Him

The engine roars again in the stillness of night. A loud bang startles me. My window is open, again. I leave the comfort of my blankets and tread quietly towards the guest room impoverished of human touch for years. The window is faulty, much like everything in this house. But fixing things will have to wait till I graduate Highschool and can work full-time somewhere; cause mama can't. Not with her unstable CNS and physiotherapy sessions we can barely afford.

Windows are the symbolism for reluctance. We would laugh over the Geeky English teacher when he would talk about the beauty of language to sum up the vastness of sensations on a blank page. Now, as I stand at the window pretending to appreciate the nature that's all but two trees and patches of grass, I experience desperation so strong that my hands tremble, my stomach twists inside and dizziness encompasses me. Now I understand his words-fainting away gradually. I am reluctant to seek him out, which is why I spy from the window. Trepidation surrounds me.

All I know is that I don't know him at all. Nobody does. But mystery is alluring, no? To know something nobody does, to seek the unseekable- all the thrill and secrecy , seductive beyond rationality at times. I am a working teenager. Plain looks, unwanted struggles. That about sums me up. But my psyche is Picasso's self portrait from the 1960s itself. Messy, inexplainable and sorry Picasso but, unattractive as hell. A runaway father, responsibilities when all you wanted was to try weed and beer and a mother in need of extensive care- my life so far has been quite colorful. It's just that the colors aren't of my liking at all.

I gasp slightly as I see him racing off in the darkness of night. Just a glimpse most nights, his leather jacket, helmet and bike; dismay stills my racing heart for the next few seconds. He has a decade or two over me because when mama spoke of him once last Sunday, she called him a man. She may mess her movements but her verbal skills are still sharp. The norms we've established to identify our normal often prove to be restricting and create more recluses with issues than acceptable. But who cares, as long as they are fine with playing pretend and feeling the high of being better than others. I shouldn't indulge in fantasies for a man I've never seen. But I've left all pretenses of being normal way behind. And I don't care for opinions formed in extreme leisure by megalomaniacs anyway.

*

Cycling fills me with anxiety. Not the oddest thing there is to know about me, but still. Pa used to teach me cycling when we still were a family, but to assume we were happy will be a mistake. He wasn't the kindest man there is and anger was more than often the only emotion he wore. I don't feel guilty when I think of my life being better without him in it or wishing him dead in my cruelest moments. 

My cycle wobbles jerking me back to present. I breathe deeply as I pass through the grassy trails. The uneven terrain causing it's share of inconvenience is the same as yesterday; change isn't a constant where I live- a small town. The smaller the space the more it suffocates. Birds pass by above and I sigh in longing. Wish I were as free to fly as them.

*

"You mean extra cheese, right?"

"No, I mean more like melted on top of -"

"Yes, that does imply extra cheese ma'am."

"Stop being mouthy, kid. I don't want a chunk of-"

Frustration is not my preferred form of social aura at work but as always, choices don't like me it seems. My patience is running out as this woman with lack of politeness and mentally incompetent at even deciding what exactly she wants to order tells me to stop being mouthy for no other reason except repairing her own stupid pride at being interrupted. I breathe out through gritted teeth and school my expression into a welcoming one once again letting go of my momentary displeasure.

"Okay, ma'am. I will ask for melted extra cheese on top of the fillings and bun for you. Should I write the order down now?"

" Yeah, that'll work. Be quick."

Of course, you have people to demean after-all, lots of work.

*

Home; no - house, this is just a house now. A broken and barely held together house. Not that it ever carried much warmth but still, it held the possibility of a family that existed albeit not happy enough. I zone out of my counterfactual musings and crash on the worn out couch as I think of what to make to eat tonight. Sudden trembles greet me signaling the need to get the heat repaired. Seasons, unlike this town, do change.  

Another roar, or is it just me thinking of what it sounds like in my head? It sounds real. Thrilling, alluring and riveting beyond reasons to send my poor heart into frenzy. But It's still early for it to be true.

I jerk awake as I realize that it is late indeed for me to be in my bed with a book. I didn't check on mama, neither made something to eat for her. Cursing at my irresponsibility to manage something I feel bitter to be responsible for makes me feel like a hypocrite; no matter how queer the thought actually is. Apparently, I've some narcissism in nature to deal with.

I get up abruptly and run to check the room at the end of the hallway.

"Mama?"

"Suz? What time is it? "

"Mum, wait I'll just cook a-"

"Suz, I ate. Go make up something for yourself."

"You ate? What?"

"Some leftover pizza."

"We never ordered pi-"

"Goodness Suz, I did in the noon. Just go and make something already. Too many questions!"

" Of course."

It's normal for me now. To feel unheard, neglected and stressed all the time. But to feel entirely worthless isn't far either; I just need my mother for that. I walk into the kitchen and stare at the chipped cupboards. A wave of helplessness passes over me as my hands move over the kitchen counter. I hear his bike roar again and puzzled walk towards the guest room. Of course, the window's open.

If it's the temptation of seeing him that turns up my blood circulation or the endless possibilities of sins I could be committing by thinking of him in such a way; I'd never know. But I am never in control when mystery seduces me so bravely. The silliness of this whole operation- unveil the mystery face should have no space in my life. Irrelevant fancying wouldn't pay my bills, neither send me to heaven if it actually exists; but the euphoria of moments so thrilling is hard to hide from.

There- the leather jacket, helmet; I'm late because before I even attempt to make sense of anything he's off to god know 's where. Or maybe Satan knows better. I'm left standing in the agony of oblivion yet again.