Sunday, August 28, 2005

I'll tell you a story that came up in a conversation a couple of days ago, and that I've been reminded of again today. I would like to find out what secret messages may be hidden in this story and how it's affected me since it happened.

I was in elementary school. Probably 10 or eleven years old. For as long as I can remember I've had a key to whatever house I was living in because both my parents worked and would not return until after school was out. During elementary school I also used to go home for lunch and so I needed to let myself in. My younger brother also came home for lunch, but not necessarily every day. I don't really remember what activities may have kept him away.

What I do remember is that Chrissy's mom, who lived right across the street from me, did not work, and was home all day. I must have discovered this one time that I forgot my key and she invited me to have lunch with her.

Well, I love a welcoming home and I guess I must have started "forgetting" my key more often. Maybe not conciously, but you get the idea, don't you? I was just a girl looking for some home loving. I still am, by the way.

Until one day, Chrissy's mom was on the phone and I overheard her talking about me. She seemed to be talking to a friend, saying how she felt bad for this lonely little girl from across the street but that it was getting to be too much, or something.

Kind of broke my heart.

Things like this don't really break my heart anymore, but I'm not made of plastic either. I still find myself occasionally taking up more space in someone's life than they seem to want me to. Or like, say, one friend really wants me there but another doesn't.

Like hearing someone's mom tell you "maybe it's time you went home now, Isabel", it may not bust but it bruises.

6 comments:

camafeo said...

Cuando esa voz que te pide que te vayas a tu casa parece salir del corazón de otra persona (no así de su boca), puedes comenzar a sentirte de cristal.

Saludos, gracias por compartirlo

Camafeo

bubi said...

la gente es muy freak,...alejate de ellos,..si solo aportan lagrimas,...

Anonymous said...

oohhhh, que heavy como influyen en nosotros esas historias de cuando chico...
al final nos convierten en lo que somos ahora, pero si te van a romper el corazon again & again, quizas seria
bueno reconectarte con la little Isabel, y darle un abrazo gigante, y decirle que siempre vas a estar ahi para ella...te quiero brinck, harto, aunque uno no lo diga mucho, y viva la erma bombeck!!!

Vero said...

Ohh...
Que penita. Esa conversación telefónica me habría partido el alma. Pero, ok, esa soy yo.
Exageradamente melodramática.
jiji
v.

LMP said...

The lonely litlle girl from across the street siempre sabe hacerse querer por sus vecinos.

Anonymous said...

Hmmm.. activities like having lunch at school kept me away..
And I had never heard about this juvenile trauma of not belonging to white middle "america" before little sister..
but it sounds quite coherent.. all the best.. moi

 
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