You Can't Escape the Worst or Choose The Best: Behind Closed Doors

            

Table Of Contents:

1. Wearing Jeans

2. I Don’t Know My Dad Anymore

3. Misty Eye’s Step-Mom

4. Door Closed , Mouths Shut

5. We Are Covered In The Rainbow

6. When life gives you lemons, squirt it in your eyes

7. New Parents

8. Suicide?

9. Ambulance

10. Congratulation, You Survived

                                            Behind Closed Doors

                             

                                              Wearing Jeans

      

      

              I pushed back the tattered brass closet, and opened my windows to see the candy coated clouds as the sun itself honors me.  Putting on the new purple jeans  was a very protracted process.  As I pranced in front of the mirror, the subtle variations of purple gleamed in to the pacific blue sky in the background from the window. School was going to begin, and my mom had to get my jacket for me; the icy air might as well crystalize my lungs.

       I ran into the class with surmise that my friend would notice how staggering  my pants were. And they did. Ooo’s and ahhh’s filled the room. MY pants. Those pants. Purple like a lavender field that had discharged it colors into the open air. Every step I took the colours seemed to evoke the energy and luxury of the material.

      My first and last pair of colored pants. I never wore them again. The pants beauty lead to the jealousy of friends. So I buried it in the avalanche of clothing in my armoire. In fact, the mouth of the drawer swallowed it up, because I never found it’s extravagant self again.

                        

                           I Don’t Know My Dad Anymore

         I knew my dad like I knew the dark scared me. Yet I never knew my dad would become what I was afraid of. Is it the end? Sometime one day, I left something important. As a result, I’d feel the piercing blows and the screams from my throat. Just one kick, but the blacking of the world like ink spilled in my eyes like a broken pen.

     

      I wobbled over crying holding my stomach, tilting my pounding head. Treated like another misery, I’d lost a part of me. Breathless stares shot from my undying eyes.

        Maybe I deserved it. As the door closed my vague sight of the world did as well and began to submerge into a deep deep sleep.

        I didn’t recognize my dad and his ferocious face, red and swelling. What was to come of me? If I had an insignificant desire to live...

                                 Misty Eye’s Step-Mom

 

Misty, my friend had eyes so blue their tranquility seemed so porcelain you’d think she had eyes replaced with marble. Yet suspiciously that warm January morning she didn’t come to school. Dawn echoed from the windows upon the small class. As I sat clutching the copper clipboard I capered  over to the closed door. Jenny positioned her hour glass body precisely on the hallway entrance waiting for me to bring the papers.

       Her face fell blank with no sheen. Commanding her hand she reached and

her solid grip seized my hand. Next her spell bound words came from her mouth.

“ Misty’s step mom is dead.”

  The beautiful blonde individual I had barely even known about had passed away after child birth. After those words, my heart stopped it’s task. My mouth twitched and my eyes flinched. Promptly I dropped the copper clipboard with the papers. Ir was so quiet that i could hear my heartbeat out of my pounding chest.

  The sun still rose, with an emotionally intense vibration of red. Misty’s real mom had died 4 years prior; now fate had taken her step mother as well into it’s hollow labyrinth.

The next day she came to school. Misty’s eyes weren’t so misty anymore.

                             Door Closed , Mouths Shut

         

       STOP!! I screamed with my small voice.

       Please! He stood up and the door closed. I frantically and swiftly felt the warm blood pumping through like dance to move to. But this was no dance, it was a escape from hell. He picked me up and pushed me down. His friend with a  uncomprehending look on his face stood by the bed as I was pinned on the couch breathing through the vents of the cloth. I close my eyes and  hope he'll go away. Yet he picks up his prodigious hand and lays it on my face and says girl your beautiful, I hope you stay  that way.

GET OFF ME YOU FLITHY KID!  PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE. Almost erratically he picks of the soft velvet blanket and throws me on the bed. Takes me down to a corner and lays it over my strangled head. My breathe was reach ing out like arms, fighting for the air. Then at last I  see his friend watching. The clock ticked, the sky darkened far over yonder alone in darkness was the door. Closed shut.  I felt his cold fingers, my friend. What was he doing. Why my body. The struggle to take him down, only made him pull harder on my clothes. Step by step, second by second I began to fade. My last chance to leave I kicked him and fled. Rushing down the stairs, past his mother. Out  so far that the doors shut and he was gone away, but not from my mind.

