PRECIPICE [h.s.]

Chapter Thirteen

☽☽☽

And I guess that's why they call it the blues

Time on my hands should be time spent with you

Laughing like children, living like lovers

Rolling like thunder under the covers

☽☽☽

Harry's P.O.V.

September 7th 1997

Distance.

My family is big on distance.

Ever since I moved out, the house has gotten even quieter. Why my parents insist on having a house that could fit ten people easily, when it's just the two of them, I'll never know. Even when it was me and my sisters the house still felt too big. It was so quiet. The only noise you ever heard was the clicking heels of the maids and house helpers, and tick...tick...tick... of the grandfather clock in the main foyer. I drowned in all that silence, and I think everyone else did too. Noise simply refused to exist in our house.

One time when I was around seven, I fell and hit my wrist and hip on the corner of the glass coffee table in the den. I cried for ten minutes, and still no one found me. I remember that it was ten minutes, because I watched the hands on the grandfather clock taunt me as they kept passing by. It took another five minutes for me to find someone in the house who could help me.

When my parents found out what happened, I was put on punishment for getting blood on the carpet and 'fooling around in the first place.' After that, I knew what I wanted in life. I wanted a big family, one where no kid would ever feel alone because someone would always be around. And I wanted a house. Not a mansion like my parents had. Just a house that was big enough to fit my enormous family, and maybe a guest room or two for my sisters' families.

Okay, so maybe more like a mansion, but it wouldn't be like the one I grew up in. It would be lived in and there would be laughter, not silence. It would be packed full and lively, like Jaime's house when all her friends would be over.

As I grew up though, I realized that the future I wanted would not be a possibility. The chances of me marrying someone who actually desired me, and not my money or name? Less than 50%. The chances of that person wanting multiple kids? Slim.

The chances of that person being a true partner? Someone to help me take care of our kids, not because they have to, but because it's second nature to them. How could they not do absolutely everything for their child? I don't know if the chances of that happening can even be deemed worthy enough for a percentage.

It's depressing. And marriage and kids? Not typically the topics on the forefront of most people in their early twenties. But it's better now that I come to terms with my dreams being crushed than be bitter about when I look at my life in ten years and come to terms with the fact that I will inevitably become my worst fear--my mother.

So here I sit. It's Sunday night dinner with my family and the silence makes me want to claw at my ears. Everyone is here tonight, including both of my sisters and their husbands. All the kids have been essentially banished to the basement because god forbid children should make noise and have fun. There is plenty of room for them at the table. The table seats 16. You would think that the seven of us would choose one side of the table so we could sit all together. Not my family.

My father sits at one head of the table while my mother sits at the other. One side of the table from left to right goes: Empty Chair, my sister Celine, Celine's husband Mark, empty chair, my sister Rose, Rose's husband Jack, empty chair.