The days went by as usual and before long all had the appearance of being forgotten. Everything was the same as it had been before my traumatic realisation and I had no desire to confront it. My life remained a grey abis as it had for months. Only one thing had changed since the December night I had uncovered miserable truth; when I looked at my parents now their was a shadow in my eyes which had not been their previously. nobody could see it, it was hardly noticeable but it was there and it was growing. Daily it haunted my thoughts whenever my parents were around, though as of yet this was the only power it held over me for I would not succumb to let the shadow manipulate my actions.
It was four months after the night of my parents unveiling when at last I was confronted. Claiming that this was due to cowardice is truth, but I feel I can not claim their to be a wrongness in this as I myself neither confronted them or told my sister what I knew. Like I imagine my parents were doing I was doing in miniature. We all spent months placing excuses in front of the trouble in front of us 'its to close to christmas' 'I don't want to ruin Molly's birthday' 'I have to much work to do' just a few of the things I told myself.
Eventually however the day came, on the day of my Aunts birthday party. We were due to leave for the party in an hour so I was tidying my room before getting ready to leave. A found a footsteps coming up the stairs reached my ears, but I continued - perfectly calm. The white door behind me swung open bringing with it a slight breeze into my room. My mother entered and I turned to face her. In her hand was a pile of washing which she graciously placed on the cream sofa beside her. It was the silents and grace of this action that made me awear that something wasn't. Her skin was slightly paler then it's usual peach colour and her eyes gave my a pitying look though in didn't even register this until later replaying of the memory. She absent mindedly walked over to my bed and sat down, all the while her eyes remained on me as though I held some great answer to an unasked question. She looked down at her she for a moment, as though now longing my absents then raised her head with such effort it was as though gravity was more active on it then it was or anything else. She caught my blue eyes and said "will you sit down?" I knew even surer now that this was not good."I'd rather stand" I replied.
When I was upset or nervous I always preferred to stand so I could sway gently releasing some of my emotions through my movement. It was calming to do so, enabled me to level my head. I could look slightly above or below the eyes of someone talking to me as they'd be a different height. When I did so I could focus on what they were saying but not feel the pain the words bore because I didn't have to see the sorrow in someones eyes. My hands could be in my pockets, clenching whatever was within them in my fists. I never felt comfortable unless I wasn't holding something. But most of all I could leave. As soon as the conversation ended I was able to escape able to run, to be free.
This time, however, I could not stand. My mother insisted on my sitting beside her. Then she muttered the words "I need to tell you something, your father and I..." It was as though I was 10 again and she was telling me that Santa Claus was not real. As soon as she'd opened her mouth to explain what she needed to tell me I knew the answer and interrupted her. "You're getting a divorce" I finished her sentence for her. She was slightly stunned by my response. It was not until a few seconds later, though not nearly long enough, that she responded "Yes. How did you know?" Without thinking about it I gave my answer "it was obvious". I regretted it the moment I'd said it, now I'd have to explain to her what I'd seen. But how could I? Right on cue she asked the dreaded question "How was it?" At first I gave a brief answer "It just was" but feeling I needed to add to this I explained to her that I'd seen dads shoes by the spear bed which was now out every night, how I'd seen dads dates written on the calender, I'd noticed how they didn't act how they used to - it wasn't until the end of the long list that I briefly mentioned having seen the website on the computer and made it sound rather irrelevant. "ok" was my mothers only response. I wished she'd go, get up and leave, I didn't want to be around here anymore, but she stayed. She spent the next 15 minutes asking how I felt, explaining how my dad had a girlfriend and was going to move, but try to live close, how she was going to buy his half of the house off of him, how me and my sister were going to stay here. I didn't care about any of it except that it was evident we were getting the choice of who we'd live with - it was going to be her. How was it that the one thing, the only thing I had been sure of wasn't going to happen. Why had I been so wrong? Hoping it would end the conversation soon I asked "Does Molly know?" My sister was what mattered now, for I had known most of what I had just heard for months where as she did not. 12 years old, coming up to the most challenging time in her life, and her life was about to change without warning. "No, but I'm going to tell her now." Relief flooded over me at the sight of an end to this torturous discussion. 'Good luck Molly' I thought to myself. It was then that I decided that getting closer to my sister was a necessity - after all it was just us now. "your dad will talk to you about this when you get back from your aunts tomorrow" my mother said before rising from where she was seated and leaving my room without looking back at me.
As the door swung shut behind her it all become real to me. This was really happening. My parents were splitting up. A wave of sadness and anger came over me and I fell to my knees. I didn't know how to act or what to do. So I just stayed there for a moment, unable to cry but unable to be happy. Reality was now staring me in the face and my darkened shadow was staring back.
On the way to the party all I could think about was the feeling inside my chest, the feeling the a darkness was their. Every time I saw my mother it roared like a dragon inside of me, but even when i was watching the pacing countryside it was growling. Changes around the darkness were gradually breaking and it was becoming free. It was telling me to ignite and rebel. As Khaled Hosseini once wrote "There is only one sin. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft." The words replayed in my head. She had stolen what was left of my happiness and for that I was not sure if she could ever be forgiven. I knew my parents had made the right decision, they weren't meant to be together - yet the darkness was thinking for me now and I would not contain it. A glint of red sparked in my eye as we continued towards the party.
To be continued...
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