I am Clara

Christmas Arguments

 I took a seat on one of the old red chairs in the back row, seconds before the kids got on stage. They looked adorable, even the twins, who managed to look only slightly comical. Bella searched the crowd, until her eyes fell on me, smile painting her face and hand twitching as if tempted to wave. I spotted mom standing near the front, encouraging them along with the rest of the Church committee. She seemed like her regular self; it was no wonder that no one else had noticed her tumbling into despair; relying on the one thing that rid her mind of all concerns. The one thing that clouded her mind and eradicated feelings.

     The play went on as it usually did. The same lines were said, and same costumes worn. Bella recited her lines perfectly, and the twins surprisingly behaved. Though a little energetic and grimacing at each other in their own made-up form of communication, they played their animal roles well and didn't cause a scene. From the cautious glances they shot Bella before the opening scene, I suspected that some form of bribery had occurred between the three.

     Though I only saw them from far, I counted myself lucky to see them at all. Fortunate to have time off from work, but unfortunate for me, my mother had been home more often, and I had had to visit less often. The small wave and mouthing of Merry Christmas from my siblings, would have to appease my satisfaction. It was the best I could do, and it would have to be enough.

     I took my exit shortly after the applause. I had no intention of staying for the midnight Lunch, as it would give me no chance to hide. Though I knew I couldn't attend my usual ceremonies for multiple reasons, the brief fifteen-minute play wasn't nearly long enough. I wasn't ready to leave. When I was young, we'd spend hours on the church grounds, playing until we tired, until our parents practically had to carry us back to the van. I had been doing most of the carrying these past five years. Though my arms used to ache from the weight of one of the twins, the ache of empty arms today was greater.

     First, our Christmas celebrations had turned upside down from my father's departure, and now I had lost my mother, and by extension lost a part of the role I could play in my siblings' lives. The first Christmas without my father had been difficult. I remembered sitting on the same bench I sat on now, watching the happy, complete families with a pang of jealousy, until mom rushed me inside to see the twins take their first steps. No one would come to my rescue and pull me away from my misery, today. Before my level of anguish reached record high levels, I rose to my feet and headed towards the boardwalk behind the Church.

     My walk down memory lane was not as comforting as people made it out to be. In fact, its effect was the complete opposite of comfort. All the emotions of anger, sadness and frustration from the past years and months resurfaced in a sudden and overwhelming manner. Even if I had somewhat come to terms with the Terpilih thing, the situation wasn't any more enjoyable, and no matter how much I loved and understood her reasoning, I was not ok with what my mother had said and done. And I doubted the anger I held towards my father would ever fully fade. I wasn't looking for pity. I knew my life could be much worse. But it was Christmas, I was alone, and I had just accidentally done something that went against all my morals. I was entitled to a moment of weakness, a moment to give into pent-up emotions. It wasn't often that I fully gave into the thoughts swirling my mind, but tonight added to everything else was too much. I broke down. Releasing a quiet mixture of a growl and scream, I kicked the old, rusty bench next to the willow tree. The metal seat bent, altered into an arch, it was rendered useless for future sitters.

     I thought ruining the bench that I had spent hours sat on with my parents, would make me feel better, but it did nothing but result in pain. The pain sparking from my infected foot, shot up into my leg and up to my hip. The slight sound of stretching and the sharp ache, could only lead me to believe that the poorly executed stitches in my foot had come undone. Heat filled my shoe, and I knew that the cut had reopened.