Updated: Aug 21, 2021
I took a writing workshop today through Grubstreet, and I ended up feeling so excited and empowered afterwards. I shared some of my work and came out feeling invigorated and motivated to keep going with the projects I am working on. Writing soothes my soul and works to not only act as a therapeutic tool, but it has become something that I crave and value immensely. It is healing. And it gives me one of the greatest sense of achievements within myself. I am so grateful to have rediscovered this passion again. Here is a piece I worked on today in class...
“You go watch TV, Kimmy. I'm going out now. I’ll be back later.” he says to me quietly, gently turning me around and ushering me out of the kitchen.
“Are you going on another car ride alone?”I ask him.
I know he needs those breaks. He deserves the quiet time. At least that’s what he tells me. All adults need a time out too, just like kids. I know I am not supposed to ask why though. I am not allowed to question the adults in the room.
Most nights, I hear them whispering though, after dinner, while they clean up the dirty dishes, scraping the crusty spaghetti off the blue and white dinner plates. Jenny turns the TV up loudly so I don’t hear their arguing.
Nights like this though, I wonder. Where does he take the car? When will he come back? Why aren’t I allowed to know?
I wait outside the kitchen, and before he walks into the darkness of the night, he lingers as well. But he doesn't wait for me though. They are talking to one another again.
Then, soft shouting.
Peaking my head around the corner of the swinging door to the kitchen, she spots me over the rim of her wine glass, as she sits perched on the stool at the counter.
“She’s listening again, you know,” she says, pointing to me, slurring her words.
She walks over to me, sadness in her eyes. She comes around the corner, slowly taking my hand. Quietly, she whispers.
“Go on and watch Full House. Bedtime soon,”she whispers quietly, kissing the top of my head. The smell of wine sweet and pungent. She shuts the door firmly behind her, but again, I don’t budge.
Instead, I choose to lay down beside the kitchen, listening to the familiar sounds of the evening coming to an end. An argument that has passed. Until next time.
He cleans. She watches.
The reassuring whir of the vacuum. The comforting sound of the plates clanging together. The ice cubes hitting the glass.
The secrets. The lies.
I stay motionless in the darkness outside the door, unknowingly caught between two worlds, my heart aching. I lay down and allow my body to curl up in the light that shines out from underneath, feeling comfort in the smell of my mother’s dinner and the warmth of the vacuum cleaner. I hold onto the light, wishing and willing it to keep me safe. At least for a little while longer.