Chicken Masquerade

Something is very wrong. The way she fidgets, the way he’s looking at me. The cold coffee on the tabletop. “Darling,” she starts, a timid look in her eye as she swallows. “Do you want me to get you anything before we start?” She stands before I can answer.

“Water would be nice, thanks.” I hope my expression is more nonchalant than I feel. My parents had called me into the kitchen moments upon my waking up. A chilled April breeze from a window long forgotten woke me, as did the soft knocking from my mother. She asked me down to the kitchen, she had news she needed to share.

My mother returns with my drink in one hand and a plate of muffins in the other. She places both on the table and sits with an exhale. My father turns to look at her and grips her arm. “We have something to tell you,” he starts, the chair creaking as he shifts his weight upon its fragile splinters. “It’s about dinner last night.”

I remember the night fondly. It was too warm to cook, and too cold to want to leave the house. My father called in for food, and within the hour a young man handed us our order. A simple, but delicious, bucket of KFC fried chicken, biscuits, gravy, corn, among other items. We elected to eat in the living room, an informal dinner required an informal location. “What about dinner?” I ask, anxious to know the answer.

There were so many things my parents could ask about, so many things I had done that could warrant such a serious conversation. My mother removes her arm from my father’s grip and rubs her hands together nervously. “The chicken,” she hesitates and looks to my father, “are you absolutely sure about this, Scott?” She asks my father.

My father’s steely gaze never leaves mine. He nods. “It’s time she learned the truth.”

My mother takes a ragged breath inward and lets it out slowly. “We lied to you,” she attempts, “the chicken,” I turn my gaze, shocked, to my mother, but she won’t meet my eye, “is not actually finger lickin’ good.”

I sit, stunned. “Is this the truth?” I look at my father now.

He too fails to meet my eye. “Yes,” I push my chair out to leave, “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

I take one last glance at my mother and father. The people I had known to be my protectors, my saviors, my heroes. My father wraps an arm around my mother comfortingly. She looks as if she’s about to cry. I can’t lie and say tears weren’t threatening to spill from my eyes as well. “How could you lie to me? For so many years? Were my feelings not put into consideration?” I demand. I want an answer, but I know I am not ready for one.

My mother shakes her head. “We wanted to tell you for so long,” tears spill out of her eyes and fall onto the table, “we just didn’t have the heart too.”

“What else have you been keeping from me?”

“Nothing else! Just that,” my father answers quickly. I know this game, he’s trying to reassure me, trying to hold onto me. 

I leave the room quickly, both of my parents in tow. “This doesn’t change anything, I promise.” My mother says, stopping me on the stairs.

I shake my head. “This changes everything.” I continue up to my room and lock the door behind me. I look around the room.

Grabbing a bag, I start to fill it with something other than lies. I start with the necessities: clothing and money, and then move to sentimental items that will fit into the bag. I’m only taking enough to last me a week; I plan on staying with a friend. 

I finish quickly and hurry out of my room, past my concerned “parents.” “Where are you going?” My father asks timidly.

I turn and glare at both of them. “Somewhere where I won’t be lied to for seventeen years.” My mother stifles a sob, my father casts his gaze downward. “I’m really disappointed and hurt you kept this from me,” my voice breaks when I say it, “from my own mother and father, if you even are that.”

I reach the first floor and look around. Pictures adorn the walls of my childhood with my older brother and parents. We look so happy, if only I knew. My eyes scan the room for anything else I might need. I catch a look at my phone forgotten on the table and see a new notification. A text from my brother. Want to hang out? It reads. I sigh and answer him. Yeah, I can’t stay here any longer. I get a reply almost immediately. Mom and Dad told you, didn’t they? I answer. Yes. I’m not staying here any longer. They don’t deserve me if I can’t have their trust. He agrees. That’s what I thought when they told me. Come stay with me. I’ll pick you up at the gas station at the end of the street. I text: Thank you, I’ll be there in fifteen.

My parents have followed me into the living room. “Why are you leaving us? You were bound to find out soon.”

I roll my eyes and point to a picture on the wall. “You lost this when you lied to us. I’ll be with my brother. Don’t bother following me.” They stare after me as I shoulder my bag and make my way across the creaky floor. As I walk closer to the door, the floor creaks less and less.

Without hesitation, I open the door, don’t bother saying goodbye, and exit the house I once called home. I walk across our porch and onto the front yard. I turn, against my better judgement, and take one last look. A haunting feeling washes over me as I picture the memories I made with my brother in this house. Suddenly, I remember everything that’s ever happened. I remember everything from my childhood. I remember my once happy family, now broken by deceit. I can’t go back, not now, not ever, but I can move forward. I can forge my own family, my own story, and I can salvage what once was innocence. I can preserve the memories with my brother, and forget about the imposters I once called “Mom and Dad.” I turn and walk on. 

As I walk, I feel myself letting go of my childhood, and embracing adulthood. With each step, I walk out of naivety, and walk into experience. I can see my future ahead of me, one cracked sidewalk panel at a time. I will look back on this and I will remember.

I will remember the look of defeat on my father’s face as I stepped out of their lives and into my own. I will remember the tear on the tabletop left by my mother before she told me. I will remember the last picture I looked at on the wall. I will remember, and I will pass on my knowledge to my children, and their children, and their children. We will all know. We will all remember.

I can see my brother at the gas station, leaning against the car, keys in hand. He straightens when I come closer and motions to the car. “Ready to go?”

I take a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” I get into the passenger seat with my bag and watch out the window as he drives away from the only home I’ve ever known.