Invisible

Yelling; this seemed to be the soundtrack of her life for the past nine years or so. Or at least that’s how she felt as she stared out her new window, in her new house overlooking an unfamiliar land. “I never wanted to move, but no one ever listens to me anyways” she murmured as the volume downstairs increased. It wasn’t unusual for her to be shut away in her room. Usually that’s what started these fights or as they liked to call them, arguments, but this time was different. This time it had not started because of her. Curiosity struck and she leaned up against the door gently as she tried to listen to the words that had become faint, “I have come to realize this was all a mistake, not just this move but you and I.” That was her mother’s voice, there was no denying it. She pulled away from the door, not wanting to hear what she felt was about to be said, but not after creaking one of the floorboards. “Drat!” Then she heard it..

“Hailey, come down here please! We know you’ve been listening.”

Isn’t that what they always said? They never know you’re listening before you make a sound of some sort.. But none the less I didn’t need to be coaxed; I walked out obediently as always, trying to scramble together a response only to find that “Yes ma’am” was the best I could come up with. After that I held my breath knowing that after this night everything might be different.

The walk down the hall and to the top of the staircase seemed to take an eternity but eventually I got there only to look down and see him slipping on his heavy jacket and reaching for his keys.

This is usually what he did.. I always just sort of thought it was his way of cooling down, he was always scared about saying something he didn’t mean, but something was different. He refused to look at my mother but managed a short glance up at me. For the last couple years I’ve noticed my father becoming more distant. We rarely talked anymore, but I had always known just by the look in his eyes when something wasn’t right. That was one of ‘those’ looks.

“It’s okay”, she said pausing briefly, “He is not going to just walk out again.” Pretending as if I didn’t notice the sharp look she gave him.

“You always have to make it appear as though I’m the bad guy, don’t you?”

All I wanted to do was turn around and run to my room and lock the door, but I was afraid that if I did that I wouldn’t see him again.

“We aren’t going to do this in front of her, not now!” She said as she clenched her jaw tightly.
“She isn’t a little girl anymore. We can’t keep treating her like she doesn’t know what’s going on.” He said coolly, breathing in deeply as if that would change the atmosphere.

Sheepishly I moved one of my feet forward, onto one of the top steps hoping that maybe that would break the awkward silence that had formed as my mother pondered over her response. She often did that, always wanting to find the right words to say so that he wouldn’t be able to counteract her easily. Step after step I eventually made my way down to the bottom of the stairs which strangely enough left me standing in between them both, as if the builders of the house knew that families would often be found in altercations on this very floor and these very steps would be like an escape route.

I looked anxiously down at the floor for a minute or two, studying the patterns created in the aged wood flooring, just waiting for someone to say something hoping that they would just stop acting like I wasn’t standing right in front of them. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and curiously looked at him and asked, “Where are you going?” which was normally all I ever asked when it came to this junction. My comment always appeared to lead to his response of, “I don’t know yet.” as he stared blankly at the spot on the floor where I had just been fixated on.

I then turned to look at her, except she wasn’t there. I wavered between poking my head around the corner into the dining room to see if she may have snuck in there but didn’t want to allow him to grasp at a chance of bolting out the door. Instead I opted for calling out her name, “Mom!” which didn’t take long to make its’ way to every corner of the house. No response.

The awkward silence seemed to return in an instance as I stood there un-able to think about anything more than the frustration I was experiencing by this fleeing nonsense. As my mind started to become more alert to the situation at hand I nearly didn’t notice the sound of the key rack by the front door being emptied into his pockets. Before I could turn around the door was open and he was walking down the path to the garage. I scurried onto the front porch, avoiding the slick ice that had started to form around the welcome mat.

“Dad, wait!”

But it couldn’t be heard over the sound of the car door slamming and the engine revving. In what seemed like a second, he was gone. I spun around on my heels and tore back into the house yelling for her again, “Mom!” every time a little louder, as if that would make her come out from her hiding spot. After several minutes of wasted hollering I sat down on the bottom step, letting my head fall into my hands trying my best not to let my emotions take control. Suddenly I hear a door slam and rush up the stairs to see where it came from and run head on into my mother as she hands me two packed suitcases as well as one of my own and tells me to load it up in the truck.

“But he’s already left, didn't you watch? Why do we need to go too?”

“Because I don’t want to be here when he comes back, if he ever comes back.”

And without another word she walked around me and down the stairs. Those words will forever echo in my head, “..If he ever comes back.” What did she mean by that?

Did she really think that he would never come back? I mean he would have to right? I mean he’s still my father so he has to come back for me right? He wouldn't miss my eighteenth birthday.. Right? The questions kept circling around my head causing everything else to be a blur as I fumbled around the bags so that I could snatch up one of the two keys remaining by the door.

Soon after I find myself standing in the center of the foreign circle drive, capturing what might be the last look I get of what life we used to live. I hear the truck start up and I know that’s my cue. For a moment I thought I may have heard the sound of his car pulling back in the driveway, coming back to say he’s sorry and that everything’s going to be okay. I turn around briskly only to be embraced by disappointment. Before climbing in the truck I managed to force a push pin into the tree, that almost appeared to be guarding the entrance to this so called home, with a bright blue piece of paper pinned underneath it reading, “We’ll be back, I promise.” And with the steady hum of the engine, I stared through the back window till I couldn't see the faint blue dot anymore. We'll be back.

Author's Note

I've been alerted at some grammar issues already, just need some insight.

Reviews

[Silvario]

wow, i really enjoyed this =)
this is actually very well written. you have an obvious talent for penning a smooth, and pleasing to read, flow of words.
the content was intriguing and i knew i couldnt pull myself away from it without getting to the end. i could pretty much guesstimate what was to happen, yet your smooth voice and vivid description had me sucked in. i loved the detail you provided. you did well to work it in here and there in a subtle, yet very effective way.
love this line:
as if the builders of the house knew that families would often be found in altercations on this very floor and these very steps would be like an escape route.

an awesome example of subtle detail that adds so much depth and imagry to the piece.

very well done indeed =)

[Rip the cowdog]

I enjoyed reading your story. you have a great talent for writing, the content kept me focused on the complete story line....../as far as insight i.e..the ability to understand things as they really are,especially by intuition...I would say you are already an accomplished & skilled writer....just follow the intuition, the gut feeling of being positive or correct in using a different plot, story line or maybe even trying something all together new in an approach in one or several chapters in your writings.....

[Antonio Valentino]

Really enjoyed this, very cool story.

Looking forward to the next chapter.

Antonio :)

[GTVile]

At the risk of sounding redundant, I'm going to just agree with Silvario. I think the best quality of the work is the correct application of subtle detail about the setting and the narrator's perspective on it. It makes for an easier time processing what you see in your head as the picture we see in ours. Great job. I look forward to reading more of it.

[Mr. Morgenstern]

This is a very good story.

[Cynically]

The grammar's not really that bad. I enjoyed the flow of the story, and it has a nice feel to it. It's very well written, and I'm looking forward to more of it.

[stellasautelle]

It's very well written.. looking forward to reading more. :)