I sat at a long, grand, table in my family's formal dining room. Whenever my parents were mad at either my sister or me, we sat at this table. The length discouraged conversation, and that was just the point. My parents clearly didn't want to talk to me, and I didn't want to talk to them. It worked well for all of us. Well, almost. My sister, Cynthia, obviously was feeling awkward. She kept trying to start up conversations. We would just respond with one word and give her a glare that would make her shut up for a couple minutes. I excused myself from dinner as soon as I could. I dashed up to the room I shared with my sister in hopes of getting a couple minutes alone before Cynthia came up. I just lay on my bed, thinking. My parents were so worried about my "mental state". I remember the first time I told them I could see the future. My mother refused to listen. The second time? She sent me to my room. 3rd? We had a 'family talk'. After that, I stopped talking to my mother. About everything. I went into a sort of isolation. I used to be a happy child, I loved dolls, I loved pink. I helped my mother cook and clean. I was the perfect daughter. Until I asked my mom if she wanted me to get more milk before anyone had seen that the carton was empty, or when I predicted that Cynthia would take my doll the next day. That wouldn't have been so bad except, that next day, she took my doll. Just like I had said. After we came to the silent agreement that I would not talk about any of this 'nonsense' I started writing my visions down in a little black book. Every time I started a new one, the old one was thrown into the fireplace. I couldn't risk anyone finding out that all of my visions were coming true. Ashley Anne had "visions" last year. Hers weren't even true, and they still locked her up. I couldn't deal with that happening to me. That was why every book must be burned. But today, it didn't burn fast enough. And my mother read every word. I had been assured that tomorrow we were going to have another "family talk".
"Alice?" Cynthia's voice asked from outside the door. "Can I come in?"
Cynthia had become my mother's idea of a perfect child ever since I began to fail at that job. In a way, I envied her. But I wasn't going to be someone else for a woman who barely loved me.
"Come on in" I said.
"Interesting dinner you think?"
" That's one word for it."
" Would you mind warning me what you did this time so I can guess how long this is going to last?"
I wanted to answer, explain everything. But I couldn't really figure out what I had been doing wrong. I didn't understand what was so bad about what I could do.
"Really? I have no idea."
Cynthia shrugged and climbed into her bed. We said good night and turned out the lights.
I sat down on the uncomfortable couch in our living room across from my parents sitting in the two armchairs.
"Mary Alice, your father and I have been talking and……"
"Just Alice please."
"Excuse me?" My mother said, enunciating every syllable with obvious contempt. She hated calling me Alice. She hated the name. Mary had been her idea, Alice was my father's. They compromised with Mary Alice. Even that was a stretch for her. She glared at me. I grinned back.
"Well, Mary, your father and I have been talking. And we have decided that we do not know how to deal with you anymore, and we feel that the best option would be to send you to a facility."
"A facility? Like where Ashley went?"
"Yes."
"For how long."
"Permanently. We are leaving now. No need to pack. We think it will be easier to not wait here any longer."
"Can I at least say goodbye to Cynthia?" I asked, the tears beginning to form in my eyes. This was my worst nightmare coming true. And try as I might, there was no waking up
"Absolutely not. As far as Cynthia will know, you will die in an accident on our way out to run errands."
The tears were pouring now as I followed my mom outside. As I looked at the house one more time, I knew that even if somehow I got out of the facility one day, I would never come back.
This part of my life was over.
And there was nothing I can do about it.