FEEL

27. Rückkehrunruhe

Rückkehrunruhe ~ the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

The moment we entered the house, I jerked out of my father's grip and rushed to my room. No, I was not interested in his long senseless lecture and no, I'm not sorry about it.

A part of me understands that this is a valid reason for a parent to be upset. I left without a word and I returned late with no explanation as to where I was. But I know he's not inquiring because he was worried or cares about my well-being. He's just hell-bent on making me miserable to compensate for his own misery that must be knawing at him everyday.

The moment I enter my room, I slam it shut and lock the door. Just seconds later, there's a banging on the hardwood.

"Hey, open this door, you brat!" he booms. "Open it or I'll break it."

He won't. He'll put on a great play, make threats, bang some more and then leave. Hopefully. Except I can't risk him actually breaking it, should he be serious this time, so I swing it open.

I'll endure the earful of shouting for a few minutes if it means I get to keep my door.

It baffles me how inaccurate his suggestions about me are. I'm in school uniform, yet he suggests I had been to a party. I'm completely sober, yet he suggests I had been drinking or doing drugs. The only thing he's close enough to is that I had been with a boy, a man actually, but doesn't know that. He thinks I slept with him.

I wish I did.

In fact, I'd make a nice film for him and let him see. Prove him right.

Look dad, your slutty daughter was out being a slut, just like you thought!

Of late, I've been doing nothing but proving him wrong, and it seems to make his assumptions even worse. Maybe he would shut up if I proved him right.

Except I wouldn't do that. I respect Mr Pierce too much. Had it been one of the boys at my school, I would've done it without a blink. With their permission, of course. Maybe.

By the time he decides to go, he leaves me with a mild headache that will surely disrupt my sleep a little.

It feels like I wasn't at Mr Pierce's house just today. Like none of that ever happened. It feels like they were two separate days, what happened here and what happened there. I try to recall every detail I can remember because I can't remember it unconsciously like I normally do with everything. I have to close my eyes and concentrate, as if the memory is running and I have to catch it.

I pick up the most recent one, of us in the car. He'd called me extraordinary. So casually, in the same manner one would point out the color of your eyes or the words on the T-shirt you're wearing.

A spurt of inspiration summons me, and I run to my bag and grab a piece of paper and pen from my backpack.

What makes you unique?

The question feels so much easier to answer now. I find it quite odd, that sometimes you find yourself by looking at the people around you. Somehow, they see something in you that you didn't. What lens could they be looking through, for them to grasp something from your own self that you, the person who has been with you from the moment you were born, couldn't? And if these lens exist, could they be lent to other people?