The Girl in the Red Sweater

The Girl in the Red Sweater [4]

            I wake to the sound of the doorbell with my head still at the window. Even once the girl in red had left my cheek remained plastered against the glass as if adhered in bewitchment. My eyes flicker open to the sight of the girl from the previous night accompanied by two adults and a small child, once again under my view with feet planted upon my porch. I lurch back at the sight of her, my face separating from the window with a wet pop accumulated by my sleeping sweat. My ears grow red at the thought that she had seen my face at the window, but it appears she did not, her attention focusing on my door and then on the whining child at her side which has thrown himself down in a fit. The girl hoists him back up by their arm.

I glance at my clock to see that it is nearly noon, a perfectly reasonable time to come over for a neighborly weekend visit. I had stayed up late, and by close inspection I notice that dark circles outline the eyes of the girl in red as well.

My mother opens the door and greets them in her usual chirping tone. The girl waves and grins as one of the adults, presumably her father, introduces himself and his family. I can hear their voices muffle through the glass much like I could hear the girl’s voice in the night.

“Nice to meet you, would you like to come in?” my mother chirps, “Would you like something to drink?”

            “No, we just came to say hello,” the woman, I supposed her mother, says.

            “Oh, okay then. Nice meeting you!” my mother calls out as they step off of the porch. My eyes stay glued to them as they leave. I stay concealed behind the blinds. And then, my mother asks something that made my stomach lurch. “Hey wait! How old is your daughter?” The family pauses and the girl turns.

            “I’m fifteen,” she answers. Only two years younger than me.

            “I have a son about your age. Perhaps you know him from school?”

            “Maaaaaaaybe,” she says, droning out the word in a state of uncertainty.

            “I’ll call him down,” she titters. The muscles in my jaw tense and my temples tighten as my fist clenched=s. “Hey Boo!” my mother calls. I squeeze my eyes shut in mortification. She said my name… in front of her.

            I dare to open my eyes to look back at the family in response to the sound of my name. The child, still in the middle of his tantrum and possibly too young to comprehend the humor in my name is un-phased, but the questioning look exchanged between the mother and father is enough to make me choke back tears of embarrassment. I don't even bother to look at the girl I was so infatuated with the night before to save myself from further humiliation.

            “Hey Boo! We have company! Come down here!” she continues to shout. I tastes blood again as my nails dig themselves into my palms. “Boo? Are you awake!?” Although my mother is a kind and overall wonderful woman, the naming of me was quite possibly her biggest mistake as well as the cruelest misdoing unto me that was ever been done to me before. Her good parentage and understanding somewhat pacified the wounds the name “Boo” had brought, but it did not reverse the misdoings and teasing of others due to my name. This had been pointed out in therapy before, but I was advised not to begrudge my mother for it, and I never did. But now, in front of the Girl in the Red Sweater, I snap.

            “Are you fucking insane?!!” I scream outside of my bedroom door at the top of the flight of stairs. I cannot see her face, which is most likely a good thing, seeing as it would only contribute to my guilt, but that does not affect me now. Only humiliation and spite fuel my words.

            “Boo?” her tone softens, but is still loud enough for me to hear upstairs.

            “Go to hell!!!” I shriek before slamming the door to my room with a reverberating bang. I fall into my bed and bang against the walls with my fists as I bite hard on my pillow to stifle my screams until I fall back into slumber.