Throw the window

Chapter 3.

Whoever was writing my story was very bad at it, full of meaningless clichés and absurd plot twists that detract from the interesting parts, if there were any. There's something appealing, even if you don't believe in God, in thinking that a higher entity controls your life, that everything you do, everything you are, you owe it to "him". Everything is dictated. And what would happen if this fellow was a second-rate writer? Well, you'd end up like me, in a car on New Year's Eve after a long and loud argument between your parents that led to their harsh divorce; looking out the window thinking you are the protagonist of a tearful drama, thinking that resting your head against the window would be a magnificent and uncommon shot that would give the viewer the ultimate feeling of sadness.… But we're not always the star of a story, we believe it, but we are herd. Pure and hard herd.

In one short hasty act my life had derailed. I'd gone from a happy upper-class girl - I had to admit -, to a girl still upper-class but now going to live one week with her father and one week with her mother. Back and forth like a tennis ball. And obviously I'm not happy anymore... I know this is not the worst thing that can happen to you; there are people who die of hunger, of cold, who get a fulminant cancer and die in two months. But we are selfish, I am selfish, and I care about what affects me. It doesn't mean that I don't think about others, that I don't help when necessary, but what am I supposed to think about if not what my life is going to be like from now on? You have some preconceived ideas of how your future is going to be, probable ideas if everything stays the same, and all of a sudden there's an effect that overturns everything. I guess that's life…

After my chat with Mom we went downstairs because she was going to make me her famous recipe for hot chocolate -which was actually a package of chocolate powder from the supermarket with a little cinnamon on top-, but it was already a family tradition. We used to drink it on weekend afternoons while playing Monopoly or Scrabble. We had a great time as a family, although Mom always won and I couldn't stand that; I even cheated once or twice by making fake money or letters. Do I regret doing that? Yes, but I hate losing. I do whatever it takes to win, and Monopoly rules don't say anything about not being able to make some extra money -same with Scrabble-. According to the law, anything that is not specifically forbidden is allowed, a loophole that can be exploited.

Since I was a child I've been very competitive, not only because I detest the simple fact of losing, but what it entails; its background. All those motivational talks that say that you learn from all experiences, that everything is part of your character are good enough, but the important thing is to win. There's a famous quote that says, "it's always the last man standing who really wins." The satisfaction that a victory gives you - in whatever it is - you can't find anywhere else. To win for me is to show that I am better than others, but not because I am that vain, not to be able to say to the four winds that I am better... it's more of a personal reward. An image. Everyone projects an image - which doesn't have to match who you really are -, and mine has to be perfect. After all I'm carrying the burden of the Yaoyorozu name.

But much of this comes later.

With hot chocolate in hand and watching the news in the living room it was quite a surprise when Dad appeared from the office shouting incomprehensibly like a Neanderthal; with some crumpled papers in his hand that he was violently waving like the cathartic scene of a musical. I guess he was only expecting to meet Mom because as soon as he saw me he stopped "the attack", changing his angry face for an apologetic look, noticing my reaction and hiding the papers behind his back.

Everything that happened next will stay with me for the rest of my life, not because of anything special, but it was worthy of a You are/Not the father show. "Why are you screaming?!, where were you?, you are an asshole!, what the hell is this?!" ... In short, the whole package. Their hatred had reached such a point that I was no longer there for them, they no longer cared about arguing right in front of me. Sure I was a big girl, sure I'd heard the yelling before, but I was never in the middle of it. And now I was watching the show in the front row, a privileged seat that no one would like to have.

They argued for almost twenty minutes, with me standing as still as a rock and ignored as a beggar. At some point in the shouting competition they moved to the kitchen, which I thought was not a good idea: anger, rage, adrenaline, knives... I'd read too many novels not to know what could happen. Reacting, I tried to pacify the atmosphere by convincing them that it was not the time to argue: the guests of the New Year's Eve party we were organizing wouldn't take long to arrive, there were still a couple of things to prepare -even though the service was already on it-, and they had to get dressed up.

Besides, I reminded them that part of the family was coming and that they had to appear normal in their marriage obligations, not that they wanted to go at each other like cats and dogs. The moment their divorce was made public it would be national news, and let's say at the very least that the grandparents were in for a big surprise... After a few thoughtful seconds my argument seemed to convince them, although I could still see sparks in their eyes.

Finally, each of us went our separate ways, with me arriving at my room and collapsing on bed, staring at the ceiling. I took a deep breath and gently ran my thumb and forefinger over my eyes, then dragged my hand across my face. What was I going to do now? What was going to become of me? It was infuriating... I wanted to lie in bed for the rest of my life. While sleep no one demands anything of me; no one forces me to take piano lessons or study female etiquette, no one asks me about my parents' business, there are no problems to solve or difficulties to overcome. No one forces me to put on my mask. In my sleep I'm nobody.

