Ecstasy

Chapter One

I stared at the squiggly lines on the paper. The odd curves and straight lines of letters. Letters that made scribbles. Scribbles that made words. Words that became rubbish. Paragraphs of what looked to me like a two-year-old had attacked a plain white wall with black crayons.

"Just read it!"

"I'm trying!" I seethed back.

She stabbed the word with her finger. "Sound it out!" My mother was frustrated.

She gets so impatient when she reads with me. She finds it hard to relate to my confusion at times.

"Sound it out, each letter -"

"I am!" I protested. My head was hurting. Concentrating on those little lines on the page made my temples pulse.

My four-year-old sister's face appeared as she tried to look over the table top across from me. Her fair wispy hair stuck up around her ears.

"You can do it, Calla," Sylvie encouraged in her little voice. She stood on her tiptoes trying to see across the tall table and eyed the book I had in my hands. "Hey, I love that story!" She proclaimed, narrowing her eyes she read, "The king of the jungle."

It made me sick. My baby sister could read the title of the book far faster than it would take me to register that they were actually letters and words.

I can read. It just takes me a while. I have to stare at the lines until they form letters, then words. It's hard but I can do it. It just takes a long time to get through a page. The book I have in my hands now isn't very complicated, considering a four year old can read the title in under two seconds, but I chose it so I didn't have to think that hard today; I had too much else on my mind.

"Come on, Calla," my mother coaxed, this time gently pointing at the word I was stuck on.

Calla. My name. It took me to fifth grade to learn how to spell it, even now I forget sometimes. I know how to pronounce it. Like what you call red, yellow and blue. Colour. I know how to recognise it on a page. But I'm not very fast.

I looked back at the word on the page, trying to concentrate. "Cor-Coura-Courageous." Finally it was out. I took a deep breath and continued the sentence.

It was a matter of reading the sentence as a whole rather than just one word at a time. To understand the value of each word in each sentence.

"Hey, honey?" My dad called from across the room, he appeared in the doorway, holding his briefcase. "I have to run down to the office; client emergency," he said apologetically. His excuses were getting even more transparent.

"Oh okay, don't be late home I have a shift at seven," My mother sighed.

Dad worked in a busy marketing company. If his work ethic was as honest as his affair, it could be possible that he would be running down to the office every five minutes. But I knew he wasn't going to run into the city to help a client. I've known that ever since last week when I walked unexpectedly into Mum and Dad's bedroom. I was at home because it was a study week for my class and I thought I had left my hair brush in their ensuite. I came out very surprised when I realised it wasn't Mum and Dad in there, but Dad and someone else.

I glowered at him before he left the room. He didn't know I knew but deep down I think both of them had an idea of what was going on. They would never split though. It made me feel guilty because I knew it was because of me.