(no subject)
as i pull onto this long concrete driveway, i instantly take note of that familiar face cleaning the glass on the doors, and an odd eeriness creeps over me. I throw the gears into park and walk with him up into his house. Old wooden floors creek beneath my feet and the scent of ancientness fills my nose. Small, carefully placed relics steal my attention as I near the kitchen, and the scent of warm edibles greets me. shoes are left behind on a impeccable front rug as we climb the stairs to his room. this eerie sense does not leave me as i enter the doorway, as this teenage male's room in as perfect as the rest of the house. i can sense the unease about this family, the way they quietly shoulder burdens and pretend everything is perfect. His mother still cleans his room for him, and I sneakingly suspect that it is not his incapacity, but her unwillingness to let it out of her control. I glance around the room, the only thing giving it away as this teenager's room are the pictures of women models which i know mean absolutely nothing to him. he steals a picture of a male from under his bed and smiles as he shows me, and i understand... a facade for his mother's sanity. "i don't even sleep in here" and i realize that the room is unused as it feels. i try to get comfortable, stretching out on his bed and moving a pillow out of place. but i can sense the tension he feels, and i empathize with his desire to vacate this place as soon as possible. i eventually stand up, even though i have no where to be, and he escorts me back down the stairs. his mother cordially invites me to stay for dinner, but i know that i must leave. as i go back through his living room, my last impression is of this stereotypical family; the mother cooking, the father sitting in his chair reading his newspaper, the son escorting the girl to her car. and i feel pity because i know that
they aren't what they appear.
they aren't what they appear.