The Slow Attainment

It's hard to put anger into words, and harder to hold it in every single day.

            My parents are always to telling me hold my temper inside �" that I have to control myself. They were careless with their words and from those early childhood days when I realized my own bad temper, I stopped saying anything. It felt ailing to bottle up every negative emotion that try to surface from within me, but I found tranquility inside music. With every inability to control myself I would play the piano, bouncing my fingers on top of the glossy black and white keys.

I would speak every of my true feelings only to my piano.

 

            I thrashed around on my bed. It was simply 3:30 in the afternoon and I felt particularly exhausted. I moved to the piano crammed inside my bedroom and lazily poked on the black keys.

            Why do you never talk? Are you stupid? You must be retarded, aren't you?

            I started quickening my speed, attempting an allegro piece I recently started studying. I slammed my hands over the piano and breathed heavily with some pounding pain in my head. I wanted to go crazy, but I heard the sound of a car engine from outside of the house. I realized I had been venting my anger for nearly two hours.

            “Honey, help me with the groceries.”

            My fingers flinched away from the piano and I closed the cover. My mother only ever called me “Honey”, for God’s sake why do people call each other that, when she seriously wanted something that was never presented in my favour. I took deep breaths in and exhaled heavily, “I’m coming.”

            I rushed down the stairs to get everything over with. “What do want…? Where are the groceries?” I immediately changed my question when I found my classmate smiling at me at the doorstep.

            “So you do talk. You know, everyone was starting to think you became mute.”

            My mother snapped at him, sort of, “Of course she isn't mute, dear. Though I honestly wish she was instead of never speaking outside the house, and she rarely speaks at home too for Heaven’s sake. But she doesn't have that kind of time considering her commitment to the piano. Do you know how many awards she has received ever since she started playing? Her father and I completely changed our opinion of her. She’s not a good-for-nothing after all.”

            I narrowed my eyes at my mother. I hated every time she would use the combination of humiliation and bragging with the people she meets. I motioned for my classmate, forgot his name, to come into the living room. He hastily took his shoes off and followed after me.

            I sat across from Conrad after pouring him tea without emitting a single drop of sound. I sat still and quiet, watching him struggle and shift around in his area. He seemed nervous, but what for?

“What are you doing at my house? And what do you want from me?” I broke the silence immediately and he was surprised well into jumping in his seat, maybe more than I expected.

            He handed me a large folder, and as I took it from him, I noticed for the first time how bright and green his eyes were �" they were almost, somehow, familiar, but I couldn't seem to remember. For a few seconds, he caught me staring at him and smiled. My cheeks burned unknowingly because it was not hot from outrage or frustration. I went back to business and opened the folder revealing photos of both of my parents partially naked and intimate with other people, those strangers I've never seen before in my life.

            At that moment, my eyes probably flashed with anger. “Hypocrite.” I started, deciding to let out just a tad of my temper, “Take these photos with you and dispose of yourself along with it. You are no longer welcome here, or in my presence at all.”

            I pulled him to the entrance and stuffed the folder into his arms. Before he could speak another word, I slammed the door at his face. I dragged myself into my room, to my piano. After so many years of receiving comfort from my piano, I couldn't seem to muster any strength to lift up a single finger.

            I plopped myself on top of my bed, and then I heard a rustling sound. I found a slightly crumpled piece of paper stuck inside my pocket. It must have been something Conrad slipped onto me while he was kicked out of my house. I read it anyways because I felt I was rude too �" I should at least recover some courtesy and read his letter.

            I read the piece of hideous handwriting repeatedly until I was called down for dinner. I hugged onto the dear letter, saying an entire series of thank-you’s to a Conrad who should have been present and listening right then and there. I pulled out the divorce papers and my own personal photos of my parents cheating and affairs from underneath my mattress. I headed downstairs, practicing my breathing (because I was nervous and not because was angry).

            I met my parents’ usual fake smiles and smiled at them reservedly in return. It’s been years of the same harsh routine every day �" it’s time to end this. I handed my parents their divorce papers then their cheating photos. It was funny watching their expressions falter ever so quickly in shock. I held back my laugh, for the sake that they gave birth to me, and left them in another one of their argumentative scenes.

            I knew that I probably did the wrong thing, but at least I've finally let myself go free �" I've finally unlocked those tightening and over-bearing chains on my mind. I took one more reading at the letter:

Do you remember that dream before you stopped talking?

That simple line triggered my vague childhood memories so well, I remembered my little childish and barbarous wish. I sat down at my desk and took out a pen and paper:

Yes, I wished I could declare complete separation from my parents. I think I've fulfilled part of it. It’s all thanks to you. Thank you.