Knock Knock

Silence besides the sound of tiny breaths. The sheets crumpling up against her bare feet. Her eyes are shut, but she is no longer asleep.

I'm sorry. The two words that have been bouncing around in her head for the past two days.

Deep slow breaths, in and out. She assured herself. You are going to be fine. She is well aware of the lie, neglecting the effort to even try to disguise the falsity. Her brain is quiet, every ounce of energy she can muster concentrated toward containing the riot that resides in the cavity that once held her heart.

Don't. let. it. show.

Sunlight peeks through the slit between her curtains, it's daytime. The dreaded hour where wakefulness is an absolute requirement. It took her everything to carry the weight of her petite torso as she sits upright, creating a diminutive silhouette against the morning sun; the beauty of this scene unreserved for the eyes of anyone, not anymore. She is by herself this morning, alone.

It's a brand new day. She slides her legs off the edge of the bed, her toes flinching upon the cold kiss of the marble tiles that cover the expanse of her bedroom. New year, new me. She lets out a single chuckle, an effort made to acknowledge the joke it has all seemed to be, captured in a limbo between a self-deprecating joke and just kidding.

Throb.

Her heart aches with every effort to keep going with its promised rhythm. She reaches her right hand up to her dry chapped lips, and runs her tongue over them once. That's enough.

Her phone lights up, and habit conditions her brain to a false expectation of the name that appears on her screen. Disappointment: How are you feeling?

Fight for it. She shakes the thought out of her head. For once she wishes to be the princess the battle roars after, but she knows... she knows she's no princess, not in this reality.

She throws herself backward into the warm familiar hold of her sheets, now the only one that remains. The mattress curves to fit the lines that create her slight frame. She closes her eyes once again. Breathe deep, take it in, take it all in.

Knock knock.

Her father calls from the doorway: Sweetie?

She is seven again. Absolute exuberance. She jumps off her bed, her weight barely making a thud on the wooden flooring in her childhood home. It is a good day, her best day.

She holds on tight onto her father's grip, the sun upon their faces, afternoon walks are one of her favorite parts of Sundays. She slips off her little sundress, revealing a skintight swimsuit and runs straight for the pool.

Wait up, princess! She pays no attention to her father's calls. It's a weekly practice, a game. Excitement gushes from the tips of her toes to her head as she throws herself into the water.

Two seconds: Icy cold needles prick at her skin. A warm rush of blood follows through her body.

She emerges, shooting out from the water like a rocket. Splash. Energy at an all time high, she rushes toward the far end of the pool. It's a race, it is always a race.

Dip. Breathe. Dip. Breathe. Each time her head leaves the water, she hears the splashes of her father's limbs as he approaches. Right, left.

She sees it coming but swims a little harder anyway, trying not to giggle underwater.

Gotcha!

Right hand. Left ankle. Tug.

The deep pool engulfs her, silencing her surroundings. Time feels slower underwater, she opens her eyes and looks around her, is this what it feels like to be a fish?

Three seconds.

She is called to the front of the class to see the teacher.

Do not panic. Stay calm. She approaches. She has not done anything wrong... has she?

The usual demons creep up her back and she readies in herself an apology. She stands at the front of her class, head down, all of nine years old, do not let the fear escape your eyes.

Your father is here to pick you up early, you can pack up now.

She bursts out of the gates of the school like a bird set free from the constraints of its cage, she is getting an early dismissal. An extra day of the year-end break. An early start toward their holiday destination. Mommy and daddy are the best!

She repeats. Over and over.

The humming of the engine sets her at an unusual ease. Her eyelids leaden with sleep, drooping. How much longer?

This much. A false indication of time using a random placement of thumb from index finger. Chuckles.

She fades off to sleep.

Wake up, we're here.

She steps onto the pavement. How long are we staying at grandma's this time?

Silence. Before: Just tonight, she misses you.

Mother brushes her hands twice over each of her own under-eye and takes a deep breath before stepping through the front door. She does not sense anything amiss. You tend to take things at face value when you are ten, and she clearly is no exception.

Grandma! She loves the anticipation of each visit - there is never a limit to the amount of ice-cream she is allowed at grandma's.

She dabs the chocolate chip ice-cream smears off the corners where her lips meet. A dimmed anticipation awaits. She misses daddy.

Knock knock.

Sweetie? Princess...

She is fourteen. Sitting at the edge of her bed, her head hanging over the rest of her, hair brushing where her knees begin. No. way.

Click. Goes the suitcase.

She refuses to budge. The reason being the assurance that if she did she would fall apart instantaneously. She must not be weak. Not now.

Sigh. The sound she has grown so accustomed to after the past few years. The sign of her father's disappointment, the sign of his giving up. On them. On everything. On her.

Don't. let. it. show.

She picks herself up, the same time she hears the sound of his footsteps fade as they arrive at the door. The beginning of the end of everything. The lock clicks, wheels of the suitcase against the marble flooring, deafening. She stands.

The front door shuts.

The engine starts.

This is the moment her life falls apart.

She stands.

A warm wetness slices her cheek.

Take it all in.

She is twenty. Arms entwined in an embrace with he whom she has decided to hand her heart. She is happy.

His arms around her, weighing her body against his in an additional attempt on top of gravity, holding her head against his chest, gently running his right hand through her hair. Once-twice.

Buh-dum-buh-dum.

Frank Sinatra sings gently in the background: From now on, our troubles will be out of sight....

Her eyes are shut. Aside from the radio, the room is silent, the air still, time unrushed. Her body lies flopped over his, motionless, like you would on a bed after a long day. His chest her new preferred choice of pillow, held in a place that has become so familiar. For the first time in a long time, she is enjoying the moment. Enjoying the now. Her heart beats rhythmically alongside his, her right ear against his left chest.

Buh-dum-buh-dum. Goes the heart whose content was poured all over her minutes ago, filling her own with its promise. Its sincerity. She tightens her embrace against his physique, just to feel her body against his... to ensure that he is real. Home.

Tick-tock. A huge oncoming wave approaches the shore. She is standing right at the edge were the water meets the dry, hard sand. She is helpless. Tick-tock.

Her eyes spring open. She had fallen asleep in her own reminiscence. She sits upright, it has only been five minutes. Readying herself, she makes her bed, a task that has found difficulty in being checked off her to-do list the past two days.

She walks over to the armchair that sits in the bit of light that creeps in when signaling the daily rising of the sun, in it is founded the pieces of clothing that have failed to make it into the laundry basket in the past week. Before.

In an effort to get her day started, she starts putting them into the basket. One-by-one.

Two days ago, in a brutal swing of a string of words, her life was sliced into a clean line between before and after. Everything she does thenceforth comes with a whispered reminder: after...

Her glance lands upon the dress she was wearing that day, the day. The first date dress, she'd once joked. It held the title long-term for being the dress that made her feel effortlessly beautiful; the dress she made the effort to choose, especially on days where her fire burned dim. It has fulfilled its purpose.

She picks it up and holds it up to her face. She takes a deep breath, an open invitation to her lungs. Take it in, take it all in, every final second, minute, and hour.

This is goodbye.

Buh-dum-buh-dum.

A warm wetness slices her cheek.

Yet she remains standing.

Edited & Completed: February 2017

#KnockKnock #GeraldineWu #2017