politics vs british boy bands
as told by char
•
Remember how I told you that my parents were obsessed with politics? I wasn't lying; it was worse than our shared addiction to books and most girls' addiction to British boy bands. They would sit at the dining room table that was covered with a frilly white tablecloth and discuss it all with their hands folded and their backs straight, barely remembering my existence. Sometimes I would slam the door when I walked in from to make sure they heard me, in which case they would only look over and smile. Sometimes I got a "Hello, Charlotte," from my mother, but for the most part they would only take their attention away from their talk for a few seconds before being sucked right back in.
The only time I truly spent time with them was at dinner time when I got home from school, in which I was basically required to be in their presence because of my never ending hunger. I would sit in front of my seat, say my prayers silently with my mother and father, and then listen to them talk to each other. It was rare for them to ask about my day or how I was. They added me into conversations if it was about the topic they were discussing, but it was never on my own terms.
On weekends, I biked the five miles into town so I could hang out with my friends. Since I couldn't do anything with my mother and father and I'm sure the two of them wouldn't drive me there if I asked, my bicycle was my only mode of transportation. I spent my time there or at my friends' houses or in my room. I felt like I didn't know my parents, and they didn't know me. It seemed as if we were strangers living under the same roof.
Sure, they gave me things when I wanted them, like allowance for not doing chores (because our house was constantly spotless) and a smart phone when I realized how much I wanted one, but they weren't providing the one thing children need. The motherly and fatherly figures that they were supposed to showing me were transparent.
When I told you this, you had the most soul-sucked expression on your face, your eyes sad. You held me against you, running your fingers through my hair, kissing my forehead. "I'm sorry, Charlotte Marie," you said. "I'm sorry."
I just shrugged. "It's alright, I guess. At least I have you."
And you held me tighter.
YOU ARE READING
Laughter Lines
Romance"Cross my heart and hope to die, I'll see you with your laughter lines." a boy. a girl. you know the rest. © Valarie Rae, two thousand and fifteen.
