You Don't Have To Believe Me

The street was completely deserted, though evidence of life was made with the lights glowing from each window of every house lining the street. Street lamps shone down onto the concrete path ahead of me, guiding the way as I etched further down the street, seeing the large crucifix upon the familiar church building coming into view.

It felt as though with each step forward, I was taking another two steps backward. This, by far, felt like the most prolonged walk of my life, when really it had only been a few minutes. God, where had all my patience got to? I swear I used to have plenty of it.

Although, it was my lack of patience that had driven me to pack up and leave my mother, my home, those few weeks ago.

I crossed my arms tight over my chest as a gust of cold wind hit my bare skin. It was stupid of me to have forgotten to wear a cardigan or something. I guess I had just been in a bit of a hurry. Anxious, too.

I was now directly outside the tall church building, though I had no business with that establishment just now. I pulled my gaze away from the church that towered over me, strolling across the street and stopping outside the familiar, double story home. It was a simple, elegant house, the same style you would see repeated on every home in streets like this. My Gramma’s house was even scarily similar; white horizontal panelling, double story, orangey tiled rooving. A real downtown, suburban type home.

I was standing at the front door of Elsie’s home now, frozen to place. Fist in the air, prepared to knock it against the white frame, I hesitated, hearing an ongoing conversation from the other side of the door.

“…just get out!” It was a woman’s voice, screaming the words at full intensity toward another person. I heard a muffled reply and though I couldn’t decipher what had been said, I could tell it as a man’s voice. And by the tone, I was certain it hadn’t been a nice reply.

“We said we’d work on this but you’ve done nothing to even try!” The woman’s voice again, quieter this time, yet still easily loud enough for me to hear.

“Lynette, would you just shut up!” The man’s voice yelled this time, making me flinch.

Lynette was Elsie’s mother’s name.

I quickly backed away from the front door of the house. From what I’d just heard, it sounded as though Elsie’s family wasn’t at all the perfect specimen I’d thought they were. And since Elsie hadn’t mentioned a word about her parents fighting, she was probably in the exact same situation I was in.

Feeling completely unable to tell anyone about her home life. Feeling responsible, even, for how her parents had turned out with each other. I knew that was how I felt. I used to dwell everyday on how it was my fault my mother had taken up drinking. She sure blamed me for it, for how our life had turned out after we had skipped town and moved to Nashville. She reminded me every single day with absolutely no reasoning behind her theory. Yet I still believed her. Everyday. I believed that I was to blame for wrecking everything.

I stalked off of the front porch of the house, being cautious to keep quiet so that the Whitmore’s wouldn’t hear me walking away. Though it wasn’t likely they’d hear me over their constant yelling, which seemed to be getting louder and louder with each minute.

I made my way around the porch, creeping through the small, trimmed shrubs down the side of the property, along the fence line, passing window by window until I reached the one I was certain led to Elsie’s bedroom. I was extremely thankful she occupied one of the rooms on the first floor, because making my way up to a second story window sure would have proved to be a mission.

The curtain was pulled closed and I rested my chin up on the window sill, peering in for any gaps that may have been present and allowing me view into the room. None.

Sucking in a deep breath, I banged my fist against the cool glass of the window pane, stepping back into the shrub. I watched as the curtains were pulled aside, and soon the window was pushed open out into the night air.

“Leah?” A girl’s voice questioned and I nodded, ducking under the window frame to see her face. It was Elsie, for sure. She looked like an even bigger wreck than I’d seen her in after she left the mall earlier that day, pale-faced, sweat beads forming on her upper lip, deep, dark circles around her eyes. She had sure been crying a lot.

“Let me in, yeah?” I let out a small chuckle as she nodded quickly, stumbling backward from the window to allow me to climb through. I did so, tugging myself up so that I was lying with my stomach bent over the window sill, then launching myself onto her bedroom floor with a loud thud.

“Could you be any louder?” Elsie hissed, helping me back onto my feet before rushing over to close the window.

This reminded me too much of times at home when I would come home from school and Mom would have drunken herself into a coma. With the front door conveniently locked. I had ended up leaving my bedroom window wide open every day so that I would always have a way to climb in. Though I’d never had someone to help pull me inside.

“What are you doing here?” She asked in a hushed whisper, sitting down on her bed as I did the same.

“Are you alright?” I asked her, ignoring her question altogether. She nodded, a little too desperately, and I folded my arms over one another in response.

“Did you hear them?” She spoke this almost inaudibly, I had to strain my ears to understand what she was asking me. But once I’d heard, I understood instantly. Her parents. I nodded lightly, muttering a small ‘I’m sorry’ as she sighed. “They’ve been at it all night. I wish they would just hurry up and divorce already, so this shit can be over.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about their fighting?” I asked, “I always thought you had the perfect family, Els. We all did.”

“Because I was embarrassed.” She stressed the last word, pressing her two forefingers into her temples, “you’ve got a perfect family life. You’re happy enough with your Mom, and your Gramma over here! I’m stuck here.”

I shook my head furiously, unable to comprehend what I’d just heard. She thought I had the perfect family? With my mother who drinks herself to sleep every night? My Gramma who hasn’t talked to her in five years? My dad that I didn’t even know? We were far from perfect. We were far from functional, even. But then again, how was she to know that? It wasn‘t like I‘d exactly shared my family history with her. I‘d been lying too. “You think my family are perfect?” I asked disbelievingly. She nodded in response, pulling a face that said ‘duh’. I shook my head again, chuckling “Elsie, the reason I came to visit my Gramma here was to get away from my mother.”

She nodded, though still not grasping what I was getting at.

“When I’m at home, all she does is drink. My Gramma doesn’t even know about her alcoholism, because they don’t even speak to each other anymore. This is the first time I’ve seen Gramma in five years.” It felt good to let the words slip, knowing they were going into the mind of someone that could relate to me, if even just in the tiniest way. To have someone that could empathize with me. It felt right not to have to hide what a screw up my life was.

Elsie was wide eyed as I looked back up at her. Her mouth was open and quivering, beginning to form words and then deciding against them halfway. Finally, she gave up on trying to speak and sprung across the distance between us, latching her arms around me in a strong hug. I chuckled, pulling away.

“I’m sorry Leah. I never even knew.” She sighed, looking down at her hands in front of her.

I shook my head in protest, “don’t be sorry. There’s a reason I didn’t tell you about my family. I was embarrassed, too.”

Elsie looked up at me quickly, a small smile igniting on her face, “we’re not all that different then, huh?”

I nodded in agreement, “we’re not all that different.”