"Goodbye," she whispered into my ear before walking away.
~
It was a beautiful day, in the way white-picket fences are beautiful. Behind this white-picket fence, behind the open windows, behind the painted door, up the stairs, last door on the left, the girl sprawled on her bed and turned up the volume. She closed her eyes and nodded her head to the lyrics. The bass pumped through the floors of the house indiscriminately, with the persistence of an enthusiastic aldulterer.
The front door open and shut. Her father came home.
~
"Goodbye," she whispered into my ear before walking away. Before she went, I caught a long look of her eyes. Blue eyes, rimmed with darker blue mascara.
~
One, two, one, two. His footsteps were heavy on the stairs. One, two, three. His knuckles were heavy on the door. The girl turned up the volume and ignored him. No lock to stop him, her father entered the room, frowned, and jerked the cord from the wall.
"We need to talk."
"Which means you're going to talk, and I'm going to listen, right?"
"Just what is your problem, anyway?"
~
"Goodbye," she whispered into my ear before walking away. Before she went, I caught a long look of her eyes. Blue eyes, rimmed with darker blue mascara. They were almost the colour of my little sister's eyes, if my memory was holding. It was hard to tell under the mismatched city lights.
~
Now the girl's mother was home, though no one could hear the door, or her steps on the stairs. They were yelling too loudly. She approached the doorway.
"What's the matter?"
"He doesn't trust me!"
"You haven't given me anything to trust!"
"It's not supposed to BE that way! What happened to unconditional love?"
"What happened to being responsible for yourself?"
"I'd love to be reponsible for myself, but you won't give me a chance!"
"As long as you're under this roof..."
"Don't give me that. You just want the excuse to be a controlling bastard."
"That's enough."
"You're right, it is enough!"
The girl seized a backpack from under her bed, slung it over her shoulder, and stalked out. She could hear her father's footsteps behind her, and the pause as her mother - of course - laid a hand on his arm, murmuring soothing reassurances. "Just calm down... she'll be fine, she just needs a little..."
~
"Goodbye," she whispered into my ear before walking away. Before she went, I caught a long look of her eyes. Blue eyes, rimmed with darker blue mascara. They were almost the colour of my little sister's eyes, if my memory was holding. It was hard to tell under the mismatched city lights.
As she walked, I could see her tug at the hem of her skirt, though I didn't know which direction she was tugging it in. Her heels clicked on the sidewalk.
"Don't you ever get... you know, sick of it all?" she'd asked, that afternoon. "Don't you ever get so sick of it that you'd do anything to get out of it?"
I hadn't understood. I hadn't remembered the pills I'd seen in her purse, when I'd been looking for a tissue.
"Yeah, but you get sick of a lot of things," I'd replied, trying to make sense of it. "That's why we're both here, anyway, instead of... well, instead of someplace else."
She'd laughed. It had seemed fine at the time, but in my memory, now, it seemed a little weak. A little weary. "And this was the answer. Gotta wonder what the answer to THIS is, huh?"
I wondered, now. I wondered what her answer was, as her legs disappeared into the passenger seat and the door shut.
"Goodbye," I whispered after her.
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