Birds

~

Birds

We all start off young and innocent. Totally dependent on our families. On our mother, who feeds us and takes care of us. Relying on our father, who protects and cares for us.

Of course, we can survive without one, but with both gone we are lost.

And then as we grow up we become more reliant on ourselves, with our parents guiding us.

We will finally reach an age where we no longer need our parents to do all this. We leave and we become our own person. But we always come back, in one way or another.

I find that we are similar to birds. Of course, we are extremely different as well.

But there is one thing about birds that I find is remarkably similar to me.

Birds don’t come back home.

*

It’s the end of the day and we (my mother, father and I) are gathered around the kitchen table.

Nobody really looks at each other, and the tension in the air is as thick as custard that’s been left on the kitchen bench.

We all know that neither of the two parties like each other, but we still try put up an act of civilisation. It’s all for show really.

The threads of the family are coming un-stuck and we all know it. It’s just a matter of who is going to be the first to act.

I stand up, wiping my mouth on my sleeve and walking over to the kitchen to wash up my plate.

“Thanks for dinner.”

They both nod in synchrony without sparing me a glance.

As I walk down the hallway I can hear them murmuring behind me. Their hushed whispers carry through the house.

I don’t even think they care if I can hear anymore.

 I strain my ears, trying to pick up on what they are saying.

“Julie, he needs to go. I can’t bear him being here anymore.”

“I know Mark. But we need to be subtle. Imagine what the neighbours will think.”

“But Julie, come on. He’s going to ruin us. We need to get it over and done with.”
“Alright, alright. But what can we do? We can’t just kick him out.”

I tune out around then.

They’re right, really.

I don’t fit in with this family, I am aware of this. But it’d be nice if they could at least pretend that they love me.

I lay on my bed, staring at the roof while the Black Keys plays in the background. The atmosphere in the room is heavy, as if my dark mood has dampened it.

There is a knock at my door, and I sit up wearily, telling them to come in.

It’s my parents.

They look at me blankly and say only a few words.

“We want you to leave.”

I stare at them in shock.

I knew they didn’t like me, and I knew that they didn’t want me around but this.

This was so unfair.

I mean, who kicks out their sixteen year old son?

My dad looks at me and then explains.

“We don’t love you. We don’t want you. You were a mistake and we have put up with you for long enough. You will be allowed $1000 a fortnight to help pay for bills and that’s all the help you get from us. We expect you to be read to leave in the morning.”

He says it all in a monotone, which shows me how much they really don’t care. As they turn to leave I stand up and utter a single word.

“Stop.”

They turn around, looking surprised. I don’t usually speak back.

I try to avoid any contact with the two people that stand in front of me (from here on in they will not be referred to as parents, which they clearly are not).

“I just want you to know that you two are probably the worst parents anyone will ever encounter. You say I am a mistake, but whose mistake am I? Yours. Both of you are responsible for me, for the creation of who I am and you should have at least tried to accept that instead of shunning and ignoring me. And seriously? I’m sixteen, you idiots. Who on earth is going to give me a flat, or a house?”

I go to sit back down before I remember I forgot to add one last thing.

“Oh, and if you really want to be well respected in this neighbourhood maybe you should show them that the both of you actually know emotion. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave, I need to pack.”

They look a bit shell-shocked, both just standing there, eyes wide and mouths gaping. I shove my clothes into a duffel bag, grab my mobile and charger and some other bits and bobs and throw them into a backpack. I hike both bags onto my shoulders and march out the door, leaving them standing there.

I call over my shoulder,

“And I’ll be borrowing the credit card for a while.”

I grab that off the table and leave the house, shouting profanities and secrets about the two as I walk through the neighbourhood.

Who cares about your reputation- it’s so easily ruined.

I reach my friend Michael’s house and knock on the door.

He opens it and looks at my bags, understanding immediately.

I collapse on the couch inside, feeling more at home than I used to when I was living in my own house.

That’s when I realise.

I’m finally free.