Little Brat

Part 1

Afternoon, August 4 The Present

• The heat of the sun was like a sweltering plague, causing stones almost to evaporate into the atmosphere. Summer ended and the heat lasted for days, the day before, and today. The wind was slithering through closed doors, windy that umbrellas and tents were bent out of shape. I rushed vehemently about the need for new safety measures. It was piping hot. The climate seemed absorbed in the embers of a newly burning fire, broiling gusts of the wind stung my delicate, and exposed visage. My noticeably vivid face borne an annoyed and tired expression, even though, my feet moved like a horse as swift as in a race. I approached the pavement of the bus stop and there already waited one, without hesitation, I climbed abroad. Inside the bus is still, like the breath has been punched out of it. A woman in a stewed-cherry dress stares at me and I knew why. I find an empty seat at the last on the left and sat. I pulled out my phone just to find out hundreds of messages, texts, and missed calls. It reminds me of the innocence I lost. I hear a muttering from the girl, talking about the demeanor I carried. Eavesdropping to strangers is a habit that I cannot avoid. People would be arguing over phones saying if to or not to have sex the following weekend. Weird? I know. Some spies were talking about capturing someone in the town. They tended to do it in secrecy and failed to remain secretive thus by my habit of eavesdropping. This one time in a coffee shop, I wasn't eavesdropping; two girls were talking and I overheard one of them saying, ''I'm not over him, but I'm over it, you know.'' And that was the most accurate thing I heard in a long time, it's been eons since then. It hurt my heart and I felt tears coming so I rushed out of the shop, but if it was meant to be, it had been. I just couldn't trust the timing of everything. Eavesdropping makes me feel like a spy to the entire world. Thus there was no one to eavesdrop so I looked out on the streets, the window reflected back myself and I saw the cut, the scar running down my long skinny neck. It's one thing I loathe about myself. I close my eyes and listen to the voices, with my head spinning a thousand miles per sec and heart beating faster than the droplets of rain. Shadows were present only in sparse because the bus travelled in the same lane of covering shadows. It stopped in a neighborhood that was lightened by the sparks of sun, a familiar neighborhood, one that's full of memories both dark and joyful, my memories. I can almost see my 6-year-old self-running around with a confidence of millions that I perhaps lack now. I'm really enthralled to hear the neighborhood's chatter, smell the heavenly incense of spring flowers and see its friendly, intimate and familiar environment. I absolutely admire the composition for its beauty and intricacies. The bus gave a halt sound, breaks emitted a loud squeal and I jump off of it and walk back to home in the sweltering sun. I enter our enormous and colorful home with relief dying of thirst. I quickly run to the kitchen gulping down two pure glasses of cold water. It wasn't long until I saw my parents. Mother and Father sat on the sofa shook and surprised. Though, I didn't care any less. There were times when I'd come through the door exhausted, or laughing or angry or when they didn't see me come through the door, I'd be sobbing outside on the stairs. My turquoise eyes have cried excess tears, my fragile skin have felt the extreme pain, but my heart have expected all of these outcomes because it's what brought them to me and these memories are vivid to me as the color of the sky. Despite all of these hardships, I act stoic. ''Everything okay, Glenda? asks father, confused. ''What on Earth.... Catch your breath, Hun! Did you run all the way to here?' mother adds along, lovingly. I lean on my knees and tap my chest as a way to relax that mother had taught. 'Yeah, guys. I'm okay. Did you even go out? It's too hot!'' I holler out to them putting the glass down on its place. ''Ah, I wonder why something smelled burnt'' dad smirks. To be honest, I don't understand his quite sense of humor, but that 'Smirk' annoys the hell out of me and its father's failing attempt to joke. I pretend smile tilting my head just to have him believed. ''Ah, um. Guys, was there any new mail for me today?'' I ask, stepping closer to them. Maybe, the mails are what I have ran across the city for. ''When did you start getting so much mails than us? And why all of them have the same initial?" father answers questioningly. I whisper 'little brat' to myself, but they seem to have heard it. 