    

  Lhadze Bosilejevac           

  Periodn1

Sutherland

3/2/11                  

                             

                                        We Are Covered In The Rainbow 

    

    The warm sun refracts light on our skin as we walk down the street.  Kasia, Meriam, Kathy, & I strolling down the grey pavement under our nimble feet. As we escorted our bodies forward, I thought of the simple fact we were all alike yet so mismatched, like the socks I wore.

 Kathy walks ahead and twirls though with angelic grace, as Kasia tousles her hair. Slowly I pulled out my mirror from my heap of papers in my bag. It’s oval black top opens up and the silvery shine reflects on my face.

 Walking and looking in my mirror, I realized our little group of girls who were dreamy & full of passion. The glamour on us seemed deeper than our dermis. But it wasn’t even that.  Our skins shone in the shades of spring, though the sweltering heat submerged under my sweatshirt. In that distinct moment, I noticed our pastel skin tones.

Kasia wasn’t white, but she wasn’t tan like leather. Definitely polaca. As I refocused my eyes, I looked at the little details in her skin; her cheeks were a peachy pink highlighting her lip, which were a rosy red. The small russet dots on her face, possibly from sun exposure. Nonetheless, it was as if a determined artist sedulously painted her skin colour. Every intricate design painted and airbrushed yellow undertone to bring out the best.

 Meriam. Her skin so soft. Almost limpid like pretinha, the natural marupa wood. Tan as the pigment of a silky pecan. Blending perfectly with her cinnamon body, a perfect silhouette.  Swarthy colors sprung from her surface, as she submerged her smile. In addition, her ruddy cheeks were healthy and big. Meriam’s arms matched the same tone as her bronze visage, so unparalled to anyone’s deep brown skin tone I’d ever seen before.

Kathy was the mix of yellow, white and a deep black. She was a luz tosta. Her unmarked face was absolutely breathless. Her skin reminded me of a mesa, packed flat and flawless. Immediately as she breathed in, her dermis spread flat like pão plano. The deep chestnut color was breath taking.

I was still holding the mirror. At that point I wanted to look away from my skin, or should I say my mask. Tediously I glanced back into the mirror, my face was palida, no tone, no rosy cheeks. Not even the hint of bronze. Just a bunch of white with buttercup highlights. My face didn’t shine, infact it looked blown back. No botox, just plain & “whellow” as I called myself. Possibly the colour of sour dough. I look like bread, I thought to myself. But as I looked deeper I saw the faintest little blemish, very small, but there it was. My trademark. I may not have had any other feature, but I had the little red mark along with a few others. They whispered there little words and I smiled. We’re all different. It just so happens to be that we fell in a rainbow, and the colours we collected made us who we are.

        

                      

                          When life gives you lemons, squirt it in your eyes

 

    

   She stood in the mirror I faced her. Her face was ugly and blank. No tone. Hair so long it could wrap around as a shawl and make her look like big foots wife. Eyes of dirt, lips of juice stains. That girl was me.

  That mirror reflected the outer shell of me. Or the skin, the zest. Yellow, porous, round and sour on the inside. Something to squeeze the joy out of.

 I shouldn’t be a yellow lemon because I could infact be a black lemon. Because what I was trying to be was a lemon that was not a lemon, but a different standard of fruit. To break the boundaries. To look past my skin. But how? I could see. Life had lemons. It wasn’t hot enough to make lemonade. I decided to squirt lemon juice in my eyes. It stung with an intense jolt. As I reopened my eyes the world was blurry and had a black shadow behind it. I couldn't;t see my gross face. I liked it.

                                    New Parents

  I called for 3 days. I sat impatiently in the foster assessment home. I wish they’d take me in. I was alone. For 3 days in that cluttered long room full of books and computers and couches. I slept more than I watched movies. I began to dream of a family that I used to have but was lost.

