Notorious

Repressed

The day my father left home was the first time I ever tasted betrayal. 

I won the spelling bee that day and came home with a ribbon I was going to show my dad: a ribbon I knew he would hang on the fridge proudly. Next to Liam's school portraits and drawings and report cards.

I knew before I was even inside the house that something had happened because my mother sat outside on the porch with my brother, consoling him.

But when I asked her what was wrong she only sighed and told me bluntly that he was gone. Cold and concise; straight to the point with no cushioning for me to land on.

I didn't believe her of course and ran up to their room to see his clothes gone and the study empty. I found the note he left for me in my room not much later and brought it out to my mother.

But, there was no comforting embrace or coos of encouragement or even any acknowledgement at all. She let me break down in front of her with only a sigh in response.

It didn't take long before she took Liam inside and made him dinner while I stayed on the porch and waited for my father's BMW to roll up the driveway as I believed it would.

But soon the stars came out and the night turned cold and he was nowhere to be seen.

My mother didn't check on me once. And I only went inside when evening had fallen.

The ribbon I won was lost in the dirt driveway.

I don't know why I remember this scene now. Maybe because I have tasted betrayal once again or maybe because I am sitting on this same porch once again -building up the courage to go back inside the house I was raised in.

Some people might just walk into their child hood home without knocking or having any hesitation, but I am filled with it.

Because this was never really my home. Just a place I was allowed to stay in.

So, I raise my hand and use the brass knocker to knock three times against the large oak doors. With bated breath I wait the 27 seconds -and yes I counted- it takes for the door to swing open.

"Miss Aspen!" I am granted slight relief upon seeing our stout Italian housekeeper answer the door with a shocked look on her round face.

"Ciao Adelina. Come stai?"

Adelina always treated me like the daughter she was never able to have, especially after my father left. He hired her just after I was born, ecstatic to have another Italian speaker in the family to chat with in his first language.

I think that's why my mother always hated her. Because they both spoke Italian to one another and she never bothered to learn it.

Her warm hazel eyes turn glassy as the shock wears away and she grasps my hands in hers, giving them a light kiss, "Oh, sto bene. Io sono stato così preoccupato per lei quando ha smesso di mostrare fino a qui. Ciò che è accaduto, mi amore?" [Oh, I am just fine. I have been so worried about you when you stopped showing up here. What happened, my love?

"Non devi preoccuparti di me, Adelina. Io sono qui per fare ammenda con mi madre. È mia madre a casa?" [You do not have to worry about me, Adelina. I am here to make amends with my mother. Is she home?]

She gives me an encouraging smile, ushering me inside and informing me she is right inside her home office. With a light kiss on the cheek and a deep breath I head down the familiar hallway.

A hallway that was once filled with family pictures that included my father, but now remains bare.

When I reach the doors that have been shut my entire childhood I almost turn around. Turn around and head home before I open a can of worms that can never close.