For a brief second, I can only stare—paralyzed by disbelief.
Then, raising my hand I knock. My fist collides with the wood, hoping to land a sharp, echoing rap, but the sound is a soft thud that is barely audible.
Crisp, cold air whips past me, wrapping me in chills that make my bones shake.
We’re in the middle of October, and the temperature usually drops at night.
I lean against the wall, listening to the silence. A few minutes go by and yelling starts. I can’t make out what the words are but it’s mom’s speaking and she’s mad.
Once she calms down she’ll invite me back in.
Kicking me out on the porch was just her being?—
Being what?I ask myself for an excuse.
Tears prick my eyes and I feel helpless, confused and cold.
Running my gaze around, I study the neighborhood, that is blanketed in darkness and sleeping houses. No stray dogs or cats roam the streets, no crying child is throwing a fit or light is turned on. No one is awake.
CRASH
Something breaks inside and more arguing follows. With time their voices get louder and angrier.
I don’t think I can sneak in, because they're banging doors and moving around.
A tear rolls down my eye. Then another. And another.
When another crash sounds in the living room, I jump and rush down the steps and into the driveway.
I turn around and analyze the surroundings, feeling panicked out of my mind because I have no idea what to do.
“What are you doing out here, girl?” A familiar voice speaks from nearby.
I look over and find Nadina, standing on the porch holding her crane. She’s dressed in a nightgown and slippers. Her thin wavy hair swept away from her face and tied in a braid.
“Nothing.” My voice cracks as I sniffle.
Her gaze pins me down, and I feel myself almost breaking under the weight of shame.
Can she tell that I’ve been kicked out of my house?
I hope not.
She taps her crane. “Come here.”
“It’s alright. I’m going inside any minute.” I offer her a weak smile, the corners trembling with uncertainty as tears burn my eyes.
Her lips presses together.
More voices and louder arguments spill out of my house, carrying every word into the street, making me shift from one foot to the other.
I refuse to look at the elderly woman who’s boring her gaze into my frame like she can see through my DNA and knows what kind of people made me.
Made me? No. I was something that came about.
A mistake.
That’s what I am.
