dear sal,
today was just as bad as i thought it would be. worse.
they came in to my room. dressed like they were going to church. their faces plastered with good intentions, but their disgust shining through.
"hello, isabeau." my mother said as soon as she walked in, her lips pressed together because she couldn't possibly smile at me. she is the only person i have ever known to call me by my full name, isabeau. i despise that name. it means "pledged to god." which makes me feel like i am owned. and trapped.
"isa?" my father was wearing a tweed blazer. he had grown a greyish beard since i came in to the hospital.
he turned to my mother. "she's not talking again."
i wanted to tell them that i don't talk. and it's their fault. and if they actually gave a shit about me, they would know that.
the rest of the visit was me, sitting at the window, while they told me about how things were. my mother's garden was going nicely. my father's company was doing well. they had just come from a church bakesale.
"we miss you, isabeau." my mother said finally, but it sounded so forced that i couldn't have believed it even if i wanted to.
no, you don't. you don't miss me. because if you missed me, if you felt any shade of regret for what you did, you wouldn't be coming from church. mom, you wouldn't have a fresh haircut. dad, you wouldn't have time to work. you both would spend day and night trying to help me. trying to get me out of this hellhole in here and into the hellhole out there. but you don't miss me and that's why i will never talk. not to you.
that's what i thought to myself as they walked out the door. and i laughed to myself when the door closed behind them, because they probably believe themselves. they probably believe that they are good people who are doing their absolute best to help their daughter. and that's just so patently untrue.
you know what i would do if you came to visit me, sal? i would hug you and kiss you and talk with you until midnight, when we both fell asleep with smiles on our faces.
but you can never see me again, and my parents will be visiting me every week now starting tuesday.
yours,
isa.