Laugh

1 - Closed Curtains

Chapter 1 - Elise

I live in the Stein Townhouse Complex, number 12 to be exact. It's a cute row of brownstone homes with green lawns and daffodil beds under the windows. I mean, there are differences to each one, but that's the overall theme. Take a look at the Harringtons' lawn for example. With seven little kids, the front yard is packed with fisher price products and various bicycles and tricycles. In contrast, Mrs. Oriana keeps her lawn bare except for the prized antique swingset she bought sixty years ago.

    Our lawn is pretty simple as well. There's a little garden under the living room window with poppies and tulips that Mom and I planted years ago, but I'm the only one who takes care of it now. There's also a lawn chair set that rarely gets used since Mom's never home, Dad stays inside, and I just go on the roof, but it's cute and makes the place a little more homely. From the outside, we look like a normal family. There's the mom that goes to work every day, the dad who stays home and cares for the house due to his bad leg, and the responsible daughter who does well in school. It's an image we choose to upkeep, despite how dark the truth really is.

    It's why we keep the curtains closed, hiding the broken dishes and empty beer bottles between lacey white curtains. It's why we made the walls soundproof so neighbors can't hear the screaming. It's why Mom and Dad's room doesn't have a window. No one wants their oh-so-perfect lives disrupted by looking into their neighbor's house.

    They see the yard though, and at the moment, they see a seventeen-year-old girl watering poppies and tulips. I take care of the little garden by myself, even though it's technically also Mom's. I don't focus too much on that though. I take care of it because I love the floral scent and the vibrant red, white, and yellow hues of the flowers. I also love the fresh air in contrast to the thick alcoholic atmosphere.

    I pat down on the soil, checking to make sure that the soil is lightly moist, but still somewhat dry for the most part. If it was soaked, it would mean the plants were overwatered and they could die. If it's completely dry, it means they weren't watered enough and will dehydrate. It's common sense, but not everyone has it. There's a reason there are instructions on shampoo bottles.

    I pour the rest of the water out on the grass, give them something to drink too, then head back inside to put the watering can away. I'm immediately hit with the overwhelming stench of sweat and alcohol. No matter how long I've lived in this house, it's just as intense every time.

    Dad's reclining on the couch, his prosthetic leg up on the wall, and the stump of flesh that was once his leg propped up on a pillow. He's fast asleep, a half-finished can of beer slowly pouring out and soaking the couch in his limp hand.

    It's better that he's drunk and asleep than being drunk and awake, but his snoring doesn't make it any more bearable. I put in my AirPods and turn the volume up to the max. It kills my ears, but it blocks it out. Besides, Harry Styles should be listened to at max volume. He deserves it.

    I go into my room and flop on the bed. It's about 7:00, the sunset bright and colorful as ever. I would normally climb onto the roof to watch it, but I'm too tired at the moment. I should probably get an early night's sleep anyway since tomorrow's the last day of school before the summer break. There's always some sort of celebration, and I don't want to be half asleep during it.

After a few minutes I go back downstairs. There's canned chili in the pantry, so I pull out two cans and heat them up in a pot on the stove. I pour a bit in a bowl and store the rest in the fridge. Mom can get some when she gets home, unless she's already eaten, in which case she'll just disappear into her bedroom and go to sleep. Dad... I'm not sure if he'll end up eating it. At this state he'll be knocked out until morning.

    I turn on the television and watch the news at the kitchen counter as I eat. It's watery and oversalted, but since I'm hungry it doesn't matter. I'm barely even following what the news reporter is talking about. Some long, repetitive explanation about taxes or something along the lines of that. Eventually, the screen becomes staticky, so I turn it off.

    The house is more or less silent for the most part, other than the quiet ticking of the clock and Dad snoring in the next room. I finish the chili, put the bowl in the sink, and go back upstairs.

    I turn on the shower, and while it gets hot I take off my clothes. My outfit wasn't anything exceptional today, just sweatpants and an old band T-shirt. No one dresses up at Felixburg High except for the emos. They're cool though.

    I get into the shower, and I swear I can feel the hot water sizzling on my skin. Scalding hot showers aren't for everyone, but it's the only way I'll feel clean. The heat is also distracting from the throbbing bruises on my arms and the nasty one below my rib. I swear, that one is every color of the rainbow. It's a little gay bruise.

I do a good job of concealing them for the most part. It's another one of the ways my mom and I keep this all hidden. We wear long sleeves and always wear something over our bodice. It's been difficult sometimes for sure, like during the summer. Sometimes even the lightest fabric is too warm for the heat of the summer sun. I've also had to become creative with my pool party excuses. Most of the time I just say I have to work, which isn't a lie. During the school year, I work the after-school shift at Burton's Diner. Mr. Burton, the owner, is a nice old man for the most part. I mean, he has his grumpy old man moods from time to time, but he's also the type of guy who gives little kids a free burger if they get a good grade on their test. The reason I didn't work tonight was that Mr. Burton lets me off a week before summer vacation as a sort of "end of the year" gift. It's a nice gesture, even though I don't really have anything else to do. Since I don't have any work due in the last week and all the final exams have finished, the long afternoons during the last week are an opportunity for me to work on the garden and catch up on lost sleep.

    I've been working at Burton's Diner since late Sophomore year as a way to save up for college among other things. I also babysit, do yard work, shovel the walks during the winter, read to old people, and take up other random minor jobs. The main thing I do though is work at the annual summer carnival.

    Our town has hosted the carnival every summer since 1954. It's the Felixburg tradition. I've run the cotton candy booth each year since I was in eighth grade. Besides the fact that I do it to save up for college, it also spares me the embarrassment of having to seclude myself all summer while everyone else gets together with friends, goes to parties, and double their social life within a span of two and a half months. I just get to spend my summer twirling sugar and people watching.

    I finish showering and get ready for bed. I hear the front door open downstairs, signaling Mom is home. I've stopped waiting for her to check on me after work a long time ago, so I tuck myself under the covers and gaze out the window.

    The view from my window is one of the prettiest things in my life. Behind the townhouse complex is a great, clearwater lake. At night, the stars in the sky reflect into the water, and the moon casts a blue glow on the peaks of trees and tips of the waves. I can hear the sound of the waves crashing ashore from the roof, but not from within the house. It doesn't matter though, the constant pattern of water against rock is hypnotizing enough.

    My room is dark and silent, but peaceful. I don't mind being alone. There's no stress of having to check my notifications every ten minutes. There's no drama to worry about. There's no planning to take care of. It's just me, the lake, and the silence.

    I fall asleep within minutes.