The Hardest Game
Vile, vermin, dirty, useless creatures eating away the oxygen that's left on the Earth's troposphere. I press my face against the glass to peer out at the passing 'playground'. A place for kid and their needy kidnappers. I close my eyes to block out the painful recollections that try and surface. I feel Michael shift next to me.
The soft tapping of his buttons game boy are enough to drown out the low volume thrumming from the speaker beside me. My brother is old fashioned. Playing game boy, reading comics, playing guitar, ignoring the agenda of society. That's why I look to him as a role model rather than my volatile parents, who currently aren't speaking in the front seats.
They are looking straight out the window, even with my eyes closed I know because they have been that way for the two hours I have endeared in out family car. I wanted to drive myself, even look at a few colleges on my way over, but my mother insisted it would be bonding time. Some bonding time. The silence is really helping the situation.
Earlier I had an outburst. The topic was normal, I didn't like how they were treating my brother as parents. He is sensitive, sweet, he cares too much about my family to ever do anything bad. It was apparent why he didn't have friends as a young teenager. He didn't share the same teen angst as his peers. He was more involved with charity and the world around him to worry about 'when he was getting laid' or 'how many hits he could get for a buck'.
I felt my self drifting. One coherent thought to the next, as my parents sighed and cleared their throats over and over again. I pictured my older brother and I on our way to Quebec, enjoying the silence we longed for. Not the awkward silence I was enduring currently. Well, not technically silence since we normally pop in a Nirvana CD. Only the sour sounds or Kurt Cobain singing Lithium straight to my heart.
I start to look forward to my new beginning. A new school, a new reputation, a new room to decorate to my teen angst desires. Down side? Leaving my best friend Arthur behind. He promised to visit as soon as I found where the movie theatre was located.
The tapping stopped. Eyes impulsively opened. My head swung to look at my curly haired brother. He was unbuckling his seat belt. "We're here." I heard my mother whisper as if by saying so she was going to burst into annoying, menopausal tears.
I elongated my vision to the sight of the generous yard to the right of me. It was luscious and vivid. I almost didn't want to disturb it. Picturing myself lying on the grass with a novel and homemade vegan brownies made me smile for the hope distilled in this house. In this house, maybe I could find contentment. My father opened my car door giving me a heated look.
The anger I feared. 16, and still scared of daddy. Hell, 19 and still scared of daddy, as Michael told our therapist.
As I braced myself for the image of the castle I saw in pictures, I had a thought. Could things really be different like he promised here?
Suddenly all my hope grew as I viewed my castle for the first time in person. There were so many windows, so many bricks. I started to count them, realizing it was useless. I smiled, profusely. My parents beckoned me from the doorway as I trailed behind Michael who was now snapping photos left and right of our entry way. He entered the house as I stopped to admire the yard once more.
It filled me. I started to violently cough. The smell of nicotine , filled my airways and suffocated me. I shut my eyes to block out the pain I was feeling when a set of arms guided me to safety, away from the puff of smoke. I kept my eyes shut but leaned into who I guessed was Michael. Focusing on my breathing the arms remained tight until we stopped walking. I was puzzled when I opened my eyes to see a pair of pale hands wrapped around my waist. Arms covered in a striped sweater. Not my brothers.
"Violet, could you put that out? Can't you see its hurting her!" A voice close to my ear yelled. Sudden fear of memories flooded my brain , so I spun around. My eyes must have been wide, because the white hands were up in the air as a defense. "I mean no harm."
I examined him. "Are you alright? Do I need to ask for your inhaler or something?" He said letting his arms drop,
Nice shoulders, taller than me, that's a nice change, black eyes, almost a button nose, shaggy hair that cute and twisted every which way. His appearance was innocent yet, dark at the same time. He looked washed out. In a very feminine voice he said "Where are my manners, here is a picture, it will last you longer." Smirking he mimicked reaching into his pocket and pulling out a picture. Hand still closed around the imaginary photo, he opened it into a handshake. "Hi, I'm Tate." I was still absorbing his image when I skeptically said reaching to shake his hand "..and I'm Annabelle."
My smile captivated him long enough for me to analyze my situation. I had thirty seconds before my father came outside with his belt in hand, but I had so many questions for Tate. Who is he? Where did he come from? Who was smoking? Does he live around here?
But as I predicted, my father approached me red as his shirt. "ANNABELLE GET INSIDE, NOW!" He screeched.
Tate looked mad as he dropped my hand, hearing my fathers word, I apologized under my breathe and said good-bye. Passing my father, I braced myself for a smack to the face but instead endeavored a low and hateful 'slut' whispered under his breathe.
I prayed that Tate wouldn't call DCF on my dad or that he wouldn't cast me as a freak as I made my way through the door.
My father followed close behind slamming the door behind him.
Tiffany fixtures, real stained glass, wood flooring and a grand staircase. "Welcome to your new home." Someone called from upstairs. I stood, dumbly as I wait till my father left the entry way.
I ascended up the staircase, letting the touch of the wood overwhelm me. Feeling harmless as I did in the car, I wandered the white halls looking out a bay transom, peering into package filled rooms, looking for mine.