Page 10 of Warmer, Colder

Not quite prepared to return to the scene of the crime, I make the familiar drive to Becca’s house. As I exit the freeway and make the series of left and right turns I’ve memorized, the sun beams down on me warm and bright, reassuring me that this is the right path. I play ‘Still Into You’ for the third time, screaming the lyrics in the privacy of my car as I drive through the quiet suburb.

Relief and disappointment war within me when I pull up to Becca’s house and only her brother’s car is in the driveway. My stomach lurches with the jolt of the car door unlocking. I’ve dressed as discreetly as my wardrobe allows—an all-black ensemble of a simple sweater and leggings—but I still rush across the street after quickly looking both ways, slip the envelope under the corner of the welcome mat, and nearly jog back to my car.

An unsteady laugh leaves me and my skin heats from my toes up as I close the door behind me and slink into my seat taking steadying breaths. Peeking over the ledge of my window, I confirm that he didn’t see me. The note is still tucked away, waiting for her. With that reassurance, I turn the key in the ignition and watch her house disappear in my rearview window.

Unfortunately, I can’t leave all my stress behind. My playlist is interrupted by the incessant ringing cell phone I attempt to ignore as it rattles in my cup holder. I’ve never been great at restraint and to my detriment, I neglect to check the caller ID before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Anastasia.” Any elation evacuates my body swiftly.

“Mother.” My molars grind together, almost as unpleasant as her voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well, if you’d responded to the invitation, this wouldn’t be necessary,” she replies haughtily. “But since you refuse to utilize the etiquette I painstakingly attempted to instill in you, following up with you like a debt collector is unfortunately necessary.”

“I’m not coming. Does that clear things up?” I bite out. “Sorry to have wasted your time, but no need to worry about factoring me into your plans.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“And?”

“And how do you think it makes your father and I look when you’re absent from our annual party? Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to come up with some thinly veiled excuse for your absence every year? One can only travel for so long,” she complains to me.

“Well, I apologize for the inconvenience. But, hey, on the bright side, you don’t have to worry about me marring the annual family photo or the grueling task of finding a dress in mysize to match your theme. What is it this year? Gaudy opulence with a side of Christmas spirit?” I exhale a long sigh, exacerbated by my mother’s failure to care about anything but her image even now. “Look, tell them I’m dead for all I care.”

“Anastasia Eden, we’ll be doing no such thing,” she scoffs. My mother’s frustration thrums through the line; it hammers against my temples from thousands of miles away. “So, you’re declining the invitation?”

“Consider my RSVP a ‘no’.”

“Are you really so intent on separating yourself from this family?”

“You can’t separate yourself from something you’ve never really been a part of.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It never is with you, is it?” I put the car in park. “I guess I’ll talk to you again this time next year. Or we can just never do this again? Balls in your court, Eleanor.” Ending the call, I toss my phone on the seat with more force than I mean to.

In less than five minutes, my good mood is ruined, but there’s too much to do to dwell on the unpleasant reminder of where I come from.I need a bath.

Sinking into the water, I use the net to scrub away the negativity she’s forced to seep from my pores. But even when my skin is red and angry, the inadequacy and longing linger, like a sticky and unsettling residue that dims my glow. I bite into my lip with the vampiric urge to leech out the insecurity, instead of allowing the budding tears to fall from my stinging eyes.I will not cry because of her.

I won’t cry over the absence of a mother’s love.I’m more than a regrettable obligation.

I won’t cry over the unfair standards that were thrust on me with a life I didn’t ask for.I’m perfect as I am. I’m everything that I ammeant to be.

I won’t cry over the neglected little girl I used to be.I’m going to ensure she gets the love she deserves.

I won’t cry over my past. I’ve come too far. I’ve come too far. I’ve come too far.

Instead, I pour myself into the only thing that matters.

36 Days till Death

With a fresh stack of paper finally dried, I get back to work. Within hours, I have dozens of letters inspired by the works of Sappho ready to be gifted. I’ve been slacking but now she’ll never wonder whether I’m thinking of her. I won’t let her forget about me again.

September 28th, 2014

-Gracious your form and your eyes

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