Human construct

“The other kids don’t like me”, I said, folding my hands around the cup of steaming tea. I don’t even like tea, but it’s all this house has, so it’s what I drink.

“What makes you think that?” Her voice was hollow, she took a sip of the tea and hissed from burning her tongue.

“I don’t think. I know”, I stared at her, trying to read her face, but it was too many emotions to find anything sensible in it. She blew on her tea, trying to cool it down. As if the minus degrees outside didn’t do the job quick enough.

“Give them a chance, Rome wasn’t build in one day”, her smile was weak and didn’t reach her eyes. What did she know about anything?

I sighed, a foggy breath creating a tiny cloud in front of me. Instead of humoring her, I got up and left the room, my tea still on the table, pretty much untouched.

It was chilling outside. It had finally stopped snowing, the landscape white all over. The forest behind her house was dark and looming. I wanted to go there, disappear for a little while, let the trees swallow me whole and be taken to a different land.

My mom’s voice echoed through my brain, “come home early, it’s not safe out when it snows so much”, it was already too late for her comfort. I was better off just going home, the forest could wait.

As I walked down the road, I looked at the different front porches. Someone still had their dog tied outside, it shivering in the snow, looking at me with an overwhelming sadness.

Someone else had left their flowers outside, covered in snow to the point where they were all white now, even though I knew better and that their colors were merely hidden underneath the thick snow.

My moms voice echoed again, “seasons are a human construct, look how beautiful the flowers are all year ‘round”.

I kept walking, until I was outside the house I grew up in. Red tulips stood beside the front door, someone had removed the snow from them. It looked unsettling, the pure white underneath the blood red; the color combination almost unnatural.

The front door opened and my mom threw her arms around me in a killing hug, I was motionless, unsure of the proper reaction to affection. “They are beautiful, aren’t they?” She asked. I looked down at the crimson against the snow again, wondering if the color would bleed from the petals into the snow. The colors were gruesome. “Yes Mom”, I said.

She took me inside, fuzzing around me, “so cold, must be freezing, shouldn’t be out so long, better to come home directly,” I tuned out her sound, letting the quiet take over.

My mom grabbed my wrist, and pulled me to the kitchen. She sat me down on the chair and pushed over a cup of hot chocolate. I stared at the cup, the dark liquid swirling in the moss green cup. It looked like the forest, when it wasn’t snowing.

“They are removing the snow next week”, my dad came from his office, grabbed the cup in front of me and took a long sip. My mom didn’t see anything, her eyes locked onto the snow outside the window, “what a shame, it’s so beautiful.”

My dad rested a hand against her waist, leaning in close, “not as beautiful as you, perfect being”, he kissed her neck. My mom rested a hand on his, but her eyes were still on the snow, glinting in the sun that was fighting to stay relevant. Invisible robes pulled it down, until darkness was stronger. Lamps were turned on, because not everyone was done with the day.

“Kid, how was school?” My dad asked, sitting down in front of me, my mom jostling around the kitchen, preparing dinner.

“The other kids don’t like me”, I said, like a recorder pressing replay. Dad frowned, but he quickly turned that face off, switching it out with a neutral face.

“The other kids don’t matter”, he said, “just focus on your studies. Soon they will all swarm you, begging to be your friend”, he got up, ruffled my hair and disappeared into the office again, the door closed with a click.

My mom looked at the closed door, before kneeling in front of me, gently pulling off my cardigan, “take it easy, you know how he is. He doesn’t understand properly.” She folded the cardigan in her lap, and lightly squeezed my wrist, “you will find your people, just be yourself and they will come around.”

I nodded. Mom and dad were so different, sometimes it felt unreal that they had chosen each other. Love wasn’t something I had learned to understand yet.

After eating dinner, I went to my room and did my homework. The TV was on in the livingroom, but I tuned out outside sound, making sure I could focus. I wrote the last answer to my calculus work, and closed my notebook. All that was left was reading. It was a weird phenomenon. Everything about school was set in stone, and with no choice given. Except this; ‘choose whatever book you like, and read it’. How did that make any sense? How would we work with it in class, if we had all read different books? What was the point of reading it, if it wasn’t for an assignment?

I went outside, the streets lit by tall lamps looking out into the horizon. I only knew of one person, who enjoyed reading. She had most likely read the book I had chosen, she would know how I should tackle it. How it was better to read it. So I walked towards to forest, and knocked on the door to her house, at the edge of the looming trees. She smiled a little, when she opened the door and welcomed me inside. Once again did she make me tea, which I let sit in front of me, untouched.

“Anything I can help with?” She smiled, but her dark eyes were distant, almost as if her face wasn’t working together.

I put the book on the table, “I have to read this”, she grabbed the book and lifted it, her eyes glancing over the title.

“Yes? So go ahead and read it, little one”.

I swirled the spoon around the tea, “I don’t know how to efficiently read it. Should I do one chapter at a time, and write notes? Stop whenever something happens and take notes? Read the entire thing and write down what I remember? How do you do?”

She looked at me for a moment, putting down the book again and pushing it towards me.

“There is no right way to read a book. Read it however you want to”.

Why couldn’t she just give me a proper answer? Why all this secrecy over a stupid book, I didn’t even want to read.

“However I want? I don’t want to read it.”

“Then don’t.”

“But”, I started, confusion hitting me hard. That wasn’t an option. We went to school, were told what to do, and did it. I had to read it.

“Jeez, kid. You’re not the robot here, remember?” She folded her hands in front of her, and forced eye contact with me. “Art is about feelings. Human emotions. Read this book, not because you were told to, but because you feel like it. And understand it however seems right to you, not how you think it’s supposed to be understood. Art is subjective, so figure out yourself what you think of it. Hate it if you must, but don’t let someone tell you how to feel about it.”

I sat there, dumbfounded, words gone dry in my throat.

She opened the book and put it in front of me.

“Go ahead,” she said. I glanced at the words, allowing the feeling of unfamiliarity to take over. Read it how I wanted to, no rules to follow. Just do it, because I can?

“Why do you read, if emotions are for humans?” I asked.

She smiled again, eyes still staring at me.

“Becuase I’ve been trained to understand emotions.”