Fake Persona

Jan. 31, 2012 at 11:23am with 7 notes View comments

I didn’t feel blind, deaf or mute. I just woke up that way. Unaware of the silence, still thinking it was night and that my mom must be somewhere else if she couldn’t answer my screaming. But my eyes never adjusted to the darkness. It was just there. No shapes. No sound.

I tried screaming for help. I couldn’t tell if anything was coming out. My mouth was open. I was using my lungs better than a horror movie actress, but no one rushed to my aid.

I fell out of bed. Surely, there would be bruises.

I felt around for the radio, turning the dial to the right — volume 11. I couldn’t hear it. No more voices, birds singing or dancing to my favorite song at a party. I guess I could still dance.

I tried a little, but instead of dancing, I bunched up my rug and fell again.

Then a hand on my shoulder and a lightness before my eyes. No shapes. Just a blur. I reach for the radio and it’s been shut off. No vibrations. I want to cry. I’m surprised because I already am. Droplets falling off my cheeks. I count them before there are too many to count.

Someone is here and I can’t even tell if it’s my mom. Then I realize it’s him. The next door neighbor. His scent is sweat, grass and motor oil. He’s comforting me and I think about my nightgown covered in grease and I don’t even care anymore. I was pretty before and I’ll still be pretty, even if my sister has to put on my make-up and a dog has to lead me around the prom. I guess I could ask Joe, but I could almost hear him saying pathetic in my ear.

I would no longer be a cheerleader. No longer a prize.

I’m still crying. Steven is here with his greasy fingers around my shoulders and I wonder why I’m home alone. Abandoned. Unloved.

Then cupcakes, confetti and the blindfold comes off, earplugs out and the tape removed.

I realize I’m in the most perfect reproduction of my room. It’s like a movie set. It’s not the cute neighbor with his arm around me.

It’s him.

And I scream.