In the Cellar
Angel
HE’S SCREAMING AGAIN. Yesterday, he thrashed against the bars of his cage, hollering senseless threats and shouting obscenities until his voice turned ragged and hoarse. Today, stark terror fills those screams. The darkness is closing in on him. He’ll break or he’ll adapt. Either way, it doesn’t matter. There’s no way out.
I tried to be a good person. Even after all the energy people expended to dehumanize me, I believed I’d find love. Now, at twenty-three, I accept the truth. There are those of us who repel people. It’s the antithesis of charm. You live in a world where people dislike you. A few pretend to be your friend until they’ve raped you of what they covet. Then their capacity for cruelty emerges. Sniping comments erode your confidence. Nasty gossip impugns your reputation. Telephone calls, emails, and text messages go unanswered. Eventually you skulk away, accepting that you’re disposable. I’ve existed under this ebony umbrella of disdain my whole life. Is it any wonder that I’ve ended up here?
I was seven when the first glimmer of understanding dawned in my conscious mind. I’d stayed after school to practice for our Christmas concert. In the schoolyard, fat white flakes of snow toppled onto the hood of my furry brown coat and stuck to my red mittens like moulting ermine fur on Saint Nick’s crimson suit. Above me, clusters of stars shone against a deep purple sky that clung to just a whisper of dying daylight.
My best friend, Lizzy, skipped into the arms of her smiling mother. She prattled on about the songs we were learning and the play we were rehearsing. When Lizzy told her mother that the teacher had awarded me the role of lead angel, I pirouetted. Her mother studied me with no expression. Not even the hint of a smile. She tucked Lizzy under her arm and marched her to their car.
Something tiny cracked in my heart as they drove away and left me alone on the empty playground outside the deserted school. That was the first time the voice whispered to me, and it said, Lizzy’s mother doesn’t like you.
I walked down the empty, winding driveway of the school to a path that ran through the woods to the street where I lived. The sheen of purple had faded from the sky. Clouds masked the starlight and the moon, making the night inky black. The wind moaned and snowflakes mutated into a swirling blizzard of sharp ice pellets. With my mittens clasped against my cheeks, I trudged along the tree-lined path as the winter wind screamed through the barren branches. My imagination conjured beasts lying in wait to drag me to their putrid lairs. Terrified, I tried to run but my feet slipped and I fell. I wept with fear and crawled on my hands and knees.
At the end of the path, I stumbled to my feet and stood under the lustrous beam of a streetlight. Houses lit up the threatening night and the woodland monsters retreated into the shadows of the forest.
As I scurried by a neighbour’s home, I peeked through the open curtains of a dining room window. A family sat around a table laden with steaming dishes of food. Through the brightly lit window, a boy’s mouth moved in conversation. The father laughed and slapped his son on the shoulder. Next, the girl’s mouth moved, and the family shifted its attention to her. It was strange. The boy was older than the girl was. Why did they care what she had to say?
I pulled my eyes away, ashamed that I was spying, and became aware that the world had returned to normal. There was no blizzard, no clouds hiding the brilliance of the stars, and no ominous wind screeching through the trees. The monster was in my mind.
I continued walking home and wondered what we’d have for dinner. I was fond of baked macaroni and cheese but lasagna was my favourite. Now, I can’t eat either dish without the pasta congealing in the back of my throat until I gag.
When I arrived home, Mama yelled at me to remove my filthy boots. I tugged them off and breathed in the rich aroma of tomato sauce and baking cheese. Steam coated the kitchen window as my mother filled the sink with hot, soapy water. A radio was playing and she was humming in perfect pitch to a song she often sang with the church choir.
“I got something to tell you,” I said breathlessly.
“Tell your father, Angel, and set the table. Your sister has a project due, so you need to take her dish duty tonight.”
I raced into the living room to find my dad.
He was with my older sister. Like always. His arm was around her shoulders, and he was smiling down at her upturned face. She sat cross-legged on a velour armchair, which Mama had forbid me from sitting on because I’d dirty the fabric.
I chattered about the school pageant and the scary walk through the haunted woods. My cheeks were warm from the fading cold, and excitement made my voice high and fast.
“You’re interrupting. Again.” My father crossed his arms against his chest.
An odour of damp wool drifted up from my furry coat. I crinkled my nose, clamped my lips together, and waited for permission to speak.
My fourteen-year-old sister got up from the chair with a grimace of annoyance. “May as well listen to whatever tall tale she’s got this time.”
Mama entered the living room, wiping her hands on a tattered dishtowel tucked into the waistband of her jeans. “No one wants to listen to one of your wild stories,” she said. “If you can’t tell us about school without making up lies, no one’s interested.”
I wanted to tell them how I’d won the role of lead angel in the pageant. I wanted to tell them about the white costume and the wire wings strung with gossamer threads of silk netting and soft feathers. I wanted to make them proud.
I wanted to describe a sky that resembled a king’s lavender robe studded with twinkling diamonds. I wanted to share how I had twirled like a prima ballerina with my hands above my head and my face lifted to the heavens.
Instead, I told a tale of escaping ogres that hid in the woods. I told them how the sky had changed from soothing purple velvet to wicked darkness, and how the wind had screamed with glee as it massacred the winter nests hidden among the barren tree boughs. I told them how I’d cringed in fear as demons tore the birds’ frail bodies to shreds while the tiny creatures howled in the throes of death.
Mama clouted me across the ear. Without a word, she returned to the kitchen.
Blood pounded in my swollen ear. I stood in my wet, smelly coat with my head hung in shame, and hot tears poured down my plump cheeks.
“Liars don’t take meals with the family.” Father took my sister’s hand and led her to the kitchen.
When my grade two class performed, the seats for my family were vacant. My older sister was singing in the church choir that night. My parents couldn’t be in two places at once.
When adults don’t hear children, either they stop talking or they talk incessantly. They tell stories. They lie. Either way, they grow to learn that the people they love despise them. They understand that everyone will abandon them, leaving them alone with a monster that lives in their heads. And one day, they embrace the monster as their only friend.
He’s crying now and calling for his mother. But she is gone and this is all that remains. Misery will bind us together for as long as we live.