She Said Not

Mara Elyees had tears quickly pooling around the corners her eyes as she bit back the snide remarks that begged to be left free.

Now is not the time, she told herself as she grabbed her galaxy backpack and fled for the streets while her mother screamed behind her.

Teach us to care, teach us not to care. Teach us to sit still, she prayed to herself, quoting Dean Koontz on her way to freedom.

Illusion of freedom, the voice behind her natters near her ear.

As she reached the rundown shop, heaving a sigh that neither of her brothers was sent to retrieve her as soon as she crossed the threshold.

She could almost taste the smell of the ancient books Mrs. Finsbery had stored away in the corners of the little library that she held close to her heart.

The head adorned with a mop of grey hair snapped up – faster than it should have at that age – as Mara stepped into the shop. 

She smiled weakly at the motherly lady who stared on worriedly, noticing the tear marks from the dam that broke without Mara’s realisation.

But as a resident bookworm and a mother of four, Mrs. Finsbery knew better than to try and comfort a teenager who seemed in dire need of space.

Mara knew by the genuine tilt of the woman’s lips that those weary old ears would be waiting for whenever she wanted to speak.

Now is not the time, she spoke as if her voice reached the elder lady’s hearing range.

She walked right past the few students scattered around on the chairs. Plopping down on the loveseat, Mara quickly pulled out her navy blue journal from the bag.

The cover, bare of any semblance of the chaos inside – waiting to be read by no one ever, stared back at her. She flipped through it, skimming through the scribbles and doodles, until a blank page came out.

Grabbing a blue pen from the ratty ends of the rattier bag, she penned down her first thought.

That is not what I meant.

That wasn’t what she said to her mother during the argument. No, she had said: “I never said that!” As if the accusations were burrowed inside the folds of her brain, the ones that were never meant to see the light of the day. As if her mother’s claims were true in her mind, but never spoken out loud.

Her pen worked again.

I am not able to put my feelings into words.

“You’re not getting it!” was what she had yelled out.

You’ve heard lies from her.

“I am not a liar!”

The first tear she felt travelled down her cheek.

I never cheated.

“Why would you think I cheated?”

She remembered her mother’s words very clearly: “Who am I supposed to believe? My daughter who thinks I am not worth a word or the teacher who says that there must have been something wrong in my parenting? I am very tempted to admit that I have done something wrong!”

You’ve done nothing wrong, Mum. I just. . . It’s too much for me. . .

“Well, then just admit it!” 

Their screaming sessions were becoming the cause of her mother’s early greying hair. Their stark disagreements had lead to her father yelling out at her. The father who told her he would never abandon her.

Everyone leaves, a whisper comes near, Human kind was never meant to last.

I’m sorry that I was disrespectful, she wanted to tell her father.

But all that left her mouth was: “I’m sorry that I am such a waste of space.”

Even her brothers were at their wit’s end with her. Those promises to stand by her side whenever she needed them were all shattered to pieces. She felt as if she was walking on every broken vow, bleeding on those around because pool of blood from under her feet was inconsolable. 

It just wouldn’t stop. A tear slid down on the page, dampening it to resemble the blob of blood she envisioned.

Her family was left to wonder where their bubbly little girl was gone.

She’s right here, Mara wanted to scream. I am her!

But she was unsure as to how much of that was the truth.

After the previous argument a couple nights back, she had exited the vicinity of her room for a glass of water to quench her parched throat after all the silent incessant sobbing. 

“What happened to our sweet baby girl?” her mom had her father who sat on the couch, eyes fixed at the ceiling, where Mara later realised her five-year-old self’s wiggly starfish was still clinging on.

She wanted to tell her mother, I’m so sorry, Mum. I just. . . I am lost. . .

Of course, none of that reached her parents’ ears, only echoing through the vastness of her own mind.

You are your own pit person, she had said to herself that night after binging another season of How I Met Your Mother.

She told herself after each emotional breakdown that it was going to be okay. Once the teen phase is over and done with, everything would go back to normal.

But when you are broken by those you thought loved you so much. After betrayals for which you only have yourself to blame, ones which you couldn’t speak about to your family, things begin to change permanently.

Rage clouds your judgement and the haywire of contradicting emotions only catalyse the imminent catastrophe. Sense is shoved away to the corners of your brain while a string of words from an unfamiliar sounding voice rings out, impaling those who stuck around.

Then enter regret. That wave of surging emotions that were muted during the blast come forward, louder than ever, stronger than ever. A wave that grows into a tsunami which doesn’t allow you to stay afloat. 

You can see the boat, the way to redeem yourself, but it looks so far away. Your wish to punish yourself drives it farther away.

I deserve that, you tell yourself.

Lies, some part of you screams, but you pay no heed to it.

All those apologies remain seeded in your head, unable to come out, lodged on your throat like a piece of glass which shreds through your being.

Because sometimes, words thought never become words said.