Something Forgotten
by Fiver
August 5th
I count that days to cope with it. My therapist says I count the days to push through it. What is it?
I don't know.
It's hot out. I could swim with my sister. It would feel nice for the cool water to wash over my skin and slowly consume me. What if I don't come back up?
Maybe it isn't through. Maybe I still need to push through it.
August 15th
School is approaching fast. I still don't have my homework done. The blank pages stare at me all night, etching into my memory the black ink scrawled across the white paper. I can't do it. I can't think well enough.
I've been placing flowers beneath the window each night. The breeze carries the scent down the hall. The breeze carries the scent even when the window is closed. My mom thinks it's sweet. Dad doesn't like the petals floating to the floor from the older flowers. I won't throw out those older flowers though.
I think the flowers help with it.
I still don't know what it is.
August 20th
I met with my therapist yesterday. He said I should write every day. Every day is too many days. No one writes every day. It's too much work.
My therapist said I should write more about it too. Says I won't recall it unless I talk about it more.
How do you talk about something you know nothing about?
I asked my dad that. He got angry. I am starting to think everyone but me knows what it is.
I set out more flowers last night. White rhododendrons. Little stereotypical flowers with crinkled petals. They're my favorite.
The flowers also made dad angry, but Bailey liked them.
Bailey asked me to play with her yesterday too. She never really wants to play with me. I think she wanted the flowers. Poor Bailey; she needs more friends than the plants growing in the garden.
August 23rd
Bailey took the flowers from the window. She tried to plant them in the garden overnight while everyone else slept.
The flowers died.
I bought more to set by the window. Dad nearly stepped on them. He's been getting angrier. He hit mom yesterday.
I think it has to do with his anger. I still don't have an inkling as to what it is, but I stopped asking dad.
August 24th
Mom just got home. It's dark out. Yellow street lamps buzz with life casting their glow along the street. The tree is a massive shadow rustling its leaf feathers all ready to fly off. I could hardly see her through the darkness swarming the old tree.
She is really late. My alarm says it is only two. She is alone too.
The front door is opening. It's so loud I want to flinch. I hope dad doesn't here.
I should head to bed.
August 24th part 2
Mom wasn't caught, but dad was still angry. He made Bailey cry. She is still crying. Poor Bailey; she just wanted to bring in some of her garden friends.
August 30th
I forgot to write. My therapist was angry, just like dad. He said I would never remember it unless I worked for it. He said everything I wrote so far was useless.
