Words I Don't Understand

Just a big chunk of text.



--

Brown

--



I saw him through my bedroom window. He stood there for a few seconds before walking away. I was shaking. Then I slammed my door shut. I took a deep breath. But I hadn’t been left alone. I just wanted to be left alone. Mother knocked on the door. I closed my eyes and felt an oncoming headache. She asked me where he had gone. I told her he went home. She seemed sad. Told me I should take better care of my friends… she didn’t call him that though. Said father would be disappointed. He was not a friend. He was… something else, according to mother and father. Not according to me. He was nothing. Mother left and I sat down on my chair. I’d felt… He was not a friend. The whole thing was my father’s fault. Father wanted something else, which was good for me apparently. He hadn’t told me why though. So he told me it would all be all right as long as I did as told. Why? Would everything go away just because… because of him? He was not the answer to my problem. I wished I’d never met him – seen him. I wished father never had seen him; noticed his presence. I’d felt my body shake again. I’d been angry. I think I’d been angry. I’d taken a deep breath and thought about other things. Like the fact that I’d been drinking coffee a while ago. That meant I had to use the bathroom. No, I didn’t. Not now. I’d closed my eyes again, thinking about a beach, or maybe a green meadow; somewhere where I wouldn’t meet him. Who did he think he was? My house, my room… He was.... I hated him! I should kill him! Nothing more than what he had deserved anyway, for being so… so… Slowly I turned around in my chair. I was tired. I didn’t want to go to school ever again. I leaned backwards and looked up at the ceiling. I still had small star-stickers there. I liked stars. They were so far away. Untouchable. But the night is frightening. Not because it’s dark, but because there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Light is everywhere. But that was depressing to think about. I was silently fuming in my chair. He wasn’t supposed to see me like this. Here, in my house. Coming here like he knew me. As if he wanted to know me. Like I was some damn friend of his! I wanted nothing to do with him. Why couldn’t he just get that? Leave me alone. Move away. We’d move after him. Fuck it! I clenched my teeth together and slammed my fist against my thigh. He was a fucking idiot! Not that it was my problem. He could be as much of an idiot as he pleased… as long as he stayed out of my house. No one came to this house uninvited and then expected to get away with it. Fucking idiot! What if he had seen something? What if he had seen that picture? Would he know? Of course not. What would he think? Like that mattered. It would only be a blessing if he was afraid. But the point was that that picture was not even supposed to be hanging there. No matter who came to this house. It was a mistake, which was why I hastily stood up and in a jerky motion swiped away hair from my face. I briskly walked out from my room and began descending the stairs. Ten steps from the bottom I stopped. The wall was off-white and on it hung several photographs. One picture of my mother and one of my father. One of my grandmother and one of my grandfather. One from mother and father’s wedding and one from my grandparent’s wedding. Several pictures of me and father. Me and mother. Just me. I hated me. One frame was empty… I’d done that. The frame in the middle was of our family. My mother, father, me and… a hole; an empty face; a no one. I looked at it for a few seconds. I looked happy. Perhaps that was one reason as to why I hated it so much. And of course, there was that hole. I snatched the picture down from the wall and held it with a strong grip in my hands while I looked at the now empty spot on the off-white wall. I heard my mother walk through the kitchen. I turned around and ran up the stairs. She probably noticed me sprint around the corner upstairs and slam my door loudly, but she didn’t say anything. Once I got into my room I threw the picture on my bed. I didn’t want to touch it anymore. But I quickly changed my mind since I didn’t want it on my bed either. Instead, I grabbed it and threw it in the bottom drawer of my desk. The one with a lock. I threw the key in the bin. Now, if anyone wanted to gain access to it, they’d have to break their way in. And he would never see it. He would never know of its existence. Pleased with my work, I sat down in my chair again and sighed. What day was it again? Who cared? I was feeling tired. And angry. He reminded me of it. Too much. Aaah! I was frustrated! Why did it have to be me? This… this curse! He made me remember. And remembering is bad when all you want to do is forget. Forget who you are, forget how you are… forget what you are. I felt somewhat justified in throwing my silent tantrum when I could remember. When I didn’t fall victim to suppression or forgetting. No, forgetting is a blessing. I looked outside. It was getting dark. It was getting late. Soon, mother would take me away. I would not go to school the next day.