Page 8 of Losing a Piece of Me

“Fine, I will stay out of trouble.” I hold up my hands, showing him my palms.

Apparently this satisfies him; he finally turns around and walks back to his car.

I get behind the wheel and continue with my journey.

Hearing about that football game puts a smile on my face. I really didn’t have anything to do with it. It surprised me as much as the rest of the town. Striker had it all planned out. It was our anniversary and that was my gift. I laughed so hard I cried. That was the same night we snuck back onto the field and had our own fun on the fifty-yard-line.

Striker rolls to his back. We’re both completely naked, laying on the grass with the dark sky above us. I roll to his side and trail my fingertips up his hard chest. His dark hair is a mess from the fun we just had and his lips are turned up into a smile.

“Thank you for tonight. I really needed that.”

He turns his head to look at me and his green eyes light up, even in the darkness. “Well it’s not as good as the gift you got me, but I thought you would enjoy watching everyone get sprayed.”

“It was better than what I got you,” I say, thinking back on the food fight I started in the cafeteria the day before.

His eyes suddenly become crystal clear, “I love you, Lex.”

I shake the thoughts from my head just as my parents’ house comes into view down the road. My run-in with Barney cost me some time – it is already 6:00 P.M. – but I still have an hour before dinner.

I step out of the car and lean against the door, lighting another cigarette while I survey my family’s immaculate property. The whole thing looks staged, everything from the perfectly planted flowers, to the giant fountain in the front yard, and the circle drive that surrounds it. I feel like the smudge on a freshly cleaned mirror. The one that always seems to be right in the center, distorting your face when you look in it. Just another reminder that I don’t belong here.

As the cigarette slowly burns down to my fingers, I am engaged in a mental battle to build up the courage to go in. My feet have not crossed that doorstep in six years; yet, my instincts tell me that when I step inside, everything will be the exact same. I would even bet money that the same pristine, white-and-cream-colored rug still runs down the center of the hallway.

One last drag more or less cashes the cigarette, and I flick the butt into the potted plants lining the porch steps. I pull my bag from the trunk and apprehensively make my way to the front door.

Anxiety and dread shadow every step I take, further emphasized by a strange, nervous pain in my stomach. It’s as if I’m a teenager again. I have always felt the exact same way every time I walked up these steps.

I push the glowing doorbell button and listen as it chimes throughout the house. My heart pounds and my body feels heavy, like I’ve suddenly been handed a sandbag. I can’t walk forward or run back. I’m frozen in fear.

How is this weekend going to go? Are they going to punish me for leaving and not coming back until now? Are they going to make me feel ignored and uncomfortable? Will they be inviting and welcome me with open arms?

My mother opens the door, smiling, but the smile drops from her face when she realizes it’s me. “Well, come in.” She turns away, leaving me standing on the porch.

I take a deep breath and push myself forward, walking in and closing the door behind me. I don’t follow after my mother; instead, I stand in the foyer and look around the room.

It’s exactly as I imagined, everything is exactly where I remember it being. The posed family picture hangs over the fireplace in the living room. Any visitor looking at it might think that we are the perfect family, but I remember the day it was taken. I was thirteen then, and had a huge fit that morning because my mother made me wear a dress. She threatened to take all my clothes and burn them in front of me if I didn’t smile for that picture.

My clothes meant everything to me. It was the only way I was allowed to truly express myself. In a house where I was expected to make good grades, attend a certain college, and live however they found acceptable, my fashion choices, or lack thereof, were the only part of my life I had control over.

After taking everything in, I follow the route my mother took to the right, into the dining room.

There, I find my mother at the head of the table with my older sister to her right. When Steph sees me walk in, she jumps up and runs to my side.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” She hugs me quickly and pulls away, blue eyes brightening.

I tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

She takes my hand and pulls me toward the table. “Come sit with us. We’re going over everything for the dinner tomorrow night.”

My eyes flash to my mother, who doesn’t look pleased.

I pull my hand back. “Actually, I need to go and hang up my things before they wrinkle.”

“Oh, of course.” She looks quickly to the floor and then back to me. “But you will join us when you finish, right?”

I smile politely. “Sure.”

I head upstairs with my bag. At the top, I stop and peer down the long hallway. Somehow, its size makes me feel small again.

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