Picture Perfect

A house but not a home, it never will be

Full of people, but not a real family

In the eye of the beholder, it’s perfect right?

But, behind closed doors they don’t see

We are all sinners of God whether in hell or heaven

---------------------------------------------------------------  

The Johnsons. Four placemats. Four chairs. Four knives and forks. Four; the perfect American family. A picturesque house of suburban bliss, adorned with decorations of amber and chestnut. The kitchen alive, bustling in preparation for Thanksgiving. Equipped with the perfect Christian family: a supportive father, a loving mother, a son bound for an Ivy. And me. I don’t know who I am, but I do know this family is anything but perfect.

The chairs symbolic of everyone’s place, roles. One more less than there was before. The absence of it replaced by a cold emptiness.

It was all a facade, this luscious leafy green salad, scattered with tender tomato and crispy cucumbers. Fake. Brought from Walmart, the packet no doubt hidden beneath the layers of trash - as it usually was. It was what we were good at.

We sat around the table, waiting, prepared as the car headlights pulled into the driveway. Ready for the play to begin. Father came trudging through the front door, I could tell from his footsteps he has had a bad day.

“Sorry. Work was busy today; the traffic was bad. Let’s pray.”

Hands clasped together their heads collectively bowed as my family seeks their penance. A silent plea travelling from their lips to His ears. My eyes however remain open, taking everything in, like a director watching a scene unfold.

My father at the head of the table; a man of God, head bowed, exposing the few premature grey hairs that manage to evade the black hair dye. The only thing that kept him looking young, able to indulge his own desires. But he was rarely ever here, too busy chasing whatever had piqued his latest interest. When he did come home, his work shirts rumpled, a hint of some lady’s sickly sweet perfume clinging to his skin and a smudge of crimson red lipstick on his collar. Everyone knew, he still wasn’t here.

Not that Mum would care. She would have to drag herself out of her stupor long enough to see it. Long enough to care. After it all, mother lost herself as well. Too busy, her sanity entirely dependent on whatever filled her cup. I suppose it could pass for water, but everyone knew when the pinching smell of liquor filled the air. Everyone knew she stashed her bottles behind the cookies in the top left cupboard. Everyone knew, no one cared.

Just like how our parents hadn’t noticed when Jeremy came home in clothes they hadn’t bought him. They didn’t ask questions when he stopped going to soccer training – if they had they would know he’d failed his drug test. Not that they would know that, either. No, his red-rimmed, sunken-in eyes managed to evade their judgement. Everyone knew, nobody noticed.

Father began to speak, his voice hoarse, “Dear heavenly Father, we are thankful for this food and your provision, and we ask that you continue to guide us down the path of God. In God’s name, Amen.”

He eats first, his gruff nod signaling to my mother that the food was up to his standards. That was all we needed before we reached for the feast. Mother sipping her drink to calm her nerves, placing the cup dangerously close to the edge of the table. An accident waiting to happen. Being the drunkard she was she bumped it, sending it plummeting, frightening me.

“Oh my God,” the word passed through my lips so easily.

“Oh my gosh,” father corrects me sternly. “We don’t use the Lord's name in vain.”

Bullshit.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------

A week after you died

I acted as if I had put myself back together again

So quickly, so easily

Soon it was like you hadn’t even existed

Your presence gone

Donated to charity out of the goodness of mum’s heart

Everything to do with you turned into past tense

It’s like I’m losing you all over again

I’m losing my sanity trying to imagine the world without you

Even if it’s been 10 years

The world has been without you

I’m still angry with it

 ---------------------------------------------------------------

The car window was cold against my temple, the fog like natures’ own way of blocking the outside world. My reflection, a mirror of my past. She haunts me everywhere I go. Her blonde tresses a bright light in the night sky, my guardian angel, my north star through the desert. I

              wish

                      I

                       could

                                   go

                                       back

                                                 to the hot summers we would spend picking berries. Dancing our hearts out in the forest, just the two of us. Those were the days; the sun would beam upon our skin. Oh, I wish how I could go back. And enjoy being with her one last time.            

A cough slips out of Jeremy, and I am reminded of the other people in the car. Jeremy sits beside me, Mother dozily driving in front and father beside her only looking up from his phone when the car pulled to an abrupt halt. The traffic lights flickered frantically, as if behind the red casing, hell’s fire burned brighter. Almost in recognition.

It was then that I noticed a woman on the crossing. Her shoulders sagging as if she bore the weight of the world on her back. As she staggered closer, her face became visible, recognisable.

Ella?

           Ella…..

                       Ella…….

The lights turned green, and father immediately reached across to the wheel when he frantically hammered the horn. Ella glanced at our car in shock, her eyes narrowed when she realised who we were.

           It’s

                 been

                           10

                               years.  

