memories are always here

This place will forever bring back memories. Too many memories. And yet, not enough. I stand on the front porch stairs and take it all in. My entire childhood comes rushing at me like a flood and all I do is welcome it with open arms.

I welcome the faint whispers of, “I can’t sleep.”, we would whisper when it was past our betimes. I welcome singing songs on the car radio that I didn’t know the words to, but always being content in my ignorance. I welcome laying on my mothers lap after a long day and just breathing.

I have to shake myself out of my memories and remember that that was before. That girl is gone now. I don’t want to be her anymore.

I grew up in a perfect family. We were like dolls, always on display for everyone. But, whenever they turned their backs we all fall down from exaughtion of constantly plastering on fake smiles.

It seemed like my brother was fine with the fake perfection. Or maybe it was just that he didn’t have to pretend to be perfect. A question I’ve asked myself for many years but one I know will never be answered.

I walk up the familiar stairs and ring the doorbell. The door creaks open and I am greeted by my once beautiful mother, whose constant pain of a fake life turned her hair gray a little earlier than it should have. She embraces me on sight, and I let her. Why shouldn’t I? I will never blame her for what happened. I walk in the house and see my siblings, Ivory and Samuel.

I want to talk to them, to ask them what happened but I can’t with my mother in the room. She’s already too broken to be broken anymore.

We embrace and I know we are all thinking the same thing. After all these years, we’ve forgotten who we used to be. Or we’ve at least tried to. With all the beautiful memories there are also their equal ugly ones.

Memories of broken plates after a dinners full of shouting and tears. Memories of constant, “I’m sorry’s.” After disappointing my family once again for not being perfect. Memories of tight dresses and my fathers distasteful “Hmph.” Whenever it didn’t fit right.

I want my father to know all I ever wanted was to make him proud. All I ever wanted was his love. And after all the pain and trials I went through, I am still left with nothing.

I wish only the best for my father, but a part of me is glad he left. He never deserved my mother, but he needed her.

It’s quite odd though. We all knew he wouldn’t last a day without her but he constantly treated her as if she wouldn’t last a day without him. Yes, I’m glad he is gone.

I look over at my thin mother who was once known for her looks and wonder if my father’s absence is what’s causing her change in appearance. She sits her frail body on the living room sofa and closes her eyes like she always does. We know after a few minutes she is sleeping.

“Why’d you do it Kasey?” Samuel asks me, bitterness in his tone. “You knew that if you left Mom would turn out like this and you did it anyway.”

“You’re blaming this on me?” I ask. Surely Samuel isn’t stupid enough to think our mother’s health problems were caused by my walking out 10 years ago. And then it hits me. Its’s been 10 years. It’s been 10 years since I walked up those stairs. It’s been 10 years since I let myself remember.

I turn to Samuel who is regretting confronting the problem. He bites back an “I’m sorry.” Because I told him many years ago that he should never apologize for trying to help. I know that’s all he’s doing. That’s all he is ever doing. Helping.

I turn to Ivory who has been silent this whole time. She has always been this way. It freaked my father out quite a bit actually, he hated when children couldn’t speak up. And she never could.

She has her eyes locked on my mother who is sleeping peacefully. I know what she’s thinking. If only I’d spoke up. I pat her arm and whisper a phrase we used to tell each other daily: “Soon It will be over. Soon we’ll be out of here.”

Those words never fail to make both of us cringe. I know she remembers. I know she wishes she could go back to the nights we were staying up past our bedtime. I know she misses her best friend.

10 years ago. You were best friends 10 years ago. I think.

Ivory turned out much like me, she couldn’t handle being a doll. She could wear the tight dresses and the fake smiles, but her quality of being soft spoken made it hard for her to convince others that she was perfect.

Samuel was the first born, and he was always praised for being so. I would like to say there was no reason for everyone to praise Samuel as they did, that he had no real zest about him that made him better than the average human. But he did. He always did.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe there will always have to be one perfect to keep the dollhouse tradition going. To keep hurting many.

Although he has pained me to an extent, I will never blame Samuel. He was only ever kind to me and for that I am greatful. I don’t know exactly who to blame other than myself. Maybe my father. But I chose to run away. I chose to be the misfit. I chose to break the perfect mold.

Even though I despise this house in all its prissy clothes and outdated furniture, it never fails to make me feel things. Hatred, love, sadness, happiness, nostalgia, all at once. All at once I am greeted by my beautiful childhood turned ugly by none other than myself.