Birdie
Day Thirty-Four
Since she died all they do is fight, every minute of every hour of every day is filled with harsh words and explosive tempers. What they fight about always differs, today it seems my dad forgot to unpack the dishwasher and as such as inferred the wrath of my unhappy mother. I sit in my room my legs pulled to my chest and my chin resting on my knees with my back against the door listening, because for every minute they fight I listen.
I want to give them their privacy but I know there is no point, they will fight whether I listen or not. I feel kinda bad for my dad, I don’t think he meant to forget to unpack the dishwasher it just sorta, like so much else, happened. Maybe a month ago I would have gone downstairs to break up the fight but now there is no way, I will not break my vow of silence for the likes of their stupid fights. And they are stupid, every single one of them is stupid yet somehow they keep happening, over the most trivial things and that makes me mad.
We should not be fighting, Ali hated when my parents fought and now it’s like in her death her worst dream has come true my parents are falling apart. I want to tell them this, or at least write it down for them to read but it seems pointless I know they won’t care and at this point I don’t want to get involved. When I was little I remember never hearing my parents fight, they seemed to be a happy couple and they were right up until thirty four days ago when my sister died, died? I think with a snort, she didn’t die, she killed herself.
I bite my lip and try to block the shouting of my parents with my hands, maybe if I drown them out this pain in my chest will go away. Covering my ears with my hands is stupid and does nothing, so I go for the next best defense, my only defense, music.
I plug in my iPod and crank the volume on my speakers to max hoping my parents will hear my protest to their fight and keep it down. I blast Iggy Pop the loudest I can and lay down on the floor and wait, I expect my parents to come bounding up the stairs and ask me to turn down the music but they don’t and I am left feeling anxious and uncomfortable.
I had hoped this would distract them, I really did. I had thought the idea of hurting their only remaining child would have shut them up but I realise as I turn down the music for a fraction of a second that they are still screaming, just over the music. I want to scream and throw all my things on my floor until they crunch and break in a completely satisfying way but I know I can’t, my things are her things and I can’t bring myself to touch any of them, let alone break them. So I lay, I lay on the floor and focus on breathing in and out a task so mundane it has to keep my mind from thinking of her and how… how angry I am.
I am fucking pissed, so angry at her and I feel guilty for even entertaining the feeling, but it’s there underneath the sadness just reminding me that I am not okay. I am pissed, so pissed at her for deserting me with our parents when she knows I can’t cope. Ali was always the strong one and now she is gone I don’t know how to breathe let alone survive, god how could she just leave me? I needed her doesn’t she understand that? I fucking needed her, and now I’m all alone with parents who hate each other and don’t really care about me.
If Ali were here she would laugh at me and tell me to stop being so melancholy but it’s not that easy, it just isn’t and I am so mad, frustrated that I can’t yell at the person hurting me, but realising it wouldn’t help anyway. I feel tears threaten to spill from my eyes but I refuse to cry them because Ali wouldn’t have cried, she would have smoked a cigarette and looked out at the stars, I still have her cigarettes, I hide them after I found her… And suddenly I am thinking of her and how I found her, I shake away the thought and busy myself with getting her cigarettes and lighter, maybe if I smoke her cigarettes I can gain whatever it was that was so strong about her.
It’s a stupid idea, one destined for failure but it feels good to give my hands a task even one as disgusting as lighting a cigarette. Ali smoked Marlboro’s, and it is in my desk drawer do I find them and busy myself lighting one. The cigarette is thick like tar as it sits between my lips but I barely notice because I am thinking of Ali. I take a long breathe and instantly start coughing up, it feels like a lung but I know it is my sadness, heavy and thick.
By my third cigarette it’s easier to breathe and I can focus on making pretty smoke rings with my mouth, I know if my parents were to find me right now they would flip out but they are still fighting and I am all alone, like usual.
Iggy Pop has transitioned into the Doors and I feel content sitting here smoking Ali’s cigarettes. There’s only one left and for some reason I can’t bring myself to smoke it, so I leave it in the package and hide it under my pillow, close enough to feel in the lonely night. The anger has been replaced by guilt and sadness and did I really think such awful things about my own twin sister? I feel like the worlds worst human being and maybe I am, but I can’t be any worse than my bickering parents, don’t they understand I need them?
Don’t they understand at all?
And I realise they don’t, because I never told them what Ali told me all those nights ago under this very roof, I never told them so of course they can’t understand, and like so much else that is completely my fault.
My anger is gone and I feel a deep sadness that hurts my heart with every beat, I want to die but I also want to live and I feel guilty, really guilty for living and surviving after Ali. I turn down my music and listen for a moment to the angry shouting of my parents, it’s been two hours and they are still going at it.
I want another cigarette and something to placate this sadness, neither of which I will obtain tonight, so with a sore head and equally sore heart I lay down in bed and fall asleep to the haunting voice of Jim Morrison. Ali hated this music, she was into top forty crap that plays mindlessly on the radio until it is ingrained in your head, I prefer real music, with real emotions because music should make you feel… something.
