A Blanket Unwoven

“Why?” I ask. I don't understand; it's not logical.

“Meg, I—” he pleads and takes a step in my direction.

“Oh, no,” I say, backing away and shaking my head. “You have no right to call me that.” Anger flashes through me like lightning — hot and bright.

How can he, dare he, call me “Meg” as if nothing had happened? As if he hadn't just...

I break my thoughts away.

“I wish I could explain,” he says, voice regretful and eyes avoiding mine.

“What's stopping you?” I retort. I'm trying so hard to stay strong. My motto, rule even, “Never let anyone see you cry.” So far I've lived up to my personal rule, I don't want to break the rule now. “Are you being blackmailed? Are you physically incapable of telling me?” Another lightning strike of anger flashes through me. He looks down, stuffs his hands in his pockets and lowers his eyes.“Nothing, James, is stopping you from telling me.” Now, I can feel a little pain. I swallow it, dry and hard.

I refuse to show my pain; my weakness.

“I'm moving,” he says softly, kicking a stone. “Sorry.”

“What, we can't have a long-distance relationship?”

The cold night air makes my eyes water and I blink several times. The water had been turning salty, and I won't tolerate tears.

“That's not the problem.” His head is still hanging low, in shame.

I jut my chin out; he should be feeling shame.

“Then what is?” I demand. There's a new edge to my voice, and it frightens him a little. I can see him shiver.

Good.

He doesn't answer me, though. He only walks to a nearby bench and sits down.

Wind blows a lock of hair in my mouth. Annoyed, I pull it away.

James has his head in his hands; he's thinking.

I roll my eyes.

What do you tell your newly ex-girlfriend who you've dated for the past two years? Who you've known since you were both ten? How can anything you say make it right?

He gets up, and walks away, leaving me with the words, “I can't tell you.”

I run after him and even manage to overtake him. Then, when I stop in front of him, I firmly put my hand on his chest. “And why not?”

He ignores me and pushes past me.

“Don't you walk away,” I say, then grab his hand. “I deserve to know.”

He twists his neck to look at me — apologies painted in his eyes — and gently takes my hand off his and starts walking again.

That does it. “Don't you walk away,” I repeat, loud and menacing. I know he hears my words. Birds that were sleeping peacefully are disturbed. I can hear the fluttering of their wings as they leave their humble nests. How I long the simpleness of their lives...

James does just as the birds did, he runs. Simply avoiding the problem. As he accelerates, I struggle to keep up, my shorter legs pushing harder.

I get to the gate of the park and I look to the left; nothing; then to the right, nobody there either. He's gone and it's over. No use running now.

I grab my bag from the bench where I left it, sling it over my shoulder angrily, and return home.

“Meg!” my little sister, Annabelle, shouts and smiles, running towards me. “You're back.”

I smile as I bend down to hug my six-year-old sister. Her hair smells of roses. Simply wonderful; sweet. I shake off the feeling that the word “simply” brings me and let my sister out of the tight embrace, and, looking straight ahead, I can see my mother in the kitchen. She's cooking with Lillian on her hip.

I laugh lightly; even though Lillian is two she refuses to be put down. She likes being close to Mom; I guess she feels safer.

I follow the delicious odour of food until I'm standing besides my mother. I kiss Lillian's soft shoulder-length hair — like our whole family, it's a chestnut brown.

“Do you want me to hold her, mom?” I ask.

“Yes, thank you Megs.” Her muscles uncoil as she hands over Lillian. She tries to grab mom's long hair and whines a bit.

“Lilly,” I say, pulling her out of her target's reach, “you have to let mommy cook. Do you want to play?”

“Yeah!” Lillian replies, her toothy grin lights up her face.

In the lounge, I settle her down on a blanket and sit down, legs crossed. I pull at a strand of unravelling fabric on my shoe. I have to buy new shoes; these are scruffy. But the scruffiness feels homey; worn in and familiar.

Annabelle joins us. Bored, she reaches for the TV remote.

“No TV,” I say quickly, feeling slightly guilty. “Dinner's going to be ready soon.” I take a teddy bear and rub its soft paw under Lillian's chin.

Annabelle sulks a little while, but Lillian giggles, and a baby's giggles are enough to render anyone happy. Annabelle tickles Lillian a bit and soon enough dinner is served.

**

After dinner I retreat to my room, to mull over my evening.

Why did he break up with me? Why did he go? And where? Will I ever see him again?

Although do I want to see him again? Do I really want to see someone who's broken up with me for no apparent reason? Do I want someone like that back in my life? I guess not... I get off my bed, grab a book then slump back down. The bed engulfs me and the book sucks me into its world.

I am lost to the other world, the one I do not want to face. At least not right now.

**

It's eleven o'clock now, I'm in bed, with a duvet so large it's close to smothering me, and I finally let myself cry. Nobody can catch me now. While everyone is sleeping, having saccharine dreams, my pillow is soaking up the salt water trickling down the sides of my face as I stare at the ceiling, trying to keep my mind clear.

I keep quiet, though. Can't let my parents hear; don't want them to wonder about their seeimingly perfect daughter. Have to let their sleep remain undisturbed.

I pull the duvet over my head, and I lose myself again.