Invisible

BLAMED

MY GRANDFATHER ANSWERS ON THE FIRST RING.

“I told you to call me when you got there!” he yells.

I laugh, pull the sheets off of my bed. It’s not like I want to be reminded of what happened. I’ve got enough reminders already. I put the sheets into the laundry basket next to the door, open the bottom drawer to my dresser.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” I say, pulling out my extra set of pastel pink sheets.

“Yeah, uh huh. How have you been?”

Ask Jeremy.

“Fine, I guess… How are you and Michelle?”

I frown as I put the sheets on my bed and add my comforter. Then I walk back to my dresser, lift my shirt up again. Fist shaped bruise, six perfect lines cutting across my skin… I hate the way I look. I resemble my mother and Michelle, long black hair, dark brown eyes. The only difference is my lack of sensibility. I stopped caring about everything last year, when all of my high school friends decided that being friends with a social reject was clearly not the best road to take, when Mark wouldn’t call, when Jeremy would leave horrible voicemails threatening to do what he promised he wouldn’t.

There’s only one thing I really give a damn about, and that’s the family my mother gave me.

“We’re fine,” he says, “She’s been calling you all day. You want to talk to her?”

“Yeah.”

I wait, walk out of my bedroom, downstairs into the living room. Empty. I hear dishes clanking and Jessie and Jeremy bonding. I guess they’re doing the dishes together.

“Emma?” Michelle asks as she answers. I smile and it’s actually genuine, as if sensibility resurfaced.

“Hey,” I respond as I stare at the blank flat screen television that’s hanging across from the sofa, next to the fireplace, “how are you?”

“Good! How’s daddy?”

Still a jackass.

“He’s… fine—”

“I want to talk to him!”

“Uh…” I stand up, walk into the dining room. The table is cleared, Mark still sitting in the same place, reading the newspaper. Brings back a memory.

His angry eyes aimed right at me, his voice screaming what the hell is wrong with you…

“Dad?” I ask as I walk toward him. He doesn’t look at me, continues to read. Probably in the comic section, something that’s clearly not important.

Are you crazy?!

“Michelle wants to talk to you,” I continue.

How dare you make up this bullshit?!

 “So?” he asks, turning the page, smirking as he does. Yeah, it’s probably the comic section.

“So, she’s waiting on the phone.”

“Not my problem.”

I glare at him. “Aren’t you going to talk to her?”

“Does it look like I want to?”

Do you have any idea what you could have done…?

I keep staring at him, trying to analyze why he treats my sister this way. I have a good guess. I tell Michelle he’s busy, don’t bother telling her he’ll call back. As I said before, lying to children isn’t fun.

Mark really makes me sick, acting as if every time his world falls apart, it’s our fault. I don’t want him to marry Jessie, so I tell him I was raped; due to how crazy I was, he couldn’t get a girlfriend. Blames us for every little unfortunate thing…

Even the death of our mother.