Parent-Child
I sneak into my mother’s office one day when I can’t sleep, staring at the books that line the walls. I take one done, ‘Brideshead Revisited’, and start to read. It’s about a religious man, or a man who’s struggling with religion. I can’t quite tell and I don’t know if there even is a difference. It’s a well worn book, paperback so the edges are starting to fray, and I wish I could be as loved as the book is. I take the book with me up to the attic, making sure to be careful not to wake my mother. Thankfully, she is a heavy sleeper so there’s not a chance that she would wake up.
I sit by the window and read by the moon’s light, taking in the story. I’ve always loved stories, they feel like my escape from the world. It’s been the best part of school, reading whatever book they were assigned with abrupt fascination in whatever the topic of the book was. Now, as this mysterious man describes the outdoor settings he finds himself in, I can’t remember the narrator’s name, I become more and more enraptured. I imagine myself doing the same as he does. I imagine myself meeting a rich family and becoming entangled with them. I imagine playing with the rich boy’s little sister and I wonder what it would be like to have a sister. I wonder if she would be as deformed and spiritually malnourished as I find myself to be or if she would be perfect. I wonder if she would love me wholly or if she would look at me like my mother does.
I’m halfway through the book when the sun starts to rise and I sneak back down the hall, crawling into my bed and pretending I’ve been asleep this entire time. The floors sigh under my weight and I try to step on only the boards I know do not shake, at least don’t shake as much. When I arrive back in my bed, I curl up tight and wait for my mother to come visit me. When she finally does, I am enamored with her beauty and part of me wants to reach out to her, to admit what I did wrong. She has that effect on anyone, to make them
“Hello, my love,” she says, whispering and kissing me on the forehead. “You’re already awake, aren’t you?”
I nod and she smiles. She brushes a stray strand of hair out of my face before kissing me again.
“Get up and get ready for school, my darling,” she says before standing up. “I don’t want you to miss a test or anything of the like.” The house cries suddenly and the both of us burst up, though she quickly turns it into a simple laugh. “How I miss the quiet. I never should have moved here.”
‘But it’s beautiful here,’ I think, staring at her as I nod. I don’t understand how anyone could ever want to leave.
