Warped

Chapter 2

"Eva, don't you want to hold him?" asked Mom pleadingly. Her face shone with that stupid happy smile she's always had ever since dumb It was born. Today, though, there was a bit of hope that was discernible; no doubt evidence of her wish of me loving the new baby. There was no way that that would happen, though; any baby born to my mother after my father--my eyes narrowed. There was no way I could ever forgive her. Seeing the disgusted look on my face, she said, "Oh, come on, Eva. How can you resist such a cute little face?"

It was all so morbid, I could hardly stand it. Dad was still gone, and here they were, fawning over the stupid baby that wasn't even his. It's like he never even existed.

"Mom, why can't I hold him?" Melanie whined. She held out her overlarge hands for them to be pushed away. "How come you're asking Eva, anyway?" She crossed her rejected arms and leaned on one leg. "She clearly doesn't give a--um, she doesn't care about Max, anyway. Let her go off and be on her own. It's obviously what she wants."

Mom looked at her warningly. "Melanie, I'm just trying to let her have a chance to get to know him."

That sent me over the edge. All of the anger and frustrations started bubbling over, sizzling everything it came in contact with. "Get to know him?" I demanded. "Get to know him? Are you kidding?" My hands gripped the side of the couch as I raised my voice. "You know how much Dad going missing tore me up, and now this! This--this baby will be a constant reminder. Every time I look at this stupid kid," I said, gesturing wildly, "I'll think of Dad, and how you forgot him. How you stopped caring. And I'll never forgive you for that."

My mother's shattered expression didn't affect me. It didn't hit me deep in the gut like it used to. I didn't care anymore.

The baby went slack in her arms, and I turned around to leave. The whole situation was making me sick. Melanie glared and my brothers and sisters had that same shattered expression, but I barely noticed. The rapidly gathering tears in my eyes made it hard to see.

I heard a small someone start to cry--big, wailing sobs--but it was a while before I heard the soothing voice that made my tears turn to steel. It was him.

I broke into a run, pushing myself down the hall, wrenched open the basement door, and half-ran, half-tripped down the old wood stairs.

My feet were taking me where I needed to be. They skirted the wraparound leather couch, the old toys that no one ever used, the workout equipment that my stepfather bought, that my father wouldn't have needed because he wasn't a lazy idiot....

The tears exploded from my eyes, and I couldn't see at all, but my feet somehow continued to carry me towards wherever they were going. To be honest, I couldn't've cared less where. Just anywhere away from where I was.

I parked myself somewhere around the outer edges of the basement. When I freed my eyes of obstructions with the palm of my hand, I saw a simple old cupboard. It looked like it was from the seventies or eighties, maybe an antique. But it was no stranger to me.

Muscle memory. That's all I could think of as I unlatched the door and a cloud filled with the scent of moth balls and old people attacked my nose. But there was another smell in there. Mine.

I climbed inside, just as I had so many times before in times of distress. Lately, I'd been blocking out every emotion. When I was younger, I let everything pour out. That's when I found the cupboard, and it would forever be my refuge when I was upset.

I smiled ruefully at the memory of my tiny, sniveling self all curled up in the cupboard I was now in. Sobbing about trivial things.

Then I remembered the last time I had been in there. The day of my father's disappearance. Suddenly, the space felt confined, and I felt like the oxygen was trickling out. A strangled sound came from my throat. Despair. That's what I felt. And I could never escape it.

The stupid cupboard was a metaphor for my whole life. An inescapable and crushing mixture of bad memories and moth balls.

The salt water rose from my eyes again, and I cried until I couldn't cry anymore, until my eyes were red and raw, and my mind slowly entered the fog that sleep so gently brought.