MasqueradeA Chapter by HeyJadeXOThe door slams behind me as I leave the house. The realization of how clueless I am at this moment is causing me to sweat.
I'm am just thankful I didn't wake up in a random desert, or sewer again.
The game is cleverly designed to gain a reaction from a player, but what reaction? I will never really know; I am starting to lose faith in a result.
The street is bustling with a mix of people, apparently in a rush to begin their morning. Police officers, teachers, even business men, yelling into their headsets, push past one another. The impatient drivers on the road add to the commotion by blaring their horns and screaming at each other to move faster.
I am holding my place on the porch spectating, waiting for a perfect opening to join the oncoming flow of people. My hands find their way to my jacket zipper. I pull on it nervously, in anticipation of taking my first step.
A ringing sound in my pocket surprises me. I reach into my jeans and search for the source of the noise. I can feel the vibration in my hand as I pull out a cell phone. The caller ID displays “Mom”.
I answer, "Hello."
"Dear, what time will you be out of practice tonight? I could use a hand with Diana. Your father will be working late," a cheerful, warm voice says.
"Diana?" I mouth to myself silently while the woman is waiting for my response.
Is she the little girl in the pictures? Are the two other adults my parents?
I can't alert anyone without it creating some danger for me. These people couldn't possibly know what's going on. I took a deep breath before I respond.
" Um, I will be home around six o clock if that's ok," I respond. I am nervous that the reply isn't healthy.
"Perfect, I love you, see you then, " the woman replies.
I let a huge gasp out, unaware I had been holding it in all this time. "It never gets any easier," I mumble under my breath.
I check the time on the display before I place the cell phone back into my pocket. 4:00 pm. I have two hours until my mother will be expecting me.
The crinkling noise of the poster against my thigh reminds me of its presence. I quickly pull it out and start to search the sign for an address.
104 Regal Ave.
I look at the street signs in front of me, but nothing sticks out. Here I am with two choices, ask someone or try to wander. I survey the available people in front of me and quickly determine that helping me most likely wasn't on their list of priorities for the day.
A school bus pulls up to the adjacent street corner; the vehicle lets a crowd of children out. At first glance, they seem to range from the ages of 6 to 12. Each child is in a hurry to get home.
Who could blame them? They probably have a loving family or toys to attend to, no worries. I envy them.
In the middle of my observation, I feel a body slam into me; the force causes me to lose my footing. I stumble back a few steps. I can feel a set of little arms as they wrap around my legs.
"Ares!" the beautiful blonde child screams at me.
Her vivacity strikes me as odd. Why would anyone be excited to see me of all people? The girl tilts her head up at me with such admiration.
Taking a knee, my body lowers to her level. I embrace the girl out of sheer confusion. As I pull away from her arms, I can't help notice how bright her emerald green eyes are.
They only pale in comparison to her sunshine hair; she embodies happiness in its truest form, something I will never know for myself. She begins to jump up and down with excitement.
"I had the best day today; we made birdhouses! Miss Reeve said mine was the best!" she screams.
The little girl whips the so-called house from her rainbow puppy backpack. The birdhouse is a mess of paste, neon pink paint, and misplaced popsicle sticks, however, her enthusiasm makes me reconsider pointing the terrible craftsmanship out.
As she spins it around, exhibiting her artwork proudly, black magic marker catches my eye: Diana, classroom 102, age 7.
She is the little girl Mom was referencing in the phone call. She has to be my sister.
I realize she is a little girl, but I can't stop myself from showing her the poster I held in my hands. Her excitement dims as she glances the paper.
"Diana," I say precisely. " Do you know where this place is?" I watch her reaction as she slowly examines the poster with concentration.
Her silence turns to laughter, "This guy is too big!" she says laughing. She points to Havyn. "I bet he can't fit through any doors!”
She leans forward placing her hand on both sides of my face. She pulls it closer, so we are face to face before she spoke again, "Maybe ask daddy, he knows how to get everywhere. He's always yelling at mommy to use her JPS." Diana says. Her small index finger points to the sky in a rude way. The girl mimics her father's mannerisms. She is gauging my reaction.
I let out a small smile as I thank her for her response. I can tell she is sensing my disappointment. Diana's cheerful expression fades from her face. My hand lightly finds its place on the small of her back, reassuring her that she is helpful. Her demeanor softens again.
I slowly gesture her towards the house, suggesting a snack. She runs up the stairs slamming her way through the door as if it wasn't there. She throws her sneakers and jacket onto the floor. I follow her in closing the door behind me. She makes her way to the kitchen, straight to the refrigerator.
The gym will have to wait.
She makes a desperate noise as she attempts to reach an apple on the top shelf of the refrigerator. I can only make out her purple socks as they disappear into the door and back down again. Rather than grabbing the snack for her, I offer a significant boost lifting her up to the shelf. She grabs the apple in a small celebration of her independence.
She struggles to lift herself up onto a small stool, adjacent to the kitchen island. When she is finally on top of the seat, she eats her apple humming an upbeat nursery tune. Her head is swaying back and forth as she takes little bites of her snack.
I replay the conversation we just shared outside in my head. I realize Diana didn't mean JPS. She intended to say GPS.
Diana finishes her apple, hops down off the stool, and starts pushing on my back, ushering me into the living room.
"I have the best gymnastic routine to show you!" Diana yells.
