My name is Chini Pottersan. I have been one of the five daughters of Rochie Pottersan for 15 years and today is my birthday. I'm not excited. I used to when presents were glories and cake was everything, but now it's a minefield just waiting for me to fall in. I have to say, April 25 was the day I hated the most.
Father is reading the newspaper while mom baked a cake. I just ran past the kitchen and got my glasses before father sees me. All she ever did was complain why she had to cook at all and how I'm soo expensive. I almost made it up the stairs when I banged against the railing, "
ake mushrooms." Great, cover's blown.
"Chini! Get down here and massage my feet!" I hold back the tempting sigh and slowly walk down. "Faster!" I walk faster. Geez. Don't they have better things to do? I'm used to it by now, but you wonder.
Ew. Father's feet are as stinky and nasty as an old person's feet on a hot afternoon in fluffy house slippers. I calmly, outside, crack his toes and rub his foot. Oh God, give mercy-! "Harder. Ouch! That's my gentle foot your crackin'!" Not my fault. I couldn't hold the sigh now. It was as loud as breathing, but he heard it. "You dare give me attitude? Huh? Answer!"
I stutter. "I-I'm Sorry." I look at his eyes and stare emotionless. I need to work on my acting skills. Big time. Die at 15 if I don't.
"Can't hear ya Chini! Maybe you need a lesson." He takes his belt and- Mom comes in the room. Dear God. This is a nightmare.
"Honey? What's wrong?"
"This idiot decided to show attitude! That's what!"
"NO! I will call child services!" Wrong choice of words mom. I wince. My three sisters are probably dead, runaways, or drug addicts. Father was drunk and mom kept crying, my sisters ran for their lives.
Father turns around and stares at her. He lifts the belt as mom flinches, "What are ya? Stupid? Ya wanna turn me in don't ya? Don't ya?!"
Mom stammers and cries as she raises her bruised arms in defense, "No...I-I didn't mean- Honey I just wanted to be rid of her, please believe me! Pl-" She falls down and cries on the carpet.
Stupid move, I slowly and silently back up. Father was outraged at his weak and frail wife. His eyes are bulging and red, his grip tightens around the belt, and he pulls her hair, "You B-beeep! Get a hold of ya' self woman!" He whips her sagging back with the black leather belt and kicks her. "Your a disgrace! Just like your daughter! Why'd I marry you!" I run out the back door as father kept hitting mom screaming 'why?!' again and again. It was no use. I blocked a hit for her once and she pinched my nose while she continued to sweet talk her husband. I run all the way to the downtown marketplace, past the house, past my school boundaries, past my old friends' houses. Everyone moved at one point. Every time I make a friend, they move away. I wanted to die, but I still wanted to have hope for life. Believe it or not, I'm actually not that suicidal. At least not yet.
No, no. Think about God. Think about when grandma was here. Think. Think.
Finally made it to the Zippy's around the corner. I order a drink and cheese sticks and sit down. People were staring at my unnaturally pale face and worn out black hair. My lips were cut, my hair long and split-ended, my hands chapped. My black jacket and jeans with sneakers were normal on everyone except me. I looked sick and sad. I tried to ignore them and concentrated on my food.
Still squeamish, I distract my mind with "useless" musings that everyone thought stupid of me. Why must dad always hit us? Doesn't he have a life?! But then again, if I had a boyfriend as cowardly as mom, I would hate my choice too. My mom was married for her money, doesn't matter now, dad spent it all and our relatives were cut off.
After I finished eating, I dismissed my homework for later, I would be forced to complete it later anyway even if I did do it. Surprisingly, my grades mattered to them, in display to make up for my unfortunate looks.1
I pass a crowd of teenagers smoking and as I did, they laugh at me saying, "Ya did alot of pot lately? Are ya scared?" Please. I'd rather eat dirt. That's a giant pollutant screaming trash me beeps.
After about an hour of horribly cold and boring feelings, I wonder if being angry is better than this feeling. Lonely, miserable, weak. Numb. Ugh, I shake my head and run onto the stairs leading to the art museum.
