My younger sister popped her head up from the couch in alarm. Mum looked up from her newspaper at the dinner table. Dad was midway taking a sip from his beer.
‘What’s going on?’ Dad asked touching the can to his lips.
‘What am I doing? What are you making me do?! I have not done a single thing that I wanted this year!’
‘Of course you have, dear.’ Their aloofness enraged me.
‘Every day it’s the same! Over and over again! All I do is eat, work and sleep! I have no friends, I have no hobbies, NOTHING!’ I threw down my bag.
‘This is Life, Child.’ Dad always called me that when I was being ‘unreasonable’. ‘Your mum and I have gone through that, and we’re still living it now. Life can’t be exciting every day. You’ll get used to it.’
What the hell kind of comfort is that!? I’m 22! Where’s the fun? Where’s the adventure? Where are the precious lessons of life that come from exploring! I stormed out to the back verandah. Mum called out something about dinner. I shook with fury. I wasn’t being acknowledged. My misery was not being acknowledged. The fire within grew and grew. I was so mad. My body couldn’t contain it anymore and I screamed. I yelled with fierceness, expelling all my suppressed frustration. I thrashed at the air like I was fighting off demons and finally kicked a pot as hard as I could. OW! It fucking hurt! I fell to the ground holding my foot. My shoulders shook. I’m meant for bigger things. I have to be. This can’t be it. But it is. I gave myself a year before starting a career in teaching and three-quarters of it had already passed. I felt so enclosed. So defeated. Why?? My foot throbbed. I looked at the plant pot I had kicked and saw it was the Pony-Tail palm that had been around since I was little. It was still in the same pot. Still roughly the same size. Its roots were trying to escape through the drainage holes, the base of its trunk had expanded to the full circumference of its given home. The plastic was bulging with discomfort, resisting the pressure of the tree’s persistent growth. I kicked it again. With less conviction. I let my head drop back and tried blinking back tears. Fuck this. I buried my face in my knees and surrendered to the sobs.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. My little sister, Vivian, sat down next to me.
‘What’s wrong?’ I was so grateful of her. She was what I looked forward to coming home to. Vivian was always a fun, bundle of energy with plenty of stories to tell about her day. She reminded me how to laugh and be funny.
I took in a shaky breath. ‘I’m so miserable! I just want to get away from all of this. Get AWAY!’ But not tonight.
She fidgeted and bit her lip. She thought for a while and finally said, ‘Alright. Let’s go. I’ll make some calls.’
I sucked in sharp breath and nodded pathetically. I didn’t really want to go but what else could I do? As Vivian started making calls I plodded into my room to get ready. The décor of the room did not fit my state of mind; the happy colours, the shelved fantasy and adventure books, the framed pictures of me and my friends from the good ol’ days in high-school. The state of the room, however, reflected me perfectly; my unmade bed, my desk littered with loose dockets, clothes callously strewn on the floor, the dust bin was overflowing with tear-drenched tissues. How did it come to this? I kicked away some tissues and found a pair of 3/4 pants, stockings, a pair of tattered tennis shoes, a loose AC/DC tee-shirt, a grey hoody jacket with bunny patterns and a black zip-up. I donned them all. Next I shuffled into the bathroom. I found some blue eye-liner I bought yonks ago that I never used. Sure. Now’s a better time than any. Iridescent pink rouge? Why not? Wooo hairspray. Where’s that pointy comb thing?
Vivian came in to check out my progress. ‘Oh, Deb…’ She took out a tissue and started wiping the lipstick from my chin. I broke away from her and headed for dad’s wine cellar and found the cheapest bottle of red. Let’s roll.