Parents are supposed to love each other. At a minimum tolerate the others company, and possibly even talk to one another in a civilized manner. That is what Vanessa had heard for years from the happy people. That’s even what she had heard from her own parents. But she had heard it among many other pretty lies and its validity became ever more diminished.

She turned into a messenger with constant, adverse information, stuck in the middle of her parent’s mess. Alas neither of these monarchs has heard the saying “don’t kill the messenger”, and for fourteen years she had been dying from within.

Each of her parents is convinced the other is wrong, and that the other habitually wrongs them. Not only do they insult one another, but assume additionally that Vanessa is being wronged. This is how she grew up. With parents certain that Vanessa should side with them more than she already does.

They considered the lack of devotion a sign of disloyalty or moral corruption at the hands of the other parent, therefore belittling Vanessa’s judgments and decisions as misinformed or deceived. No matter how hard she tried, her words were lost in the abyss of her parents’ egos and hate for one another.

Both made eloquent, convincing arguments, which were rationally sound and drew solid conclusions from the premises they exploited. For Vanessa the premises must either be accepted as obvious truth. If she challenged those premises then she was being pugnacious. Her choice could only please one parent. But achieving happiness amid the resentment is what baffled her. For fourteen years she continued to seek out happiness.

…

The happy people smiled around her, as did Vanessa. She had mastered the art of smiling. It had a single purpose: convince people of her happiness. She was seen as happy though it was an empty word to her. It echoed through her head as she was yelled at, and resounded in her ears at the night hours of sleeplessness.

Right now she didn’t focus on the nights or the mornings. She instead looked at her sister, the one who was untouched by the pain, a happy person. Her sister would smile at the sun in the morning and wave at the moon during night; she was untouchable in her bliss.

“What is happiness?” Vanessa asked, hoping to glean an understanding of that cold word that seemed so beloved to her sister.

“I don’t know,” she responded simply. “This ice cream makes me happy.”

Vanessa nodded as if that made sense. She looked around the ice cream store, it was an old building made to look fashionable, like an idea over used and rephrased, the brick seemed to build itself into the ivy yet it breathed life from its’ windows catching whatever light it could. Around her people ambled and held hands; they smiled and talked, bustling from place to place. They had the dynamic of happy people: being static. Their lives went on as expected. Their happiness was expected.

Vanessa tried to expect happiness, but that was not how happiness worked to her. She tried to force happiness, but being superficial was worse. At least by being bitter, people thought she was sarcastically unique.

Through the clear windows Vanessa spotted more people driving into the lot: parents holding their toddlers, mothers grabbing the hand of an escaping child, sheltering them, fathers lifting up their child on to their shoulders. Vanessa wondered how much of it would last. If these young, still blinded would continue to be blinded. Whether they would be able to enjoy life, only with good things.

A young girl spilled her drink across a table; it was cascading down the sides and streaming like raindrops on a windshield. The child began to cry. Unhappiness to her was overwhelming and uncommon. And when it did occur it was over something that should not cause unhappiness. There was no perspective to her happiness.

Vanessa shook her head at happiness. Maybe unhappiness was the approach to take; at least nothing could get worse at that point. And nothing was expected. Nothing was worse than the expected; she always expected the fighting, and it always came.

With unhappiness she decided she could be happy, in her own way.

She looked back at her sister the ice cream was coiling its way down her hand and dripping off her elbow onto the patio of the store, leaving a puddle of sticky, sweet sugar on the dirty ground. All but forgotten by her sister.

“Is that your happiness?” Vanessa said, pointing to the ground.

“Happiness is random,” her sister smiled, “and right now my ice cream likes the floor.” Her sister sat next to the puddle. “And I do too.” Her sister understood.

Vanessa genuinely smiled. There was hope.