'Yea, that...' their faces blank ''Darling' Is there something you're not telling me... I mean, us.'' I don't answer expecting the answer to my first question. "We left it in your room and no, we didn't read it as always.'' mother clears it out, finally answering. Without any hesitation, I run upstairs with the curiosity what this mail brings. ''If you would, take a shower Hun!'' mother calls out from downstairs as I rush upstairs barely hearing. Climbing the stairs footsteps and its creak echo and surround the entire hall because of all the rush. I find the letter on the bed as promised and my curiosity turns into anxiety. Is it worth my time? Were they all worth my time? The letters mostly refer to my appearance and call me a little brat. It has been millions of years. All of this hate spoke out to me through the letters. I get closer to the letter and find 'Little Brat' written at the top with this particular pattern of handwriting that comes in every letter of this person, robot, group or whatnot. After the Beach house, I'd been getting these letters and I feel as though I got to know this person through these letters and have known her/him ever since. I lift the envelope, tearing it, pull out the letter and read ending my curiosity or anxiety. ''Hello, Lil' Brat! You probably have gotten used to this name, Eh?'' I take a brief moment of silence to contemplate this and find it to be the truth. I cannot believe it. It is true. Even if someone would call me that in anger, I'd take it as my own real name. ''Did your sorry ass expect my sudden appearance, today? I guess, not. I mean, who would right?'' the handwriting is so decent and clear. This whoever is capable of sharp discernment. It seems as it's been written in a typewriter rather than a pen, but I know its handwritten as they all were. ''I'll tell you what, your imbecile ass does not even have some dignity over your own people. Who'd do such a thing?'' Which thing is it talking about? ''And never ever reach out to me again. Just keep on living your miserable life and wait for my letters to make you feel as though. Keep Dreaming...'' the end of the letter is followed by tear emoji as always. The number of them keep increasing that were now 'three' and their colors keep getting murky and dark. These tears are another standard, usual and regular thing other than little brat. End of the letters fill me with rage, I crumple the letter and throw it into the dustbin, though I had never tried to report this person because I think I kind of believe the admonition that we should not return hate with hate, but rather with its contrary - love. I accept this as Cyber bullying, but I don't know how to deal with this. I almost feel tears coming down my eyes, even though, these letters mean nothing to me, but the words, the strong and cruel words that hurt me and how it drove me apart from him and everything. Words meant so much to me. Words are something I can feel strong and weak for. My skin feels tan from the long run in the sun, and feel gauzy, dizzy and tired. It is the beginning of summer anyways. I went to sleep thinking of all the things I'd done, and all the things I'd do. Dreams may come sweetly. When I woke up that day, the other side of the bed was still cold. I was sweating. At first glance, it seemed like nothing had changed, but yeah... nothing actually changed. I was in that same room and in the same sassy-breast body of Glenda Merritt. I see mother standing before my bed in the next second. Small drops of sweat formed on her forehead, she may have run up the stairs. She rather seemed exhausted as she's a woman with low stamina. Her knees become stiff like the last time in NYC. My mother rarely goes out during the day, and at night there's no going out either. I stare at her waiting for any statement, but she spoke none. I raise an eyebrow to aware her of the confusion telling she's awkward. She finally spoke, ''It smells like sweat here, Glenda. I thought I told you to take a shower'' mother was quick to criminate me. She mostly calls me 'honey' or 'Hun' but she calls me 'Glenda' in times when she'd be angry ''Take a shower! Dinner's about to be ready'' She orders, and turns so quickly, her whiffing wind blows my hair. She left the room as quick as she came. The high stairs visible from my bed as mother climbed down from them. Then I realize, I've been sleeping 'till dinner. I have never overslept. Not one time. Not ever. I went over to withdraw money from the bank, and delayed. The bus was about to leave so I ran all the way and pretty much exhausted myself. The gigantic clock of ebony in my room exposed the particular time of dinner - 8: 35. I entered the house on 1: 45 to be exact. I go back to the bed for a minute and get up quickly. I tiptoe to the bathroom with my long pale black-nailed feet. Before entering the shower, I throw a glance at my peony to its large round and pink flowers. It's my favorite one because it's extra-long, and soft from all the peonies that have grown from our flower garden. I brought it inside to look after it myself. I liked it and Father let me keep it, but having his doubts in between. I still seem to fulfill what I had said when at the age of a child. The door of the bathroom was ajar. I push it open and walk into a shuttered light. I hum to myself letting my voice collide into the walls and come back to my ears and become overheard. I love the echo. It's something I can speak to freely. I unbutton my stripped pair of jeans, undressing completely in front of the mirror. All the sweat on my breasts and neck have soaked and absorbed by the skin. I always look at myself, the scar, in a dazzled bewilderment, my mind still wandering in the other world of beauty; I look back and see my strewn clothes and step inside the shower and I keep watching my exposed body through the mirror to outgrow the confidence I had. Hovering water. Like locusts they came, hung poised, descended all over me on the body, startling me cause of the coldness they carried. A big sigh escapes from my lungs. And then, I was in bliss all over again. Just like that.