                                           The last time I saw her, Eve clinging to her waist, mascara running down her face. Mother desperately praying, in an effort to save Eve from the devil that possessed her and made her think these evil thoughts. Pleading for God to have mercy on her soul, should hell be waiting for her. I didn’t see my sister cry much; she was always too untouchable for that. But that night my father had walked into her room… she’d seemed so small. From my spot in the hallway, I heard as she begged Ella to stay. This was the day I first noticed the thorns forming around his hands, his true nature unveiled. The man I looked up too my whole childhood, someone I knew as dad, trusted, and loved, was now gone.

 I wonder if she still crosses her mind. I wonder if Ella knew that would be the last time she saw Eve. I wonder if she knows it’s our fault she’s gone.  

“What are you waiting for? Go! Might as well just run her over. She’s the spawn of the devil,” father spat. Mother hit the gas, her knuckles white around the wheel. Not another word is said, no one mentions the elephant that been living in the room for 10 years now. No one ever did.

Snakes all of them, they poisoned Eve with their venom, and watched while she withered and crumpled.

“It’s both your fault that she’s dead. If you had just accepted her for who she was, she would still be here!”

Why didn’t I do something?

If I had just said something, anything.

              If I had comforted her that night instead of ignoring it in my room instead.

                           If I hadn’t shut her out like I did with everyone, she would still be here.

                                 If

                                      I

                                            had….   

-----------------------------------------------------------------

If there is a God

I’ll make him scream

And cry in pain

Just as I did

Because what kind of God

Creates someone

To then make them hate their own existence

Because what kind of God

Stays silent to thousands of prayers at night from his own creation

Begging him to make things right

What kind of God induces hate to others

If there is a God

I swear to none other than him that

I’ll make him apologise for being a witness

To her death that he himself created

 ---------------------------------------------------------------

They are both so selfish, choosing God over their own daughter.

“If He was a saint like you said, He wouldn’t want Eve to die! How can you preach His unconditional love when you know His conditions! She could’ve been happy. She could’ve still been here!”, tears stung in my eyes.  

 I loved her she was my sister,

                                        my own blood,

                                                           she was good,

                                                                           she was kind.

                                                                                        And you killed her.                                                   

Screaming, I continued. “It’s all such bullshit! Dad, you're having sex with everyone except mum, you just can’t seem to keep it in your pants. And Mum, you checked out on us all after Eve. You’re a drunk! You don’t even care if it fucks us up. Just because she’s dead-” the word burned my tongue, “doesn’t mean that you get to forget us as well. Jeremy, I don’t recognise you anymore. Last week he came home with a split lip, and none of you even saw it!” I screeched. I saw my brother flinch out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t say anything.

No one did.

The car was drowning in silent nothing.

So many words left unsaid. The silence stretched out like a piece of string waiting to snap. But still, nothing. I am met with mute faces and boarded up walls.

But that was always the problem.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as Mum snoozes, we all lose

Sent spinning amidst the burning rubber

Time itself almost seems to stop, as we hurl

My world turned upside

Speckled glass litters my hair, as metal pieces fly through the air

A metallic taste of blood on my breath

The sound of blue and red sirens, nearby

 ---------------------------------------------------------------

 There she is, frozen in time, my reflection looking at me. A celestial light descending from heaven, a dream for dreamers. Has God allowed me the privilege of seeing my sister before I die?

She came close, cupping my cheek, I hated how cold her hand was, missing her warmth.

“I miss you, Eve….I-I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know—” My breaths were ragged, like a re-opened wound.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, phantom tears falling down her cheeks, “It’s not your fault, I’m happy here.”

“Please don’t leave again,” the guilt built up over the past 10 years shed with each tear.

“I’m not leaving you Lil’s,” she reassures.

“Will I even see you again? I won’t forget you like everyone else right?”

“When you time is right and you take your last breath, I will be waiting for you.” She smiles down at me, a smile I haven’t seen for ten years.

 --------------------------------------------------------------- 

When I die and Death knocks on my door

Will my body be buried six feet under?

Will the cold, damp soil allow the worms to evade

and gnaw at my flesh?

Will there be no one waiting for me?

But the dark and cold hand of death?

I want to have Faith, Hope

But not just the illusion people tell you is awaiting after death

I want to know for sure

That after there is something or someone other than darkness

So that I may go in peace

----------------------------------------------------------------

My pupils contract, light piercing through them like daggers. The stench of burnt skin floods my nose.

Wait. No. Comeback.

I should’ve held you tighter and not let go.

(I thought I’d get another hug).

I should’ve told you I loved you, one last time.

(I thought I’d tell you later).

I shouldn’t have assumed I would get another chance.

(I thought I’d see you again).

Turning my head to the side, the last thing I see is my brother getting wheeled into the ambulance, blood trickling down his temple, shouting after me. “Lily! Did you see her too? “

All I can think is, yes. Yes, I did. Before my vision goes black.