Walking. Some people did it for sport, others to socialize. I just did it to get away. The soles of my beat up converse slapped against the ground, the only noise penetrating the still silence that surrounded me, that and my staggered breathing, shaky due to the tears that had been slipping down from my so-dark-brown-they’re-black eyes a moment before. The air was heavy around me, and summers evening humidity wrapped its way around my body, beads of sweat beginning to mingle with dried tear tracks. My thick black hair was in a tight ponytail that brushed along my lower back. The near silence, however, did not reach to the broken record playing in my mind. Voices repeated themselves like a script; memories that followed me around to no end.
It was shortly after my father lost his job, when I was around 8 years old, that the fighting started, if I thought about it. Nothing like now, just little digs at breakfast and avoiding eye contact at dinner and my father a rumpled mess on the couch in the morning, while my mother was tucked away all cozy upstairs. Well, at least that’s what she thought I thought. She was not very good at keeping her sobs quiet. When the brother I hardly knew up and left without a word, however, was when it became so much more real. After that they wasted no time in trying to hide it, plates were smashed and doors were slammed, screams reached higher pitches than I thought possible, and accusations were hiding behind every sentence. They forgot about me somewhere along the line, which I didn’t mind, because I did not want that level of intensity turned on me, no thank you. At least, they forgot about me until today.
The day had started out normal as usual, my strange routine centered on avoiding my parents at all costs. I darted around the house that morning in expert time, grabbing what I needed before heading off to the last day of 8th grade. At school, I was neither popular, a nerd, or hated, I was simply there. I drifted through halls without being seen, missed the scanning eyes of my teachers, and worked by myself on group projects. It was something I had become used to, comfortable with, the constant state of invisibility u lived in. Because of this, I had neutral feelings towards school, so I could not say it was a relief that school was over. I began to make my way home, the walk filled with the sounds of children laughing and cars rumbling. Walking up the steps to my house, I could almost beliebe that nothing was the matter. From the outside, anyone could think we were a perfectly happy family. It was the inside that contained the secrets. When I finally reached the door, I cleared my mind and braced myself, raised voices already floating through the walls. It became apparent that they were in the kitchen, which meant I would have to pass them to get to the staircase leading to my room.
Crap.
Slowly, as if I was walking a tightrope, I tiptoed my way down the hall. I didn’t think they would notice me, really, it was just a precaution. But my careful steps were interrupted by my father’s sharp voice, suddenly directed at me.
“Girl,” he barked, I danced with the idea that he had forgotten my name; “get over here, me and your….mother” That last part came out strangled, “have something to say to you”
He was not a particularly tender man, and I was not about to test how far he would go. Quickly I obliged, scampering over to where they stood and trying not to notice my mother avoiding looking at me like one glance would burn her. They had barely spoken to me since the 3rd grade, and even before then not much- we had never been close. Any conversations we had were uneasy and short, and even that was rare. An unfamiliar feeling began to swirl around in my gut, and at first I assumed it was curiosity, but I dismissed that. It was only when my father began to speak again that I realized what it was, apprehension.
“Your… mother… and I are going to get a divorce.”
He chose his words carefully, and spoke slowly. I couldn’t say I was surprised, in fact I had been waiting for this to happen.
“We have been having some… issues”
I had remained silent throughout our entire interaction, but here I had to fight the urge to laugh, despite the dull ache in my chest that always came with me thinking about the life of seperation I lived. Honestly, it was like he actually thought I handt noticed.
“It seems for the best we all get some time alone. Completely alone.”
I stared at him for a while and tried to understand what he was saying. Completely alone? Sounded kind of ominous. It was then that my common sense kicked in and I realized what he had been implying.
They were sending me away.
To where I wasn’t sure, or when, but that truth smacked me so hard across the face I was left speechless.
I searched their eyes for a moment, hoping to find some form of guilt or reluctance, but all I found was anger, and tired, tired, tired. I wondered how they could make such a decision so simply, how neither of them had wanted me even a little bit. But even as I thought this, I knew that no matter what I wanted to believe, there was nothing that could fill the empty void between me and my parents. No words could take up that space, apologies or other. It was then that I turned on my heel and walked out, and for the first time in a long time, nothing but silence echoed through the house that never stopped shouting.
So here I was, feet slapping on pavement, no particular direction in mind. Maybe it was stupid to get so upset over two people who had done nothing to show me they cared, maybe I was overreacting, and maybe I should be happy about the opportunity to get away. Then again, that was a lot of maybes, and even though they were a poor excuse of parents, that’s exactly what they were, my parents. Not the TV commercial, cookie baking, toy buying kind of parents. I never got a note in my lunch box, and I certainly never got a hug with a kiss on the head when I came back from school. No one held me while I cried, or cheered me on at my soccer games. But they were the only thing I had left, the ones that had just always been there, even if not as a comforting presence. I swallowed the lump in my throat and plowed on, shoving it all out of my head. I would keep on walking, even if nothing would be resolved the next morning or any morning after that. I kept walking because I had to, because I needed to push endlessly on for as long as I could. And that was enough for me.