How to Live | Slow Updates

chapter two

I finish unpacking my stuff until there's only one more box left.  I shove that box underneath one of the shelves in my closet, knowing that I won't be unpacking that one anytime soon.  It's the one filled with pictures of—

            Don't think about that.

            I push the box one last time into the corner, hoping it will disappear the next time I come back into the room.  I exit the closet and close the door firmly, wanting to stay away from that box as much as I can.

            "Lexi?  Are you done?  Dinner's ready!" Kira calls from downstairs.  I can hear her shuffling around in the kitchen, and then I hear a loud bang.  Allison lets out a grunt of protest while Kira laughs, and I allow myself a small smile.

            There are some things I miss about my old life.  Things like Allison being completely useless in the kitchen, and she and Kira having light-hearted arguments about whether or not she is useless.  Usually, Kira wins because she's right.  Allison is completely useless in the kitchen.

            I walk downstairs, and whatever talk Kira and Allison had going on has deceased as they see me come down the stairs.  The room always goes quiet when I walk in because they're worried that they'll say the wrong things, and they'll have to find another therapist for me.  They don't have to worry though; I'm never going to go back to that place again.

            "Come on, we made—" Allison starts to say, but Kira interrupts her.

            "I made it actually.  She just sat around and..." Kira trails off when Allison starts motioning for her to stop.  I know she doesn't want me to see her making those motions, but I always do.

            I know that they both think even the slightest bit of arguing, even the slightest hints that our family is falling apart—even if it's not true—will set me off.  Maybe at first, but I'm okay now.  Those things don't set me off.  They just make my heart ache for the past.

            "Anyways," Allison brightly clears her throat and continues to speak, "let's just eat."  She slowly begins to pass out the Chow Mein to Kira and me, and then proceeds to put some on her plate as well.

            There a thick, tight silence at the dinner table.  I want more playful conversations with Kira and Allison, not this silence that lets me thoughts grow.  However, I'm not planning on starting the conversations any time soon.  I have no idea what to say anyways.

            In the end, it's Allison that breaks the silence.  "So, how do you like the new house so far?  Do you like your brand new room?  This house is pretty different from our old—"

            "Yeah," I murmur, "it's fine."  I'm not focusing much on my answer, and instead on how she tried to avoid talking about our old house.  As much as I'm grateful they care for me, her choice of words sets off a slight tinge of annoyance in me.  I won't explode or be triggered over the smallest things. 

            I won't.

            But the annoyance is gone in a second, and a huge tsunami of guilt overcomes me.  I'm being so ungrateful to them.  Even though I didn't say those things out loud, I need to tell them I'm sorry for even thinking those things.  I know that it will keep haunting me if I don't, and then I can add this moment to the list of moments that I ponder about when I wake up in the middle of the night, wondering if I could've done things differently.  And maybe the results wouldn't be the same and maybe I wouldn't be here and maybe...

            Life is full of too many maybes and there aren't enough definite answers.  Life's full of too many moments where you're left wondering about the if's, and not enough where you've accepted what happened and moved on.