My mind began to tell me I was worth less. My fluttering heart began to break down, and so did I. Everyday I seemed to loose more & more hope. Until I was pulled in saying my friends parents were going to foster me. Finally a home. Aspiring to see my new parents I collected my huge backpack and my bag of clothes.  To be free finally from the hell hole of a physco hospital, to a foster assessment now to a home was scary and tiring. Yet I was so relieved.

  Thank god she and her family took me  in. I was scared to see everyone else's shocking reactions grabbing at my face. Tearing down my walls. Her mom closed the door and began to show me around. Something was missing in the house. I don’t remember fully but somethings weren’t quite right.

I met my new foster dad. He was tall, pale and a cheery fellow. The dogs surrounded my legs nibbling at what remained of my worn shoes. My “mom” looked at me and gave a frown.

  You need new shoes, she said

I don’t I replied. No way. I hated shopping with all my life.

Your shoes have holes like swiss cheese dear, we need to shop. Come on. What ever you want to get. It’s all up to you she exclaimed smiling.

 How did she enjoy shopping? After 45 minutes I finally gave in. Black shoes they would have to be. Because in both ways I didn’t have a “soul”, for my feet or body.

                                 Suicide?

Suicide. Blood stained my rusty skin as it flowed down my arms. Intricately designs my wrists with lines and words.

Suicide. I couldn’t feel the pain of the razor cutting up my arms bleeding out the unwanted in myself.

Suicide. It was a beautiful thing.

Suicide. Something successful in a setting of strife. I hope death would take me away.

Suicide. Enteric thuds of my heart beat, full sweep. Untreated left to infect just like my arms and mind.

Suicide. Who can help my body and my mind. The razor cuts deeper and deeper. Maybe when I’m born again I’ll be better off than here in this world.

Suicide. An open door to my world, and leaving a black drape over my past.

Suicide. It’s a synthetic death that lasts.

                                  Ambulance

   Heart beat stable. Conceiounes: alert. And on and on he went. I lay back in the corner on a stretcher in the cold ambulance. Strapped down, a potential threat to others. 5150, a dumb number to represent myself. I say still in the white sheets over laying my stiff, inhospitable body. Voices reached my head, oh how the sounds whispered sweet words. My minds games caressed me to a trance. I’ll hold on my false apology to myself. Bitter illusions open my eyes larger and I began to taste this bland world.

 The men stare holding me for the next 40 minutes. I woke looking out the window, strangely calm as the sight of guard towers and barbwires filled my eyes. Opening the back door of the car, I lay flat. Welcome said a women. You’ll be under suicide watch. Please enter inside and take off your outer clothing. I glanced one  time out the doors before they were bolted. Closed.

                                              

                                       Congratulation, You Survived

        

        I walked off the steps of the graduation podium for my 8th grade release. My black corset strangled my every move as the puff of the short dress made me walk like a ballerina, only with her legs close to together. Carefully after the repetitive hugs and kisses, the good byes and I'll miss yours, I stepped out into the sun light to join the sea of others as the swam towards their parents. I could see my dad. mother and sister huddled up. My mom gave me a smile and said YOUR OUT! Yes. I was indeed out for I need it more than the sky needed the citrus constellations in the galaxy. My father gave me a hug, which was hard to accept. And my sister gave me a dirty glance as always, and said where's the candy. Candy? What it wasn't as we were throwing a party in huge theatre and some how there was CANDY? No I said with a smirk. 

     Hovering over I saw my "peanut gallery" of friends who seemed to be enjoying the pictures taken by family and friends. I wanted to escape my family. They didn't accept me for who I was. Because I was the only girl in a full body black corset dress, hand made and designed. Promptly I ran off with the crowd, loosing my family back at the front shore. But before I left my friends mom had invited me to lunch and with booming smile I screamed yes. So as my parents left my friend & I skipped in our 5 inch heels down to the restaurant. I knew I couldn't eat the food there, but it was a sweet escape. Just then my friend stops and looks back at me and says Lhadze, you survived middle school and your parents. Embarrassed, I looked at my hands and at my nails, then I murmured I did, but I congratulate myself because nobody has.