As I Am

Chapter One

            I’d watch the view outside turn from the darkest of darks to the brightest of brights. I’d see how the day would go for people, and try to guess what’s going on in the lives of the rare person that passed around the bend the cottage is locate is on. Usually I’d count cars.

            “Want to come with me to work?” Dad asks in the midst of sliding his right arm in his jacket. I don’t turn around but watch him in the reflection of the window. “I get to go out on the boat. You could whale-watch and take some pictures.”

            I blink to make his picture go away and stare outside at the pavement that the sun just reached. “I’m fine.”

            He kisses my forehead and leaves with the same I love you, see you tonight.

             Hours later, I’m resting my chin on the wood of the windowsill. The sun is directly in the sky, creating a bright cast of light over the little cottage neighbourhood. Sounds of pots banging together dance from the kitchen to where I’m perched, but I don’t ask my mother what she’s doing.

            For a little while I just assume she’s purposely clanging frying pans together to get my attention.

            When nothing happens on the street for a while I turn my gaze to the rotting windowsill and let my fingers graze across it. The lighthouse is much older than the house attached to it, but the cottage still is old enough to be remolded. When my father asked about redoing the dirty, sky blue carpets my mother shook her head.

            “It’s classic,” was all she said and my father left it at that.

            After a while the sound of metal against metal subsides and my assumption deems true. I hear my mother’s feet softly pad on the carpet towards me and when she stops behind me, she stands there, not saying anything.

            I know my mother well enough to know the silence means she has something to say.

            I let out a sigh loud enough for her to hear, knowing she’ll take the sound as if I had said yes, mother?

            “The view of the ocean is better from the back window, you know,” she says in a voice that tells me this isn’t what she really wanted to say.

            “I don’t want to look at the ocean.”

            We’re both silent for several minutes, but my mother is used to mine by now so really it’s her lack of words that makes us lapse into the quiet. I can practically hear her behind me, going over things she could say in her head, trying to figure out what to do.

            “Why don’t you go for a walk?”

            I let air out through my teeth and tilt my head until the whole view from the window is sideways. Splinters threaten my skin but I don’t move away. In fact, I don’t move at all.

            “Bam,” my mother continues. “Why don’t you go for a walk.”

            “I don’t want to,” I reply simply.

            I don’t hear her go away.

            “I wasn’t asking you a question that time.”

            “But you were the first time,” I say all smart-alec-y. “And I do not want to.”

            “You’re going outside,” she says sternly.