"Can you move the couch?” she asks.
I can't help but admire her dynamic nature. I move the furniture to the side, allowing her enough room to put on a show. The t -shirt quilt is her stage. I place it on the dull carpet. The annoying house finally exhibits some life.
I watch as she runs up and down the stairs assembling an audience of teddy bears and various stuffed animals. One yellow animal stands out to me, an awkward giraffe with one eye and a suit. He appears to feel as out of place as I do.
She rushes over to me, handing me a piece of a ripped index card that reads “admit one” with a backward E written prominently in green crayon.
"Now wait here," she says as she leads me to a recliner.
Little footsteps and giggles echo in the staircase as she rushes back up the stairs.
I settle into the recliner and listen to a button being pressed down on a stereo at the top of the stairs.
Diana's voice cries out, "Now introducing the amazing Princess D."
I chuckle to myself at the confidence the child's voice exudes. In no time, I am playing along.
"I can't wait to see the famous princess," I yell back.
A small beam of a flashlight moves rapidly across the floor in front of my feet. The stuffed animal expressions are in its beam. Most of Diana's toys are missing pieces, eyes, or clothing. A classic case of a girl who loves her toys too much to ever part with them.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Diana descending the stairs, lost in a song. She is dressed head to toe in peculiar clothing. A red fireman's hat is on her head, a green ball gown on her body, and lastly, fairy wings protrude from her back. I am watching her tumble around on the floor. The little girl is performing her routine.
Such a cookie cutter house stores such an outgoing little girl, Diana. None of it makes sense.
My phone starts making chiming noises as text messages pour in, riddled with emoji and insider jokes. I can't coach myself into the correct responses. The returned messages are often sent back with question marks or “Are you feeling ok?”
Feeling ok? Yeah right.
I slump back into the recliner. Social skills have never been on my list of strong suits. I have always been fortunate to be in a position that others didn't want to be around me much. In the middle of a tumble, I hear a car door slam.
Diana stops mid-summersault to acknowledge the noise
"Mommy!"
I get up out of the recliner, but a push knocks me back into the chair by the child's drive-by-style run. I could hear a set of keys fumbling in the front door lock. My anxiety rises as I try to rehearse what line to use.
What would her son say to her when she came home? Just say something Ares, anything.
The door swings open. All I can see is a brown paper grocery bag. The amount of items that the woman has managed to squeeze into the bag is quite impressive.
Diana wraps herself around the legs underneath the bag, causing an orange to come rolling onto the floor. I stop it with my boot.
A hand reaches down and touches the top of the girl’s head lovingly. I take a breath before I speak,
It is now or never.
"Mom, here let me help you with that." I reach out grabbing the bags from her hands. The bag made a quick exchange with Diana's body jumping into her mother's arms.
"My, aren't we in a helpful mood today, Ares. Thank you," the woman says with a surprised expression. She hoists the little girl into the air playfully. Diana giggles.
Damn, Is this kid neglectful of her?
I turn and walk into the kitchen with the grocery bag. I reach down to scoop up the orange that had fallen to the floor. My hands fumble the fruit. I feel like I had drawn some attention to myself with my careless response. I am relieved when I notice that Diana is preoccupying her time. She couldn't have made a determination about my slip up. As far as she knew, this isn't anything more than a case of a moody kid.
I place the bag on the counter and start to empty its contents onto the kitchen island. I can still see the woman and Diana from the kitchen archway. I can finally get a look at her.
She sports black hair in a messy ponytail that suggests she rushes in the morning. The bags under her eyes suggest she is overtired, but tries to compensate with a mediocre attempt at makeup. What strikes me most peculiar is her outfit: An ironed white dress shirt. Ruffles are cascading down the front, dressing up the otherwise dull item. A standard black pencil skirt with stockings and 3-inch heels completes the outfit. She talks to me as she slides off her shoes.
" I appreciate you watching your sister, Ares. Are you feeling any better?" she asks.
I woke up in my bed this morning; maybe I was sick. Did I miss school today? What age am I? Do I even go to school? I need to start engaging her as my mother if I am ever going to find out.
I slam my fist onto the counter.
"Dear are you alright, what was that noise?' concern flows from her voice.
I purse my lips from the pain of slamming my fist into the island before I respond.
“I am fine, Mom, just dropped something," I reply wearily.
I went back to unbagging the items while I wait for her to say something else. Instead, I hear footsteps walking into the kitchen; a hand is now on my forehead.
At that moment we both said nothing. I examine the concern on her face. I instantly know where the little girl inherited her eyes. Mom's eyes dance with the same light, however, hers are crystal blue.
"The fever is gone," Mom said smiling, breaking the silence, "Still you should calm down. Please call out of work one more day. Ares, between coaching the kid's football team and the accounting work. It's no wonder you got sick. Why don't you go wash up while I get dinner ready?"
I am a coach and an accountant. I must have just had a cold. Remember all of this.
She gestures me away from the groceries as I pep talk myself. I walk through the hallway to the stairs. I climb about three steps before I hear silly sounds and laughter coming from the living room.
When I glance over the railing to find the source, I can see Diana holding her one-eyed giraffe close to her chest, sitting on the quilting stage I built her earlier in the day. She is watching cartoons. I lean on the wall.
This is my life now.
© 2016 HeyJadeXOAuthor's Note
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