I have always been very cautious. As a little girl, I would cover my arms in hair elastics in case I lost any after I tied up my hair. I would also always bring an umbrella everywhere, even on the sunniest days, just in case the sky decided to submerge me in its cold, wet tears. At the time, none of my habits ever bothered anyone.
When I would come home from school and neatly arrange all of the shoes in the correct order regarding color and size, I would often overhear my parents chirping like birds about the news, their days at work, or anything they had recently read. They would sit down on the grass green couch in the living room. The open window behind their heads filled the room with sun to give all of my Dad's little plants life; they would as the plants danced from side to side in the slight breeze. Mom would kick off her shoes and swing her feet along the champagne-colored carpet. Then, Dad would reach for a blanket under the coffee table. Mom would swiftly move her beautiful, beaming, blond hair out of the way as she would plop her head on Dad’s shoulder with his tall, strong frame, and they would begin detailing their stories. Sometimes I could even hear the pitch in my parents’ voices change as they got more enthusiastic or solemn as their tales progressed. Each spouse would be engulfed in each other’s words and was ready to cheer up the other if needed. Occasionally, they would even call me over to share my stories from the day. “Keres, did anything put a pep in your step today?” they would exclaim as they summoned me over. It’s a little corny, but it always managed to put a smile on my face.
Anyone could tell my parents were soulmates, and I was sure I had the most perfect family. Just Mom, Dad, and me against the world. I wish I could feel that sense of security again.
I never gave her a name. You do not need a name if you’re only going to be here temporarily. At least that’s what I thought.
I do not know when in the ten years of my life she showed up, but she has not left since. My shoulders often quiver, aware of her lingering presence as she waits for any little moment to strike. In a moment of still tranquility, she arises from her lingering position and manages to threaten any happiness in my life.
“Keres, if you buy that pretty necklace, your family will die,” she would threaten.
“If you do not rewrite that sentence, you will fail.”
“If you do not pick up that pencil twenty-eight times right now, you will get stabbed.”
Despite our miserable times spent together, I cannot place the familiarity in her voice.
Throughout the years she began to appear more often. Her voice began to fill my head during stressful situations, too. She tortured me when I did homework and even during tests.
“If you do not rewrite that whole paragraph, your parents will vanish.”
“If you do not rip a tear in the paper, your family will starve.”
“If you do not skip that problem, you will trip and die.”
Then, she began to appear during the simplest times. When I would eat, sleep, and even blink. Anything I once cherished in my life she found out about somehow and would hold it captive. Every moment in my life was filled with dread waiting for the next time she would strike.
My mother and father insist that she is all in my head, but that cannot be true. It all feels too real. She feels too real. Anyway, I would not want to take that chance. The chance that it could all be true and everything I love disappears.
Lately, Father pleads with me to go play outside and have a normal childhood, but she forces me to stay inside. Mother insists I come with her to see Dr. Salvator, a child psychologist, and says I should take medicine. But she always tells me not to. Perhaps if it was my choice, I would go see Dr. Salvator. Not to help myself and get rid of her, but to find out how I can help my parents. When I go to my usual spot to organize the shoes, I can no longer hear my parents talk. The couch looks so small without my parents' presence. The windows are shut, keeping the sun’s light locked away. Father’s plants seem to droop over, unable to get enough life from the room to stand up straight. Because of the strange quietness I even sometimes imagine that I hear crying coming from the hallway with the occasional mention of my name.
Everywhere I go, she follows me and rips normalcy from my grip. Constant fear convulses through my body as she dangles my deepest desires helplessly in front of my face. One small mistake could cause her to let go of the string tethered to my dreams, and I would never know if this was truly the time they would shatter before me. So, I continue to abide by her rules. Her familiar voice still whispers in my ears, haunting my every move. But I will never take the risk of saying no to her. I have always been very cautious.