Trembling

Unrealistic Expectations

 (Side note: At the moment, there will be no "Prince Charming" in this story, meaning Eden will not have a love interest. Girl power and all that. Of course, I may change my mind at some point.)

The great enemy of the truth is very often not the lie, deliberate, contrived and dishonest, but the myth, persistent, persuasive and unrealistic. -John F. Kennedy

Cartoons gave me an unrealistic expectation of life.

 When I was a young, naïve child of four, the only thing I was ever concerned about was the fate of my favorite television characters. Every Sunday, I would settle down in my barren, scantily furnished excuse for a living room, eager to uncover the secrets my television set held for me that day.

 Poor little me hadn't yet figured out that the producers wouldn't dare murder the protagonist, mostly out of fear that their viewers would stop watching.

 I sat silently on the ratty, ancient rug, which I had situated in the center of the room for optimal viewing. I would stay there for hours, transfixed by the effulgent glow of the screen, intently watching the flickering figures dance across its smooth surface.

 Eventually I figured out that the hero would always win the heart of the maiden, and that the comical sidekick would always vanquish the dastardly villian. 

This gave me the ridiculous notion that everyone received a happy ending, or at the very least an acceptable one. I thought that was what I was entitled to, a fairytale ending. I wanted to be able to look back on my life and say, "That was simply wonderful." 

 I hung on to every word my animated idols spoke as if they were benevolent gods sent down from the skies to teach humanity their secrets. Finding out the plot of each program was synonymous didn't discourage me in the least. If anything, it buoyed my spirits.

  I impatiently awaited the part in the movie when Cinderella, my ultimate rolemodel, would sweetly croon, "If you keep on believing, the dreams you wish will come true!" I believed this simply confirmed my thoughts. The thought that everyone was satisfied with the legacy they left behind.

 Reverently, I would mouth the words along with her, absorbing them and accepting them completely. Sometimes I even nodded my head in agreement.

 Looking back on it now, I realize it was easy for her to say. She was a beautiful maiden with a charismatic Prince Charming hanging on her arm, and she didn't have a sister afflicted with Parkinson's.

 No matter how much I believed, no matter how much pain I endured, my trembling sister never went away. But my father sure as hell did.

 Mere hours after the diagnosis, my father vanished. We returned home to see the least expensive of his belongings strewn across the floor. His suitcase had "mysteriously" vanished from his closet. It wasn't much of a blow to me. Even though my father was always physically present, he was never mentally there.

There was no bond between us. No father-daughter picnics. It was a momentous event when we spoke, and even then it was usually only because he felt the need to scold me for some obscure thing that I was apparently at fault for.

 For my mother though, his departure, his betrayal, the simple repugnance of his act, was like a crippling wound that never quite healed.

 Somehow, she managed to convince herself that there was an ulterior motive. "He just had to make an abrupt departure - a business trip, that's all! God knows we need the income, with Vivian's current situation.." 

 That was usually the part where the dam broke. All of her feelings came flooding out in a torrent of emotion, sweeping us along with her. The sight of the tears bursting from her eyes usually forced me to leave the room.

 Eventually, she had to face the fact that her husband of twenty-one years was gone. In his wake, he left   two bewildered twelve year olds, one of whom was sporting a shiny new incurable illness! 

 Still, I clung to the futile hope that years of media provided me with. I still thought I'd get my happy ending. The fairy tale ending I was so sure I deserved.

It never arrived.

 My therapist believes the reason I clung so tightly to my animated rolemodels as a child was because of   my lack of a father figure. Screw my therapist.

It was only after he left that I realised Cinderella lied to me.