The day of leaving flies at me with unexpected speed and I am sad to say goodbye to my room, my house, my street and most of all my friends.
I cry discreetly in the taxi, all the way to the airport. At the airport, I walk a few steps behind my family, letting them lead me away from everything that makes me who I am.
The tears continue running down my cheeks silently on the airplane, no matter how hard I try to swallow away the sadness that has become my every moment.
My mum sits next to me, and while I stare out of the little window to my side, trying not to sniff too loudly, she leans closer to me. She whispers softly, “Stop crying, Elizabeth. Change makes you a more independent and emotionally stronger person.”
I ignore her and I cannot understand why she does not leave me to wallow in self-pity by myself, because I honestly just want to be alone.
I now dislike my mum for her ignorance and I really despise Sean for his selfishness. I wish my mum had never met him, ever.
My mum met Sean when I was only five years old, after my dad died a year earlier in a car accident on his way home from work. I helped my mum during that year. I was my mum’s shoulder to cry on, making sure she got up in the mornings, letting her lean on me emotionally. I was so sure my mum would never get over my dad.
Therefore, imagine my shock, when one day, soon after my sixth birthday, I found Sean sitting in our living room, on my dad’s chair. He was laughing so loudly, he reminded me of an evil villain from one of my cartoon shows.
Ignoring him did not help either, because after that day he seemed to be a permanent fixture and they got married a year later.
My mum looked so content again and although initially I felt jealous at having to share her, Sean’s quick smile and reassuring presence made him nice to have around.
Not anymore.
Arriving in Ireland to pressing grey skies does not help to cheer me either.
We drive most of the day. We landed in Dublin and now must cross a country from its east coast to its west. At home it would have taken only two to three hours to drive the same distance, but the roads here are meandering lazily through the countryside and past little villages.
My eyes continue to stare unseeing through the rain-stained window at the passing scenery, yet I smile interested when my mum or Sean point out something they find beautiful or exciting. Even though it feels as if my entire being is still on the other side of the planet, I do not want to be the one to dampen the happy atmosphere in the car.
We eventually turn off the main road into a neglected lane overgrown with trees and shrubs. The car bounces and jumps over the muddy ruts, which I suppose used to be a driveway somewhere before the First World War. As the driveway curves around and with one final massive bone shuddering pothole, we emerge from the foliage.
I struggle to breathe as I look at the ‘manor’ in horror and I have a feeling of déjà-vu. According to Rebecca, who believes in karma and all those far-out things, when you get that kind of feeling, it means you are in the right place. I never really believed her mumbo-jumbo, and I know I am most certainly not in the right place.
The mammoth grey block looks more like a fixer-upper lump-a-cement than the fairy-tale picture Sean projected into our minds over the last couple of months. Months of convincing us how great a change would be for all of us. The only impressive thing to me is the miles and miles of unkempt lawn surrounding the house, and off to the side there is a gathering of inviting green trees.
Sean stops the car in front of the dilapidated building, if I can call it a building, and even my mum climbs out of the car with apprehension clearly edged on her face.
Sean rushes around the car to her side and then wraps his arms around her waist, as he laughs exuberantly. “We’ll fix it, and it will be lovely. Don’t worry.”
I cannot help smirking. It will never be lovely.
Sean unlocks the front door and then with a smile plastered on his face and a look of adventure in his eyes, he lifts the waterfall of green wild ivy hanging in front of the faded red door.
My mum leads the way into the house, ducking under the ivy.
I glance at Sean reproachfully as I squeeze past him into the dark, dusty entrance hall.
The interior does not look as bad as the outside, but it looks old and covered with grime. A wide staircase is to the right of the door and there are a couple of doors leading off from the large entrance hall.
Esther, my ten-year-old half-sister, grabs onto my hand, and excitedly she pulls me toward the stairs. I follow her apprehensively.
At first, I step onto the stairs cautiously, but they feel sturdy and well built under my feet, so I let Esther rush me up to the second-floor landing.
In my new room, I see Sean had arranged for people to deliver the basic furniture. There is a new bed and a dresser, but the room is otherwise bare looking. The faint faded rose-covered wallpaper on the walls are peeling away in the corners, the wooden floorboards are pale and splinter looking. I try to avoid walking on the most distorted slats as I cross the room to the bed, still wrapped in plastic.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and my eyes fix on a spot on the wall, as my mind goes blank.
With surprise, Sean’s voice pulls me back from the empty void of nothingness, when he says, “Cheer up, girl. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Hurriedly I stand up from the bed and manage to smile half-heartedly.
He heaves my suitcase onto the bed. “There you go,” he says cheerfully.
I mumble sarcastically, “Thanks.”
As he leaves my new room, he starts to whistle the tune the seven dwarfs whistle on their way to work: Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work we go.
I unpack my suitcase quickly, packing my clothes in the dresser drawers, placing my photos on the bedside table, looking at the happy faces of my friends longingly. My room is draughty and on the second level and does not even come close to resembling the snug, cosy room that was my haven not so long ago. The only plus now is that I have my own bathroom and I did not have to share with Esther anymore, although I will give up this luxury in the blink of an eye, if I could be back in my old room.
Looking pessimistically around the room once more, I slide the suitcase in under my bed, and decide to go and explore the small forest to the side of the house I saw earlier. I want to find a quiet spot, where I can yell, cry and scream without having Sean or my mum rushing to my side, trying to make me feel better with silly motivational blubber.
I have had enough of pretending to smile, pretending that everything is as it should be, because, I feel lifeless inside, as if I am carrying the whole world on my shoulders. I did not want new friends, I had just lost my gawkiness, Jason started noticing me, I was popular, and I was doing well academically—all my hard work wasted.
My mum and Sean are forever saying a person should set goals and work toward them, and I wonder sarcastically if they ever consider that having aspirations and goals only work when you actually see them through to the end.
Since the day of the cataclysmic announcement, I have prayed daily, sometimes up to once every hour, pleading that everything must please go back to the way it is supposed to be, but here I am anyway—so much for that.
As I walk out of the front door, my mum calls from the library, which sounds more impressive than it looks, not to stray too far away from the house.
“Okay, Mum,” I call back, pulling my face sourly.
I walk through the waist high grass, the sun glimmering off the yellow tips, to the edge of the trees and into the shadows. There is no path. I stumble through the undergrowth and I can see through the clump of trees on all sides. I was never in any danger of getting lost, even if I tried very hard.
Almost in the middle of the cluster of trees, I discover a fallen tree trunk, covered with a thick layer of moist moss, blending into its surroundings. If I did not almost fall over it, I would never have noticed it. A shiver runs down my spine, it all looks so familiar. I sit down on the tree trunk and I allow the tears to flow freely down my cheeks, letting the sobs shudder through my body.
Later, when the light starts to fade and my mum’s calls begin to sound anxious, I get up and walk home.
© Lynette Ferreira
Delivery 2 - 3 weeks.
