At 14 she already had her share of “life”. Just a little girl…her innocence a distant memory. She “decides” that home was better than the streets or was it?
Feet as heavy as led, step by step she makes her way to the front door of her home. Can she call it “home”? She hopes so…soon she’ll be rudely awakened. She’ll realize that this place will just be a “holding place” until her next escape. Where does she belong? Does she belong anywhere, to any one?
She opens the door…heavy as a bolder, stuck like glue. She manages to take a step inside, then another. “Oh, he’s sitting on his couch…his spot!” He doesn’t move, doesn’t turn her way, doesn’t even acknowledge her. It’s as if she didn’t even exist. Maybe he wishes she didn’t. Maybe that would take away the shame and disgrace she has brought upon the family name.
She manages to make her way to the kitchen. Mom is busy, as always. She’s quite the homemaker. With a side look, she acknowledges her, but the frown confirms that there is no joy in her coming “home”.
Mom barks a command, “Go! Kneel before your father and ask him for forgiveness!” The girl turns and walks back to the living room, her feet even heavier than before. She approaches the strong man, still sitting in his favorite spot. She kneels. Through tears she manages to speak. Her shaky voice comes out in a whisper, “Dad, please forgive me for running away.” Silence! No movement, not even a flinch. Her mind raising with thoughts, “What will he say? Will he forgive me? Will he slap me? Well, if he did, I deserve it!” Finally, a slight movement of his head…only to dismiss her to her mother. Not a word…not a look…just a small gesture.
The heaviness! The hurt! The disgust!
She stands…walks away…her mind assaulting her with more thoughts. “Did he forgive me? Can I stay? What happens next?”
"Ready Pen..." 