Through the door

“She’s so obedient. We never have to repeat anything. She’s not like the other kids, it’s so nice”. 

The first time I heard others talking about me, I was around seven years old. They seemed happy with me, with what I was doing. I liked it. I liked how their voices sounded when they were talking about me. 

“You need to get her into control! She’s going to fail if this continues. Do you not care about what she becomes?”.

Voices started changing when I was ten years old. I wasn’t the obedient little kid any more, and it drove people crazy. I had my own though, my own voice. It sometimes shook, but it was mine.

“It’s not that bad, I’m sure”.

“No, you need to make sure she understands she’s going to crash if this continues. We’ve worked too hard for her to throw it away because she doesn’t like studying”. 

Every trimester it was the same. I could hear them discussing my grades while I was sent to my room. They were talking in the living room and I pretended to ignore my fate being discussed on the other side of the wall. At some point, my name would be called, and I would walk in, pretending I didn’t hear the sighs and the exasperation and the disapprobation. 

“She needs to drop her artistic activities, it’s a waste of time. She should be learning a different language”.

“But she likes going to that drama class? It’s cheap, too”.

“Please, be realistic. What is she going to do with that? At least she can go somewhere with that language”.

They didn’t ask me when they decided to take me out of Drama classes. They just didn’t pay for the next year and gave the teacher a call. He asked them if they were sure, “she needs to express herself” and they just assured him they knew what they were doing, and they knew what was best for their own family. 

It seemed weird to me that someone could have made such a choice without consulting me first. It seemed weird to me that someone could have so little choice over their own life. 

“It’s a shame that they’re not together any more. They were so good for each other”.

“They’re made for each other. His parents are good, too”.

I heard them discussing the person that broke my heart when I was eighteen. They talked about my situation as if it was just another piece on the board they were manoeuvring. It was my whole word, it was all I felt every single day but to them, it was just that, another day. Another piece.

“She wants to leave the country? I don’t understand where this is coming from. We’ve been so good to her. Why would she leave when everything is perfect for her?”. 

Earlier that day I shared my news: I was packing my life in a backpack and getting on the next plane to the United Kingdom. I booked the tickets the night before, I didn’t even want to give myself an option to back out. The moment I committed money I knew my mind was set, and my spirit was at ease.

“After everything we’ve done for her”.

“She will regret this. We’ve sacrificed so much”.

They used to say this so much - ‘after everything we have done for you’. I could hear that sentence in my dreams by now. It haunted me, as if I had left a restaurant without paying, constantly scratching my mind.

“I’m sure it’s her mum, paying for her to go away so she can enjoy life with her man”.

And perhaps, it was. Perhaps I was just a bother to her, to everyone, to myself. But perhaps I was in my own way, hindering myself, always stationary, on the same path and never moving.

“She will come back in six months with her tail between her legs”.

Little miss who was so used to being told what to do didn’t know how to act by herself. At the time, I didn’t know yet that they protected me, thinking if I never had to learn anything, then I would never have to get hurt in the process.

“She works as a waitress… Can you believe all these years of education to serve people food? Why did we waste all this money and time on her?”.

I came back to visit every four months, as life was indeed harder when you were making decisions for yourself. I didn’t know what was a dangerous idea from a good one. I made mistakes after mistakes and every day was a teaching moment for me.

“It’s a disgrace. Don’t tell people that”.

“Who would I tell anyway”.

I heard them mutter those words after I went to the bathroom. I understood at that moment the dynamic between them and me. I was everything they invested in - and their investment walked away and was not successful. I didn’t want to use the word love to describe our relationship, because I didn’t understand you could love someone and want to own them.

“She made it. I always knew she could do it”.

“I never doubted her”.

I laughed in the hall. Years passed since I last walked this house that didn’t mean anything to me any more. The walls were full of pictures of people who weren’t in the picture any more. The furniture was cracking under the weight of the frames full of happier faces. This felt like a museum of another time, another dimension full of people who seemed to hold happiness in their hearts. 

“I knew she loved us and would come back”.

I’m sitting near them, but I don’t think they realise I’m there any more. A decade flew by, and I spent my time between my home country and abroad. I have found peace with those whispers of conversations. Their breaths are low and rattly, but peaceful. The sun is shining through the window. I hold their hands and continue to read.