As She Cries

"Go away!" She screamed finally. The mask was crumbling, sobs threatened her small frame. Smart, strong, reasonable; she was none of that right now. Her mother, Mia, was in worse condition. Her wits had been lost. Mia's heart ached and already she was in tears. Sam couldn't take it. She despised it. It was childish and weak. Of course, her mother was always childish, always crying about something. There was the phone bill, the missing father, the cutting words of the grandmother...no money. That's what it always boiled down to, no -f*****g- money. They'd declared bankruptcy four years ago, and still nothing had gotten better. Life just seemed to laugh at them.

  Sam's heart broke. As her mother turned, the child rushed after her. "I'm sorry Ma, I didn't mean it!" The hatred that had been in her eyes seconds before faded into sorrow. "I just -I can't deal with it sometimes." It was a stupid, selfish thing to say. That was why Mia was crying. She couldn't either. Oh! And then there were the dogs, and her own mask; her own walls. It just wasn't going to go right, was it? "It never does." Mia pushed her daughter away and stormed toward her room. Sam could already hear her mother's sobs; her own were just beginning.

  "Grow up!" Snapped the brother to her left. Not that he had much to talk about. She could have ruined everything for him and he knew it. The little brat should be grateful. He wouldn't be though. He was too macho, too egotistical to really care. But, he could be cut down just like any other man. Sometimes he needed to be. Maybe things would be easier then.

  The trembling had begun and the Teen fled to her room. The door shut with a loud crack, which for an instant seemed to deafen her. Then, the noise flooded in. Quietly, she welcomed it. Had silence been her greeting, it would have been ten thousand times worse. Still, it wasn't enough. As the tears began to flow she fumbled for her Mp3 player. As it began, her eyes stole away from the floor.

  "As she sits upon the window sill / she knows that love is something she'll not feel / And the tears, keep her company / as she dreams of how it should be."  Sam's eyes landed on the wall. She'd once thought of it as a protector, but the cool sheet rock was too thin to do any good. No, it was a mirror, every inch of the room was. The bright red had been her favorite, but it had taken awhile to adjust to it from the "Angel wing" pink it was . It symbolized...everything. It was teenage angst and unspilled blood. It was hatred and passion, creativity and boredom. The wall was love and loss, and it was life and death. "That's why the color scheme worked." She thought. Red and black were compliments to each other. Green could go frolic with yellow and blue. Right now, she didn't like the color.

  She rose from her place,and began to inspect the small holes created by too many tacks and posters. With drying eyes, she fell into awe and amazement. Simple things could calm her. The melody was helping, certain words were as well.. The thought of someone with her, understanding, yet firm in belief, was a good one.


  "And as she cry-ies, someone whispers in her ear / I died for you, I died for you my dear." Her hand rose and Sam turned back to the bed. Her palm was wet as it came to rest against the pillow. Sometimes it felt good to cry, it was necessary. It's how they did it, how Mia and Sam always seemed to make up. It was how Sam came to terms with everything. It was how she embraced her girlish side, and it was when she was most happy. It was when she was crying that she imagined she was all alone, but she never really was alone, was she?

  The song ended before she sang the words. Each one was drawn out a little more than it should have been. Each one fell, chocked with sorrow, joy, and apology. Her eyes closed with a soft prayer, whispering: "She could hardly see, but she could believe." The violins echoed in her mind as she shut the device down and went to the door. With a deep breath, she took two steps forward and knocked.

"What?" Mia spat. Her voice was thick with years of regret and years of self-doubt.

"Can we talk?" Sam forced out. Her own voice carried empathy, fear, and a promise of coming laughter.

"Come in." Came the soft reply. So, Sam did.