"I am half-sick of shadows" said the Lady of Shalott
I am washing up. There is a great deal to do, because it's Dad's birthday and I cooked a big dinner. I clean each plate slowly, too slowly. He'll ask me why I'm taking so long. But I have to make sure every plate is absolutely clean. Dad doesn't like it if he finds the crockery has any marks left on it. Dirty habits are the sign of a dirty mind, he says. So I wash each plate carefully, carefully, and then I clean the glasses, rinsing them out with cool water and rubbing them with a soft cloth to make sure there are no water marks. It would be terrible if one of dad's friends came over and I handed them in a beer poured into a glass that had water marks on it. Dad would have words about that.
I don't mind the washing up, really. I can hear the TV blaring in the living room. Donny and Dad are watching the baseball. Beth is sitting in there, too. I can just picture her, her back ramrod straight in her chair. I bet she's bored. I hope she is, I think a little vindictively. That's mean of me, I know. But I can't help it. She thinks I'm stupid. That I don't notice the way she flutters her eyelashes at Dad. She's only a year older than me - and Mom has only been dead a year.
Mom. I breathe out through my nose and put down the glass I'm washing. I stand by the back door and look out. The sun is setting over the fields. Mom loved this view. Dad tried to make the kitchen a prison for her, but she found freedom in this view - the endless skies, the ripe fields of corn. I miss her. That's not a good enough explanation for what I feel. I don't think there are words.
"Tara?" Dad's voice floats through the kitchen door. "You finished washing up?"
"I'm nearly done, Dad," I call, scurrying back to the sink. I don't want him to come in and check up on me. I just want to be by myself.
Once everything is cleared away, and I have cleaned the kitchen - Dad likes it done daily - and tidied up Dad's presents, it's dark. Donny heads out in the pick up to play pool with his friends. I think he'll end up drinking as well. I can't stop him. For a while after Mom died he listened to me, let me look after him... But that stopped a while ago.
I head up to bed, hoping for another of my dreams. Over the last few months, I've had these strangely vivid dreams. They're like snapshots, brief moments where I see something very clearly, but I don't know what the rest of the story is, so I'm confused. One of the dreams I like is when I see a red haired girl. She's beautiful, and I can tell she has power. The kind of power Mom had, and that I wish I had. She glows. Sometimes in the dreams she says my name, and looks sad. I don't know what it means. But it's as if she wants me, and I wake up with an ache in my heart and between my legs.
Dad would be disgusted if he knew about the dreams. He'd hate the thought that a child of his could be gay. He already finds my "little problem" - the magic - repulsive, and I have to keep it hidden from him. What would he say if he knew how I felt about girls? I sigh and turn over in bed. I have to keep that hidden, too.
Eventually I fall asleep. There are no dreams of a redhead. Instead I see me. At least, I think it's me. I look slightly older and more confident. I'm walking through the door of an apartment. A handsome man kisses me, and I seem to like it. I wake up, for a moment convinced I'm there, the dream was so vivid. But why would I be living in an apartment with a guy? If it's a fantasy, shouldn't the redhead be there? She's the only person I fantasise about lately, and I don't even know if she exists, or if she's just something strange that my subconscious dreamed up.
Sighing, I lie back down and try to sleep. Dad's likely to be hungover tomorrow, and Donny might be too. I'll have to walk so quietly. I bet I'll drop a plate or something, and I'll never hear the end of it. I wish I could lie here forever.
I don't mind the washing up, really. I can hear the TV blaring in the living room. Donny and Dad are watching the baseball. Beth is sitting in there, too. I can just picture her, her back ramrod straight in her chair. I bet she's bored. I hope she is, I think a little vindictively. That's mean of me, I know. But I can't help it. She thinks I'm stupid. That I don't notice the way she flutters her eyelashes at Dad. She's only a year older than me - and Mom has only been dead a year.
Mom. I breathe out through my nose and put down the glass I'm washing. I stand by the back door and look out. The sun is setting over the fields. Mom loved this view. Dad tried to make the kitchen a prison for her, but she found freedom in this view - the endless skies, the ripe fields of corn. I miss her. That's not a good enough explanation for what I feel. I don't think there are words.
"Tara?" Dad's voice floats through the kitchen door. "You finished washing up?"
"I'm nearly done, Dad," I call, scurrying back to the sink. I don't want him to come in and check up on me. I just want to be by myself.
Once everything is cleared away, and I have cleaned the kitchen - Dad likes it done daily - and tidied up Dad's presents, it's dark. Donny heads out in the pick up to play pool with his friends. I think he'll end up drinking as well. I can't stop him. For a while after Mom died he listened to me, let me look after him... But that stopped a while ago.
I head up to bed, hoping for another of my dreams. Over the last few months, I've had these strangely vivid dreams. They're like snapshots, brief moments where I see something very clearly, but I don't know what the rest of the story is, so I'm confused. One of the dreams I like is when I see a red haired girl. She's beautiful, and I can tell she has power. The kind of power Mom had, and that I wish I had. She glows. Sometimes in the dreams she says my name, and looks sad. I don't know what it means. But it's as if she wants me, and I wake up with an ache in my heart and between my legs.
Dad would be disgusted if he knew about the dreams. He'd hate the thought that a child of his could be gay. He already finds my "little problem" - the magic - repulsive, and I have to keep it hidden from him. What would he say if he knew how I felt about girls? I sigh and turn over in bed. I have to keep that hidden, too.
Eventually I fall asleep. There are no dreams of a redhead. Instead I see me. At least, I think it's me. I look slightly older and more confident. I'm walking through the door of an apartment. A handsome man kisses me, and I seem to like it. I wake up, for a moment convinced I'm there, the dream was so vivid. But why would I be living in an apartment with a guy? If it's a fantasy, shouldn't the redhead be there? She's the only person I fantasise about lately, and I don't even know if she exists, or if she's just something strange that my subconscious dreamed up.
Sighing, I lie back down and try to sleep. Dad's likely to be hungover tomorrow, and Donny might be too. I'll have to walk so quietly. I bet I'll drop a plate or something, and I'll never hear the end of it. I wish I could lie here forever.