This is another entry for her contest. Of course I will only submit one. My other entry is called After Rain.
No. 6
Snowflakes
I bang at the door. “Mom! Let me in! I’m sorry."
Miranda from next door is watching me; her hands tucked in her jacket pockets, hunched forward and squinting at me, trying to make out my features, in spite of the distance. She will probably tell everything to her brother Brad, who is my class. She seems to be enjoying the spectacle. I can't make out her features, but I imagine her smirking to herself. I don't like Miranda. And my dislike for her increases as she watches me; looking at me as if I am some sort of entertainment for her, as if she has the right to stare at me as much as she pleases.
I turn towards the door, my back to her. The dark sky above, the first snowflakes of the season falling around me, the late hour, my pocket-less jacket, my bare hands, all seem to taunt me. Unlike Miranda, I can't open my door and go curl up before the fire nestled in warm blankets, because I’m locked out.
“Mom!” I bang both my fists hard against the door. “Please Mom.” I yell, forcing myself not to cry. My eyes sting, and I take quick breaths to keep the tears from overflowing. I feel Miranda’s gaze on me. I turn slightly, and look at her from the corners of my eyes. I want her to go. To leave me alone. Her brother is coming down the steps of their house. He joins Miranda. I can’t go on anymore. I can’t make a show of myself in front of Brad. No, not him. I slide down against the door and sit on a step. The stone feels hard and cold and I uncomfortably try to adjust to it, squirming.
Miranda is wearing a thick black coat, with pockets. I wish I had one on. I’ve only got my light spring jacket. The neon green one. I try to fight against the cold by trying my best not to shiver and act like everything’s normal, but I can’t resist shoving my chilled knuckles in my mouth to protect them from the cruelty of the harsh weather.
I look straight ahead at the road. A woman is hurrying by pushing at a stroller. She stops and fixes the blanket in the stroller, making sure her child is warm and protected then resumes her brisk pace. She is going home probably.
Brad looks bored and he turns to go inside. Relief washes over me, warming my insides. Miranda is still standing there. I wish she would go too, so I could at least cry. I should get used to this, but I’m not. I’m already different enough being the only Indian girl living in the block. I am the only one whose brother wears a turban. It’s embarrassing. I wish I was normal. I am also the only one with the mother who locks out her thirteen year old daughter. But I'm not going to give Miranda the pleasure of seeing me cry.
'The snowflakes are soft and light, and there are millions of them falling from the sky. But the way they fall slowly, in such a melancholic mood, each one so different. I want to cry, to pity myself, but Miranda is still standing there.
“Mom, I’m sorry.” I whisper to the rough wood of the door, even though I know she can’t hear me. “Mom, I’m cold.” I can feel the hot tears rolling down my cheeks. They feel nice against my chilled skin. I don’t think Miranda can see my tears from such a distance. It is too dark anyways. I keep myself still and cry silently. I look up at the sky, the snow flakes floating down on the ground only to melt away. I can't make out the stars or the sky, just the flakes falling.
“I want to be normal. I want a normal family. I want to go home. Give me a normal home.” I cry, silently whispering to the sky, hoping that someone is listening to me. It’s not Mom’s fault. She’s schizophrenic. Occasionally. Very occasionally. But it has been getting more severe.
I thump my head hard against the door. Why me? Why do I have to be the one with a delusional Mother? It’s not fair. Miranda turns around and goes inside. She’s probably cold and has grown tired of watching me. I bang my head against the door again repeatedly.
“Mom!” I cry. It wasn’t always like this. Before dad and her divorced she was better off. I was better off. There was yelling, a lot of yelling but at least I never got locked out on such snowy nights. I’ve been locked out before. Many times, but never for this long.
Amit is away at a sleepover at his friends. It was only Mom and I tonight. She is alone inside the house and in one of her trances. It was my fault she got into a trance. I stressed her out. I yelled at her about being hungry. I had acted like a spoiled child. I can’t afford to act like a spoiled child. And when I went out to take the garbage out, she locked the door. She was in her trance. It’s not her fault.
A bus halts at the stop in front Miranda’s house. A middle aged man walks out. He has a folded newspaper in his hand. He walks quickly down the street. I lose sight of him soon.
She’s not going to open the door. No. She’s probably asleep. But she’s alone, and in one of her trances. I should start keeping a spare key under the mat. I’ll ask Amit to get a spare key made. I push myself up and wipe the tears away slowly. I feel empty and sad. I know where I should go. Janet was having a sleepover. She had invited me and I had refused because I had to be with Mom.
I trudge down slippery driveway slowly and walk down the street slowly. I make a right and am soon in front of Janet’s door. I stand for a while, not having the courage to knock. I don’t have a sleeping bag with me, or my toothbrush. My clothes are damp. I make a fist and softly knock on the door. I wait. No one opens the door. I can see the lights are on inside. I knock again, louder this time. I can hear footsteps behind the door. The footsteps pause. Who ever is behind the door must be looking through the peep hole. Janet opens the door.
“Hey Karina!” Janet greets. She is in her pajamas. She shivers. “Come on in. It’s really cold.”
I murmur a thank you and walk in. I take off my shoes and place them beside the row of other shoes. I notice the difference between my shoe and the other shoes. Mine are raggedy; cheap shoes from Wal Mart while the rest are all branded. I wish again for the thousandth time that day that I was normal.
Janet’s house is pleasantly warm. I always notice the frames of pictures that cover the walls in her hallway. Pictures of Janet and her family. Her normal Canadian family. They are so different from the walls at home. I walk down to the living room where all the girls are sprawled. Most of them are from my class. A hush falls over the room as they see me. They're eyes following me as I walk to the corner of the room and sit stiffly on the chair placed in front of the computer.
Jessica thinks I don’t see her as she gives Janet a questioning look. Janet ignores the look. She smiles brightly at me. “We were just talking about Brad.” Janet explains.
Lilly Waters, a mousy girl nods and squeals, “He is so cute.”
I try to smile back. Then Janet pokes me teasingly. “You are so lucky to live right beside him. You must see him everyday.”
I nod. I want to be left alone. They’re here to talk about boys. I’m here because my Mother locked me out. That’s the difference between us. I wish I wasn’t so different from them.
