It's a Cruel World

Chapter 2 - The News

We've always gone to visit my grandparents, and sometimes stay at their place for a while since we don't exactly see them much. Their house - villa, actually - is huge. And old. The ceilings are high up, and the furniture is the stuff you see in movies about medieval times. At night, the place got creepy. You'd hear knocks on the door, but when you got up to check there'd be nobody there. Weird creaks and windows opening with no sign of wind.

I didn't mind much, though. We only stayed for a while, after all.

One day, we went over and didn't come back, though. I remember that day very well. My mom had packed so many bags - suitcases - that I knew something was up. But like the obedient child I was, I never asked. Just went along with it. My mom wasn't in the best mood either. I could see she  wanted to cry, but composed herself for me and my siblings. I could see it, though. I always could.

We went to the room we always slept in, and she set down the bags.
I could see her composure start to slip.

"Amina, habibty, could you take your sister and brother and say hi to your grandparents?" I nod silently and take my brother's hand in mine, picking my baby sister up to make my way out of the room, to my grandparents'.

My brother is four years younger than me, only two, and my sister is a year younger than him. One. They wouldn't understand what's happening. They wouldn't get that we're no longer like those families you see in stock photos. We're like the families in the books I read.

....

I was right. We stayed there for more than just a visit; night after night after night I waited for my mom to say we're going back, and night after night after night I was more convinced we never were. And... I don't think I minded too much. I never missed my dad too much, since he and I were never too close. But I think that, once we moved, my emotions weren't the same. It was like my range of emotions was as wide as the palm of my small hand, and it wasn't on the positive side, either.

I didn't ask questions about what was happening, and day by day I learned to become more invisible. Not to be more of a burden on my mom; she's already going through hell. I can see it in her eyes. I just took care of my siblings and stayed out of everybody's hair.

Then, one day, my mom called me into her room for a talk.

She sat on the couch, looking serious and sad. She'd been crying, I know. I walked over, the small child I was, and sat down next to her.

"Amina..." She took a breath, picking and choosing her words. "Your father and I, honey, we just.."

I stare at my feet, my breathing getting heavier. Oh, God, please don't cry, Amina. If there's one thing my mother doesn't need right now, it's my tears. She's already had enough of her own.

She took another breath and started again, "Do you know what divorce is?"

My breathing stuttered. Divorce. I know that word, alright. It meant my parents weren't together. Separated. It meant I might have a new mom, or a new dad.

I swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. She continued, "Well, your father and I just don't work out, you know? We're just too different, and....."

She went on to explain, but I wasn't exactly listening. I wasn't exactly there. I just wanted to go back to my books, to go back to my escape.