I got out of bed and advanced to the built-in closet: four pearl white and square doors covered with posters and images, although not of famous singers and mythical scenes from romantic movies as you'd expect. There's a periodic table, handwritten cards with phrases from books I liked, pictures of some family trips, an icon like Albert Einstein... I opened the closet and started looking for the best dress to wear tonight.

Every year we have a party here at home where we invite everyone we know, from Dad's and Mom's work friends to the closest family. It's usually quite popular, and obviously this year was no exception. Despite what you may think it's not a very over-the-top party. The dining room is cleared and filled with tables with food, drinks are handed out, music is played (from the speakers, no need for a live quartet); and then at midnight, after the twelve bells, apart from a group toast and the corresponding congratulations as the guests are already somewhat "happy" they usually dance. Nothing out of the ordinary. But of course, you have to dress minimally well -dress and makeup and all that stuff-.

As I was going through the clothes hanger to find something I wanted to wear I heard two quick knocks on the door.

"Yes?" I asked.

"It's Mom, can I come in?" she answered from the other side without waiting for my answer to open.

Mom was in my room again, practically just as tearful as last time, but now she was carrying a black garment bag in her arms clutched like a baby.

"I thought maybe you might like to wear this. I was coming home from work the other day and saw it exposed, and I immediately thought it was perfect for you". As she said so she advanced to the bed and laid the garment bag on top of it. "Come on, open it".

"Mom, I have enough clothes already..." I said with some exasperation.

"I know, I know. But when you see it you'll instantly change your mind". She said with a gentle smile.

I moved to the bed and grabbed the zipper, stretching all the way down to open it. Inside was one of the most beautiful dresses I'd ever seen. It was dark sea blue as a base -similar to when you're at the beach and the sea touches the horizon-, with a floral pattern that I noticed was actually strawberries, but very well disguised; they fit perfectly. It was beautiful in its simplicity. I took it completely out of the garment bag and laid it on the bed. It had long sleeves that joined at a very discreet V-shaped neckline, and the side of the right leg was cut off almost to the hip, making it a bit suggestive.

"You see? I was just as dumbfounded. Plus it has a super nice feel to it, touch it touch touch it". Mom said looking into my eyes, with a voice of plunging excitement. She was like a little kid on a Christmas morning. "Try it on, I hope I got your size right. You just keep getting bigger and bigger lately". She added with a smirk.

When I had the dress on I walked the few steps to the closet and opened one of the doors where there was a full-length mirror. It was a simply beautiful dress, and it fit me well too, which was a plus. Loose, comfortable on the sleeves and back, with a length past my knees... As I was still gawking Mom came up from behind and finished zipping up the zipper behind my back.

"I have an eye for these things..." she said with a croon.

"I-I, I don't know what to say. I love it, thank you so much".

"You look beautiful". She added, fiddling with the dress and adjusting it from a few places. "Hopefully you're going to impress the son of an acquaintance at the party and finally get yourself a boyfriend. Or daughter, whichever you prefer".

"Mom!"

Ignoring my fake anger she continued to fiddle with the dress, silently, though I knew she wanted to tell me something. She slightly opened her mouth, pondering where to start.

"I'm so sorry about earlier".

"Don't worry, I'm a big girl now... sooner or later I had to witness a live argument. It was... hmm... yeah".

"Exactly. Couldn't have said it better". She said with a brief sad smile.

"So, what were those papers Dad had?"

"Ah, that... They're the divorce papers. I've already signed them." She said with too many pauses.

"So it's official now?"

"I'm afraid so".

When she said that she hugged me tightly, wrapping her arms around my hips and intertwining her hands. She increased the intensity, like she wanted to expel her sadness, like if she could just squeeze really tight everything would go back to the way it was before. Mom was crying, and I noticed a tear escaping from my right eye. I didn't know if it was from pain or sadness, probably second one. "You'd better go take a shower. There's still an hour left until the guests start arriving; but you know how time is, it gets on you." She noted with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Yeah, yeah... I'll shower now and go downstairs to help."

She nodded and laboriously walked to the door, starting the action of closing it but staying just halfway, half body sticking out:

"I want you to know that I love you very much. Dad too, but he shows it a little differently... I-I don't want you to worry, I know it's hard and there must be a lot of things on your head, but we're going to get through this. Everything will be fine".

"Sure." I softly said. "I love you too mom". It was the first time I'd ever said that.

She smiled again and finally closed the door, leaving me alone.