“Sometimes it seems I see your face in my sleep. More and more often I feel the chill radiating from it. Sometimes, just before I wake up, you smile at me sadly. That's when I finally dare break the silence – but your image fades like a fleeing shadow at dawn. I miss you.”
The metal spoon scratched around the edges of the plate, as I pretended to be eating. I had been hoping my parents would leave for work, not bothering to make sure whether I ate my breakfast or not. Unfortunately, Mom was way too precautious, as always.
- You're not eating again! - she shouted angrily. - Margo, stop picking at your food! I won't leave until I see the bottom of that plate!
I said nothing in reply. The emptiness that had long established itself inside my body needed nothing but more emptiness. Not the kind of revelation that could please my parents.
- What's that? - Mom grunted, grabbing a rumpled notepad from the table.
- My diary, - I said quietly, my eyes begging for mercy.
She exhaled loudly, frowning.
- You know perfectly well that I don't approve of such things. Why don't you find something else to do, make yourself useful somehow. And get rid of this, – she shook my diary nervously.
I grabbed my last means of escape from her hands, rolled the notepad carefully and stuck it between my knees under my Mom's heavy gaze.
-Finish your soup, - she croaked, understanding that her last words were wasted on me.
They had burned all photographs, ripped my drawings to pieces and thrown them away, but there was nothing they could do to my diary, much to my mother's annoyance. It was out of their power since the psychologist persuaded them that in my situation it could be helpful. However, as my condition didn't improve much in the last two years, she started doubting its helpfulness. Just the opposite – every day she seemed more and more convinced that if only she could rip my diary to pieces, I would have healed immediately.
- What are your plans for today? - she asked, sitting down by my side to get a better view of the amount of soup I had left.
- I haven't thought about it, - I admitted. I still had a week of vacation left before the second semester at the university. It never occurred to me that I could be doing anything other than thinking and remembering...
- Go to the movies, to some concert, find something to do!
- Fine, - I said under my breath, trying to conceal my disgust as I took another sip of cold soup.
- Excellent, - said my Mom as she left the table, rubbing her hands. I knew what she was about to do – collect all sharp objects from the table and lock them up in a drawer. This was always done in front of me, with lots of sighing and moaning, to remind me how hard my wrongdoings had been on them.
Seeing me look down guiltily, Mom exited the kitchen with great dignity. I breathed a sigh of relief. The last stranger had left my world.