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She went into her bedroom, sat upon her bed, and stared into the blank space of hopelessness. She thought she would be protected from the racket in the kitchen, but the noise traveled fast and furiously down the long hallway to the twin-bedded room as if fueled by Frank’s anxiety. The room offered no sanctuary, and she felt nothing for it despite that fact it was the first room that she had known and where she grew up. Perhaps because it was nothing more than a room inside of her father’s house.
At one time, she and Angie had shared the room. Now all traces of Angie were gone, but evidence of Silvia remained in every corner of the room. Her childhood relics, like old picture books and My Little Ponies, were piled messily on her shelves. The radical junior prom dress, which she had made herself out of vintage floral curtains bought at an antique store, was still in her closet. Old concert tickets were tucked into her mirror frame, along with pictures of her with high school friends whose names she had forgotten. A collection of vinyl albums she inherited from her mother lived in one of the room’s dusty corners, and some belongings from her present life, including art supplies and clothing, were shoved into another dusty corner. Her clothes were thrown in orange crates she obtained from a supermarket while at college. She refused to move her clothing into her old dresser so as to remind herself that the stay was very temporary. Besides, she had kept her clothes in these plastic containers for so long that they had grown familiar to her, and she had grown to like their familiarity. They fit in well with the rest of her disposable lifestyle of used futons, cheap clothing, and plastic kitchenware.
What if she took her clothes out of the orange crates and put them in the bureaus? Doing so would mean surrendering to the fact that she might be living with Frank indefinitely. Such a scenario was too painful to imagine. How could she have allowed herself to move back to this place for any period of time? She thought of what she should have done differently to avoid ending up here. She went through all of her mistakes in reverse chronological order that led to this point. First, she should have never been fired from her job. She wished that she had quit before she got fired. Better yet, she should have never taken the job in the first place. It had nothing more to offer her than free hummus and proximity to where she used to live. She would not have taken the job, or even applied for it, had she not lived so nearby. She would not have lived so nearby, if she had not moved in with her ex-boyfriend which was a huge mistake. She should have not had him as a boyfriend, but there was scanty choice of men in Philadelphia. This lack of selection brought her to her next regret, which was moving to Philadelphia. It was the third time that she had moved to this city. She didn’t like it the first time she had lived there, and she liked it less and less with each move back.
She took a break from regretting to send an email to her friend Emily, who had just moved to Portland, Oregon, and who was encouraging Silvia to come join her. Silvia didn’t need a lot of coaxing to move anywhere, let alone Portland, a place she already had her eye on. This would definitely be her next place. She had not even visited the city, but she was somehow sure that it was the place for her. Imagining herself in her new place gave her a much needed break from the dark, whirlwind of regrets that swirled around her. Yet, she was unable to stay in this fantasy world too long before the regret of leaving Tucson, the place she had lived before moving back to Philadelphia, hit her over the head. Moving from Tucson straight to Portland would have been so much easier than moving to Portland from New Jersey. She dreaded the long cross country trip she would probably be doing alone. She was ready to regret back even further to Chicago, Brooklyn, and eventually art school, when Vince appeared in the doorway of her room to ask if she wanted to get a slice of pizza.
“Pizza, huh?” she said, looking at her clock. “It’s a little early for pizza, but I guess I can go for a slice.” It dawned on her that he should be at school, but she didn’t have the energy or concern to ask why he wasn’t there. She barely had the energy to get up from her bed, but she thought that food might put some life back into her weakened body and knew there was no chance of getting a morsel of anything from Frank’s kitchen, as long as he was anywhere in the house.
The two of them sneaked out of the house. If Frank noticed them leaving, he would ask them where they were going. They couldn’t tell him that they were going to get something to eat, as he didn’t tolerate anyone spending money on food outside of the house when there was perfectly good food at home. Even worse than leaving the house for food, was leaving Frank in the house alone. They both knew that he hated being left alone in the house. His reasoning was that he was an extrovert and enjoyed having people around him at all times. In fact, he strongly preferred the company of people with whom he was fighting than to being alone.
Olive Branches Don't Grow On Trees Page 2