I stare at the museum and stand there smiling in relief. The safest place for five minutes. My heart wanted to flutter, but these cold feelings still persisted. I loved art, it was my getaway, but it couldn't stop the emptiness today. 2
Turning around, I walk a couple blocks when a drunk suddenly comes up to me and sings, "I'll pay you sum' good m-hic!-money for a little out-ing! What'd ya say doll?" I spit at him and punch him good. I admit, I was hoping for someone stupid to come up to me so I can knock him out. It felt sooo good - the adrenaline rushing, the sharp vision, the thrill. I didn't learn to fight, but when I was seven, I only remember rage and hatred as I beat up the trees and claw at my pillows every single night. Pain to stop pain, very simple logic. My sisters were always out so I had no one to vent to anyway.
I smile shark teeth and landed a swing to the head. The stinky drunk got a black eye and collapsed - knocked out. Funny. I could join a gang. Whatever, I'm too anti-social for some commitment like that. It's like my thoughts on marriage, I ain't that eager to die stupidly. I walk on and sit next to this old lady feeding birds and continue my Memory Lane of the Damned.
Soon the sun began to set. As the rays flowed on in pink and orange, the last light colors shown to our mortal eyes until day again, I wonder of my future for the thousandth time and stare at the clouds. I will have to sneak in at late night to be safe. They should be knocked out. I sigh at the time.
I want to be happy or at least proud and strong when I am free of this place - legally. My birthdays remind me of how long I put up with this. How little time left before I can move out. Three years. Three years and I can make a name for myself like those books on heroes from mean pasts or under-estimated females kicking butt. I want to be like them. I want to earn my right to live besides give up and jump off a cliff. I want to live.
I swing my legs and look at the other occupant of the bench as pigeons flocked around her. Grandma...I smile at the old lady. Crap. Why the Hell did I just do that for? Just as I was about to hide my face, she smiled right back in a kind and warming way just like my old grandma did. Then, out of the blue, she said, "Lulu, you goose. Happy Birthday sweetie."
My jaw dropped open, I haven't heard those words in seven years. I was shocked, stiff, but this weird crazy warm feeling flooded my heart as I thought of those childhood days. "H-How did y-you know?"
She just smiled with an understanding in her strangely familiar blue, blue eyes and said simply, "Because God knows all, child. And God is always watching you. Don't forget child." Then she went blank and went back to feeding the birds again.
After just staring into space, I just sat there frozen. Grandma died years ago, the only person who kept my parents away, the reason I even bothered taking care of myself. I close my eyes as tears threatened to fall, it was still so painful to think about. Finally, I grab the courage to tap the old lady's shoulder to ask why she said those things, but no one was there. Not even the birds. I shiver and stand up, I was scared and confused.
Then, a rush of wind blew past me and I thought I felt the lightest brush of fingertips on my cheek.
I whisper, "Grandma? I miss you." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of that kind smile and then the wind died down. I just gazed at the place where my grandma was. By the time night fell, I was already in a silent church. Just sitting. The giant piano in one corner, the cross in the center. After a few moments, I leave and walk through the crowds.
All of a sudden I see a boy just sitting on the sidewalk. Right in the middle. I sigh and drag the me look alike to a bench. I go to inside a nearby store and buy some snacks. Leaving them next to the boy, I sit down and drank some soda.
The boy just stares at me in a 'Are you stupid?' way. I hmph! and continue eating snacks. When I finished my chips, I pass him an ice cream bar. "Here. Eat it before it melts."
He stares and grabs the bar. I just closed my eyes as he ate the rest of the snacks. I heard a 'thanks' and open my eyes. The boy was already gone. Sighing, I start the walk home. I am fifteen and even if there was no cake or presents, I'd rather have a birthday like this. At least I did something and though I still have to go back, I will leave and by then I wouldn't look back.
I cough and say into the dark night, "Happy freaking birthday, Chini."
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