Freaks

1 • change

❝The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old,
but on building the new❞
ｓｏｃｒａｔｅｓ

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Ｉ used to be awful at drawing.

It seems like an odd thing to say, but I could only cringe whenever Aunt Victoria whips out one of my 3rd grade art projects or shows me a photograph of something I drew when I was 8.

I couldn't claim that over the years, practice had morphed me into the next Picasso, but drawing had become too therapeutic an action for me to break the habit- at least not for longer than a couple months. I guess, I could blame that on my childhood therapist. Whenever I didn't feel like talking, Dr. Hessner would always make me draw out what I felt. She said drawings could help us see the full story. And consequently, remember.

That's the reason I'm trying to draw right now: to remember.

The distorted object I had been sketching all morning was trying to prove otherwise. It still looked nothing like the image that had been bothering me all night. I sigh as I dig through my bag for an eraser. I was on my last piece of paper, I couldn't afford to start again.

A brief knock on the door halts my action.

I look up. My door was slowly creaking open. I roll my eyes at Aunt Vic's auburn hair peaking through the crack.

My door lacked a lock and Aunt Vic lacked the concept of personal space. Uncle Ted wasn't as bad. But then again, I suspected that was mostly because he was absolutely mortified by the thought of walking in at the wrong moment. Aunt Victoria's excuse, however, was always 'we're all women here' and she never hesitated to use it amidst whatever awkward situation she may find herself in, whether she was literally surrounded by women or not.

"Morning, Aunt Vi." I greet, pausing midway through rubbing out the rest of the drawing, and throwing her a weak lopsided grin.

"Morning, Em." She replies cheerily. Her gaze wanders down to the sketchbook in my lap. "You're drawing again?" She asks.

"Yeah..." I reply tersely. I carefully shut the book. It wasn't that I didn't want my aunt to see my drawings. More so I didn't want her to see the drawing. Especially since even I wasn't sure what it was. Which I suppose, is quite worrying.

Aunt Vic nods her head slowly before stopping abruptly. "Oh!" She exclaims suddenly, bringing a hand to her creased forehead, "I just remembered why I came up. Andrew's here."

I snap my head up. "He is?" I glance at the clock. It was seven already.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" Aunt Victoria asks as I quickly begin to pack my things. I pause for a moment to stare at the sketchbook. After a moment of contemplating, I stuff it in my bag as well.

"I'll grab something on the way." I reassure her. I throw more random objects in my bag, hoping the things I really needed were somewhere in the mess I was creating.

I kiss her cheek and slide past her before she could voice any more objections.

"Em, we need to talk!" My aunt calls after me as I bound down the stairs. She crosses her arms. Then uncrosses them again, as if not really sure what to do with them.