𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

reminiscence of an enraged little girl

Camila

Small drops of rain were trickling down the glass of the car door from the passenger seat, while the noise from the windscreen echoed in the air, in a coordinated rhythm.

A nostalgic feeling filled my body, I couldn't help but remember the times when we would go back home from these exact same dinners, but we were three inside this car. Mum and dad were still in a happy marriage, laughter would fill the air, not silence, and in the back seat, I would be doing this exact same thing: watching the raindrops, on what seemed to be a contest to see which one would take the longest to fall.

It was dark outside, as it used to be back then, the moon and the street light lamps lighted the way, and a tiny persistent noise came from the sports radio station, which my father had turned on ten minutes ago, exactly when we left The Plaza.

A masculine raspy voice was narrating a football game, Chiefs x Eagles, from what I had caught on. But my focus was somewhere else: on the fact that me and my father hadn't shared a word since we left the restaurant.

Maybe it was for the better, if we did, he would say I was being despicable, arrogant, and egoistic towards my grandparents or lecture me on how they try their best to bond with me and how I don't give them enough credit.
I questioned myself on how he could be so blind, so easily manipulated that he couldn't see we were just a part of my grandma's schemes, on these so-called "family dinners", because dinner with the Van Dorens was often a comedy. Perhaps, the right terminology to describe it would be a "theater course", since every time my grandparents invite us to dinner, we end up pretending we are all a big happy family.

I would be rich by now if I received a penny for every time I had to act like they actually care about me when my grandmother remembers it is time to show me off to her friends and pretend she has this unique and joyful bond with "her favorite", and only, granddaughter.
Now that I'm thinking straight, I definitely wouldn't be rich by that, and you know why? Because they only remember my existence three times a year: at Christmas, New Year's, and their marriage anniversary party. And you know which the three of these dates have in common? They are the only nights of the year when part of the elite of Swyncoast cares to join Eleonor Van Doren in her fantasy of actually belonging to the rich people's world. God! And she loves to play the act, doesn't she? Exhibiting me like I'm a trophy to their so-called "friends" who call me miserable with their obnoxious expressions, interlopers' glances, and repulsive smiles. I don't believe she doesn't notice, how they all whisper about my parents' divorce the moment one of us steps away from them, in a feverishly empathetic hunger for mud-slinging. But we are the "false lifestyle family", after all, aren't we?

The brutal stop of the car at the beginning of our road brought me back to reality, leaving my thoughts away, but not the feelings that accompanied them. I looked at my father through the rear-view mirror, his unpleasant look keeping me away from saying goodbye, so I shut the door instead, remaining silent as I slowly prepared myself to walk away. The cold breeze of the night touched my shivery skin and some upbeat song coming from Chase's lighted-up backyard filled my ears, when suddenly, I heard the rolling down of the car window behind me, the moment my father took the decency to let out what were his first words in a space of twenty minutes.

"Are you going home or to your friend's house?", he asked with a blank expression, slightly looking in my direction as if he was ashamed for behaving the way he did.

"I'm going to Chase's", I breathed out in a sigh, knowing too well what he was doing: avoiding the topic but not apologizing for his attitude, just slowly starting to act normal again.

"Don't get home late and say your mum goodnight for me.", he answered, his eyes on the road, his voice almost broken.

"Say your mum goodnight for me", the phrase echoed in my mind for the millionth time since the last year. I know my dad still cared and I could see my mum did too. Honestly, there were times when I couldn't even remember where this divorce came from.