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no invitation

We are at a 3 year old's birthday party in the back room of a cafe. Music is pumping from a tiny speaker. Balloon animals are popping, and waving in the air. A man in a yellow dinosaur costume dances wildly. Parents snap pictures with satisfied smiles on their faces.

A little girl approaches gingerly and stands in the doorway, straying from her parents somewhere inside the restaurant. She cannot be more than three. It must be hard to ignore all of the noise coming from this room packed with celebration. There is a perfect little pony tail at the back of her head. She hesitates, as one foot poises in the air and then rests back down. How to understand that she was not invited. How to understand the laughter, the loose jumping bodies, the presents piled high on the window. None of this connects to her. There is a little plate of food waiting for her back there, in the quiet restaurant. Maybe a warm bowl of soup, thick with noodles. I watch her for some time.

That night, her empty e…

the liar, the lie

In the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water, I smell the garbage. It stinks of chicken bones and rotting fruit. Tying it closed, I leave it there. I leave it there because that is what people do. I will throw it away tomorrow in the light of day, when I am dressed. 

When I am ready.

Monday is a holiday. Russia Day, the day the USSR went back to being called Russia. Another day of great change, or no change at all. There was a screaming argument with E's mother, with E joining in, begging to stay in my house. Her tears, her pleas mean nothing. There is a ruler, and the ruled. Decisions are handed down, unopen to discussion. The madwoman flashes her grin, her teeth, her fear tactics. She told me she reads the blog, that soon a lawyer will contact me or maybe not as she pretends to display mercy for dramatic effect. At one point, all that matters is what we believe. It becomes the truth. 

The liar and the lie create a perfect circle.



There is nothing to do but scream back, to reject her madness outright. There can be no surrender. The fight is all I have to defend E. The fight is what keeps me whole.

E stares at me with giant eyes. 
"Don't let her take me." She says, under her breath.
I want to tell her "the good guys always win". I want to tell her that "love is the strongest force in the universe". I want to tell her that her mother is just toying with us, as she has no friends, and no love in her life except for money. This game of tyranny is all she has left. 

This is why she is so dangerous. She has nothing to lose.

"Let's learn how to make a peanut butter sandwich." I tell E, messing up her hair and nudging her towards the kitchen.
"Nutella and peanut butter." She corrects me, bouncing on one leg and following.
"First you open the nutella, and let it get soft." I tell her, pulling it from the fridge.
She nods, suddenly serious.
"If you learn to cook something, you always feel better if you are sad." I tell her. "And if you already feel good, then you feel really great."
She looks up at me, resting one hand on my elbow.
She smiles.
I see the garbage, tied up and leaning against the cabinet. I take it outside, and dump it down the chute. The safety pin is still there. A man smokes a cigarette in the hallway as he reads a book. He is always on this windowsill, avoiding someone, hovering for hours by the glass bottle that has become an ashtray. 

Back inside, E holds the lopsided sandwich up to me.
"Do you want half?" She asks.






Comments

honey-bunny-bar said…
exactly the same parquet floors as we had at home, back in my childhood! you sent me all the way down memory lane
liv said…
Oh my gosh, she scares me. I'm scared for you and E and N too. I'm even scared for me...she's sooo scary.

Are those threats empty? Are they?

Please be cautious.
Annie said…
Ah.....I want that floor. I love the dogs in the flowers.

That is some serious piece of advice.

I have a lot of angst...and was just convincing myself yesterday that when I feel that way the best way out of it is to pick a chore and DO it! But, I like your way better - much better.....and I think I'll remember that idea!
Unknown said…
It's true - if you're sad and cook something it helps ease it just the tiniest bit. Or at least takes your mind off of it during the time you spend in the kitchen.

Your girl is so sweet ... you are both doing the best that you can, and maybe that is enough. Take care-
nicole said…
Ooops - "unknown" was me! Google confounds me sometimes ...

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