A BOX WITHIN A BOX

 

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Beatrix looked back over the journal entry of the previous day. Anyone reading her words would think she hated her father, which was so far from reality. It's what she didn't write down that was so frustrating and connected more dots than she would have liked.

She was angry, wasn't she always? Beatrix got accused of being angry even when she wasn't which led to actual anger when she tried to defend the fact that she wasn't angry to begin with. Was she just a toy to be played with? Sometimes I wonder, she thought.

One thing from the previous conversation that stood out in her head was her dear old Dad telling her " I never said that". Was the lack of comprehension in her head? Words are not the only way we express ourselves. Body language, actions, lack of actions....they all factor in.

The daily phone calls had gotten rough over the past few years. It was fine if he called and wanted to chat. She spent over an hour a day on those days listening to things that really didn't interest her...sports mostly, but listened with a yup, and an oh yeah here and there.

When she called him, he would listen, if he answered his phone at all. Some people should just stick to a landline. His inability to answer his phone all but drove her crazy and those times when he finally finds his phone log and all those missed calls and doesn't notice they were over a period of weeks are not pointing out his inability to use a simple phone, rather an indication of a nagging daughter.

She could see his eyes glaze over through his voice, distant in the phone as she checked to make sure he had everything he needed or to tell him about the covid numbers or covid safety trying to feel out if he was actually protecting himself.

Beatrix thought about all the hours in therapy trying to work out new ways to communicate which would not set him off. The two years she had literally bitten her tongue when he said outlandish things so he wouldn't misconstrue her response. ..

The words cutting like a knife through her heart..."are we friends or enemies." Daughter I am, daughter I have always been and daughter I will always be. Sometimes I feel like his answer would be different than mine.



A BOX WITHIN A BOX

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I find myself changed. It is more than the grayer hair, the wrinkles on my forehead or etched under my eyes, especially on days like today, awake now at 10:30, longer than I actually slept.

It wasn't my intention to be awake before the day had come to light, but that is where I found myself. Something I regret today, more than most days that I am up early against my will and not just because of the exhaustion I feel.

Would I have been able to crawl back to bed and fall into deep sleep if I hadn't looked out the window? If my brain hadn't connected dots from last nights conversation? If that conversation hadn't revealed the box inside the box?

Did you ever just have a general conversation regarding something as benign as one's day, what they did, how it was? Of course, you have, we all have. Then have that same conversation in the conversation where the story has changed, although the event didn't, you were just given more details of the actual event.

Expand it a little further to be told that the details, which were omitted in this still benign conversation, of a trip to the eye doctors, benign because you, the listener, do not like a person in the story, who was omitted and as such, so were the details of the actual day.

Imagine being the listener, daughter of subject, neighbor as well and after the revelation be told, you know my comings and goings, as if said daughter was the guard at the gate. As if!!!!

Then a random inquiry - what are you doing tomorrow? Making conversation... have to be somewhere at 6 - I mean 8 (with said he whose name is not spoken).

No biggie to me. Like I said, until I looked out the damn window. 6 a.m. the car is gone. No biggie, except for the box within the box, or is it a box within the box, within the box and so on and so forth?

Rewind the past 4/5 10/20/45 years. Okay, stop at the 4/5 year mark, but you get my point (boxes within boxes) A total breakdown of ability to communicate to the revelation of last night/this a.m. why? because keeping track of lies is a bitch and it is easier to avoid a person and talking to them because you are involved in some ridiculous subterfuge.

The best part...being made out to be the problem and casting shade on your daughter because you choose to lie about stuff that doesn't matter to begin with.

And that, boys and girls is why truth matters.







 

This is my second week in the

#SixSentenceStory; Service





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I was both full of eager anticipation, and extreme trepidation as it was the first time I was relinquishing the cooking of the Easter Ham.

My son had practically begged me, but let me have the fun of the mashed potatoes, other vegetables and dessert. He is a novice at cooking but I had absolute faith that he could pull it off.

We arrived home to the delicious aroma of baked ham and the table was set and ready to go. I sat and had the best service ever from dinner to dessert. It would be a disservice not to acknowledge what a great job he had done.









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hello, it has been a while,  my fingers are rusty on the keyboard.  I am writing this prompt from https://girlieontheedge1.wordpress.com /six Sentence story word prompt.

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When I was little I learned to read early.  My Mom got me into kindergarten early because of it.  I was younger than everyone else.  Looking back now, I realize it wasn't my classmates fault that they picked on me like they would a little sister, all I know is that I didn't take it lightly and I would chase down the offender and kick them for picking on me.  I don't remember if it always was that way.  Now I realize that my brain filtered my memories, good and bad, in that way it enabled me to continue on the path of life.