Saturday, September 1, 2012

the picture of me

Picture of Me

Yesterday while waiting in the cold, corner office for the
person who by foul fate has become that which I call
mother, I spotted a picture of myself in the farthest
corner of the steel desk. It seemed so out of place among
the stacks of paper, in between the computer and the phone.
I tried desperatly to think of something else, but I just
kept coming back to it. Finally I gave up, but just as I
was about to pick it up, my mother's secretary came in.
"She'll be a little while longer; she's in a meeting with
an important client," she said pleasantly.

I nodded with a smile and she left, closing the door behind
her. There was always something more important. Once again
I found myself alone in that indifferent office. I glanced
at my watch and found that she was over an hour late, as
usual. I don't even know why I agreed to have dinner in the
first place, let alone why I showed up on time. I got up
with a sigh to look out the huge bay windows, but in the
darkness all I could see were the faint lights of the
distant city. Soon I found myself pacing, that's when the
picture once again crept into my mind. I sat down in her
cold leather chair and picked up the photo.

It was of my then best friend and me at my sixth birthday
party. I remember that day distinctly. It was hot even for
July. The intensely blue sky was filled with huge fluffy
clouds. The gardens were overflowing with flowers and the
scent hung in the warm breeze. All my friends were there
and we had an enormous water fight with water guns and
water balloons and hoses. It was an all out neighborhood
war. It was absolutely great! By the time we sat down for
cake, we were all completely soaked, but no one cared, it
felt good in the July heat.

I don't remember how it started or even quite how it ended,
but not even ten minutes into eating, a food fight broke
out. There was cake and icing flying everywhere, and
laughter filled the air. By the end of it, we were all
soaking wet and covered from head to toe in icing and
having the time of our lives. Here's where the picture
comes in. My best friend and I are standing there with
streaks of blue and white icing everywhere making faces at
the camera and giggling through our toothless grins. I
couldn't help laughing while looking at that picture. Back
then I was so carefree and silly. My sparkling eyes were so
full of life. Anything was possible. Back then I had hope.

Hope. I glanced down at my scarred wrists and the tears
began to flow. I had hope. With the tears flooded the
memories of the years to come. I tried to fight back them
back, but it was no use the dam had already broke. 

That little girl would soon go through a hell beyond her
imagination. A hell so devastating that only now, twelve
years later, am I beginning to come out of it. I began
pounding the desk with my weathered fist. 

"Why had it all happened? Why?" I shouted through my tears,
"How could you stare at this picture all day and do what
you did to me at night? How? Why?" 

I stared at the photo and wanted more than anything to go
to her and warn her; I wanted to save her, but it was too
late. I threw the picture across the room. The glass
shattered and fell like fairies to the ground. I sat there
staring at the picture, shaking my head. It was too late
for I was her and she is me, and hell has already come

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