. Did I want to tell her? Oh hell no I did not want to tell her, but she…Well to say she described best by something along the lines of “Molly Weasley on steroids” was an understatement of the year. Mom had the ability to stare at me, and get me to confess every thing. This however was not something I wanted to discuss, and I doubted I would either, however Moms eyes stared at me and it wasn’t long before I wilted and then shaking my head I slammed the door shut before I ran out of the back yard and down the hall.
Running had always been my safety zone, that way I feel exceptionally awesome able to end all the frustration that boils inside my head. My only release is when I run and get past that edge that scares me. That is the good side of this, when my muscles are burning and I feel as if I will explode, I say “I will run to the end of the block, and then stop.” then I say just another one, then another and then I am past the wall. That feeling as if I am floating is amazing, which lets me think about how I am going to tell my mom about that little thing in the trash this morning. Why the hell was I stupid enough to leave it there? Well I must have been on drugs or something. Then, I start getting angry, why was she digging in my trash in the first place? It is that thought that sustains me through the last mile of my run.
When I run through the back door hearing the slamming that echos I wait for the angry hoard to descend, and its worse than I expected it to be. Not only is my mom sitting there, but dad, and uncle David, and Aunt Clara. Fucking ball sacks, why did someone invite the douche-canoe of my cousins also? Sweat pools down off my face as I stand there waiting, as the silence grew in our small microscopic white kitchen it didn’t take long before I reached into the fridge an grabbed water, drinking it only prolonged the silence but what was I going to do? I certainly was not going to break it first. Oh hell no. that was not going to happen.
“Jennifer, this is all my fault. “ fuck My father. Of course. I turned around slowly and just stared, for hours. Okay OKAY seconds, and then hissed “Thank you all for the intervention, I’m not pregnant, but thanks for the assumptions, it’s not mine. That happens to belong to Andrea, you remember her right? The Andersen’s youngest? Yes her. She’s the one that has the bun in the oven, is up the duff, what ever you want to call it, not me. Thank you so much for the leap of faith in me. “
Wow, so I don’t know where all that anger came from, but that’s what all spilt out. I was angry angry at the lot of them, they thought they just assumed that I was guilty of it, because I had been moody that I had been sullen and flinching and then they assumed I was pregnant, they assumed I was on drugs, they assumed, all the time. My lovely “cousins” were staring at me as if I had grown horns as if I was some strange creature that didn’t exist on their levels. Alright to be fair I don’t. I don’t because they are perfect and I am the one who isn’t. Who thinks that the lot of them have gone so far into their keeping up with the Jones’ that nothing I ever will do will be good enough for them.
My tirade over, I just stare at all of them, in their dumbfounded silence and then growl. Stomping I go to my room and slam the door, there how’s that for fucking moody. I slammed the door in some form of insolent teenage hatred that I cannot even begin to understand, let alone let them know about. Holy fucking gods. At the door is Auntie Clara, saying something stupid like “you shouldn’t walk out on your family like that”. Well damnit they walked out on me, 8 years ago they did when they didn’t listen to me when I said it had happened. No, they just ignored it because it din’t fit into their world. Well I wasn’t going to just lay here and let them think that I was “fine” in their perfect little world I wasn’t fine. I was in hell. Now that I am here. Facing up to it, is another thing, something that they aren’t willing or ready to do, so I said “Fine”, then stomped off to the bathroom to shower.
The water acted as a balm and soothed the raging emotions that rocketed through my body again. It felt as if finally I might be able to move past it, to understand what was going on. Oh I knew, they just refused to believe that it was real, that what I told them was real, and that it happened. The horrors I saw as an eight year old never should be seen by anyone, and yet they were seen and felt by me. So anyway water, and I have this understanding I stand in it, I cry in it, it doesn’t talk back and make me feel stupid, unlike some other members in my family. Fuckers.
The anger washed off me pretty easily although that wasn’t why I was taking a shower in all honesty. I was sweaty, running 6 miles would do that to just about any one, couple that with the fact it was blazing hot and I wasn’t the happiest person in the world had a lot to do with why I was taking forever in the shower and using every drop of hot water I could get my hands on. This was so important to me I couldn’t hardly stand it. How could I not want to stand in the shower and glean from it all my delights? I couldn’t and that’s why I stayed in there, till the water turned arctic and I shut it off to face the world.
The Andersen’s daughter, I suppose I should explain how that thing had ended up in our trashcan, more specifically in my bathroom. Well, at school as at home I am considered some sort of freak, few know I run, few even speak to me. So I really don’t know how it ended up there apart from her saying that she needed to speak to someone, any one who wouldn’t judge her. She really should have realized that ship had sailed a long time ago. Considering she was, and is the one who leads the charge for making my life a living hell every single day.