And it does, only I feel sadness and no matter how long I listen I will only feel sadness because that’s all I am now, sadness mixed with anger and guilt.
I want another cigarette.
I want to give them their privacy but I know there is no point, they will fight whether I listen or not. I feel kinda bad for my dad, I don’t think he meant to forget to unpack the dishwasher it just sorta, like so much else, happened. Maybe a month ago I would have gone downstairs to break up the fight but now there is no way, I will not break my vow of silence for the likes of their stupid fights. And they are stupid, every single one of them is stupid yet somehow they keep happening, over the most trivial things and that makes me mad.
We should not be fighting, Ali hated when my parents fought and now it’s like in her death her worst dream has come true my parents are falling apart. I want to tell them this, or at least write it down for them to read but it seems pointless I know they won’t care and at this point I don’t want to get involved. When I was little I remember never hearing my parents fight, they seemed to be a happy couple and they were right up until thirty four days ago when my sister died, died? I think with a snort, she didn’t die, she killed herself.
I bite my lip and try to block the shouting of my parents with my hands, maybe if I drown them out this pain in my chest will go away. Covering my ears with my hands is stupid and does nothing, so I go for the next best defense, my only defense, music.
I plug in my iPod and crank the volume on my speakers to max hoping my parents will hear my protest to their fight and keep it down. I blast Iggy Pop the loudest I can and lay down on the floor and wait, I expect my parents to come bounding up the stairs and ask me to turn down the music but they don’t and I am left feeling anxious and uncomfortable.
I had hoped this would distract them, I really did. I had thought the idea of hurting their only remaining child would have shut them up but I realise as I turn down the music for a fraction of a second that they are still screaming, just over the music. I want to scream and throw all my things on my floor until they crunch and break in a completely satisfying way but I know I can’t, my things are her things and I can’t bring myself to touch any of them, let alone break them. So I lay, I lay on the floor and focus on breathing in and out a task so mundane it has to keep my mind from thinking of her and how… how angry I am.
I am fucking pissed, so angry at her and I feel guilty for even entertaining the feeling, but it’s there underneath the sadness just reminding me that I am not okay. I am pissed, so pissed at her for deserting me with our parents when she knows I can’t cope. Ali was always the strong one and now she is gone I don’t know how to breathe let alone survive, god how could she just leave me? I needed her doesn’t she understand that? I fucking needed her, and now I’m all alone with parents who hate each other and don’t really care about me.
If Ali were here she would laugh at me and tell me to stop being so melancholy but it’s not that easy, it just isn’t and I am so mad, frustrated that I can’t yell at the person hurting me, but realising it wouldn’t help anyway. I feel tears threaten to spill from my eyes but I refuse to cry them because Ali wouldn’t have cried, she would have smoked a cigarette and looked out at the stars, I still have her cigarettes, I hide them after I found her… And suddenly I am thinking of her and how I found her, I shake away the thought and busy myself with getting her cigarettes and lighter, maybe if I smoke her cigarettes I can gain whatever it was that was so strong about her.
It’s a stupid idea, one destined for failure but it feels good to give my hands a task even one as disgusting as lighting a cigarette. Ali smoked Marlboro’s, and it is in my desk drawer do I find them and busy myself lighting one. The cigarette is thick like tar as it sits between my lips but I barely notice because I am thinking of Ali. I take a long breathe and instantly start coughing up, it feels like a lung but I know it is my sadness, heavy and thick.
By my third cigarette it’s easier to breathe and I can focus on making pretty smoke rings with my mouth, I know if my parents were to find me right now they would flip out but they are still fighting and I am all alone, like usual.
Iggy Pop has transitioned into the Doors and I feel content sitting here smoking Ali’s cigarettes. There’s only one left and for some reason I can’t bring myself to smoke it, so I leave it in the package and hide it under my pillow, close enough to feel in the lonely night. The anger has been replaced by guilt and sadness and did I really think such awful things about my own twin sister? I feel like the worlds worst human being and maybe I am, but I can’t be any worse than my bickering parents, don’t they understand I need them?
Don’t they understand at all?
And I realise they don’t, because I never told them what Ali told me all those nights ago under this very roof, I never told them so of course they can’t understand, and like so much else that is completely my fault.
My anger is gone and I feel a deep sadness that hurts my heart with every beat, I want to die but I also want to live and I feel guilty, really guilty for living and surviving after Ali. I turn down my music and listen for a moment to the angry shouting of my parents, it’s been two hours and they are still going at it.
I want another cigarette and something to placate this sadness, neither of which I will obtain tonight, so with a sore head and equally sore heart I lay down in bed and fall asleep to the haunting voice of Jim Morrison. Ali hated this music, she was into top forty crap that plays mindlessly on the radio until it is ingrained in your head, I prefer real music, with real emotions because music should make you feel… something.
And it does, only I feel sadness and no matter how long I listen I will only feel sadness because that’s all I am now, sadness mixed with anger and guilt.
I want another cigarette.
♠ ♠ ♠
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