the blind side of love | chaennie

seven

Roseanne had been six years old the day her biological father left. She had been sitting on the front steps of their small house in Melbourne, watching the two brothers from across the street toss a football back and forth. She remembered that William, the younger of the two, pushed his brother into a puddle of water left over from a long week of rain. They'd yelled and thrown punches at each other until their mother came running out of the house waving a leather belt in one hand. The boys then scattered in opposite directions, laughing as they ran.

Roseanne had watched the mother roll the belt around her hand (in a way that made Roseanne think of a snail) and head back into the house. With nothing left to watch, Roseanne was forced to listen. Behind her, inside the door to her own life, her brother cried, and her mother and father yelled. Then, without warning, all of it stopped.

In the sudden silence, the screen door sounded louder than usual. Her father's footsteps were drowned by the painful screech of the door swinging closed. He walked by her and turned around at the last step. "I'm sorry, Rosie," he said, before walking away.

Since then, her only communication with her father had been in the form of the occasional letter turned occasional email, and in the checks he sent each month. He was as faithful in his financial contributions as he could never be in his marriage to her mother. She could never hate her father, Roseanne knew, but she had yet to forgive him. Fourteen years was not enough to mend that kind of wound. Perhaps a lifetime wasn't, either.

His latest email stared back at her from the list on her monitor, and Roseanne read it without responding. Was she okay? Sure. Had she received his latest check? Yes. What was new? Well, other than her sister being gay, not much.

"You look joyful this evening." Lisa walked into Roseanne's bedroom and sat cross-legged on the bed. "Homework?"

"Father."

"Ah." Lisa nodded, and popped open the can of soda she was holding. After a long sip, she asked, "Any updates from the family about you-know-who admitting she's you-know-what?"

Roseanne sighed, placing the laptop next to her on the bed and leaning forward. "I'm pretty sure they've gone into complete denial at this point. Mom called earlier and she didn't even mention it. It's as if it never happened."

"So, what, they're just going to pretend she's straight?"

"I really don't know."

"Have you talked to Alice yet?"

"No. I honestly have no idea what to say to her."

"I'm sure she doesn't care what you say, as long as she knows you support her." Lisa cocked her head to the side. "You do support her, right?"

Roseanne looked pointedly at her best friend. "Of course I do! It's just ... it's Alice, you know? Alice. I just can't picture her ... you know ..."

"And a gir—"


"Aaargh!" Roseanne covered her ears until she was certain it was safe to unclog them. "That's not quite what I meant. I just don't picture her, being ... gay. She's just Alice, my geeky—"

"Extremely hot..."

"Sister."

"Wonder if she's got a girlfriend."

Roseanne thought about it. "You think? Hm. I wonder what kind of girl Alice would be dating."

"Only one way to find out."

"I'll call her tomorrow," Roseanne decided.

"Or just drop by unannounced so she doesn't have time to hide her girl. Ooh, or girls."