Invisible girl, or Cigarettes in exchange for mom’s love
Deaf, stupid, impotent rage covered Olga with a concrete slab. Can’t breathe, can’t get enough air. How tired she was of all these papers, people, negotiations, endless parental “need”, “we must”, “at any cost”, “we have no right to let the client”, “our reputation must be impeccable”. A few short, hot puffs. Catches my throat… And lets go.
She is stifling in this small, self-contained world of their strong and respected family company, whose reputation is above all. It’s stifling to be with your parents, so proper and honest. So close and so unattainable.
She’s still waiting to be loved, to be heard, to see the real her. Living. She lives. No matter how much they turn her into an obedient biorobot, she’s alive. Yet. And still needs a living human love. Not in maintaining life, not in cold, indifferent, mechanical and selfish “care”, and in love. Their love.
With this company Olga was married since infancy. Any other way of life and the fate of the parents for it is not represented. All she had to do was learn. Learn, master the family business and be worthy of your family. Be like them.
Olina’s mother was always an excellent student. And in school, and in Institute. She had no idea how you can not learn a lesson and get a four. It was unthinkable to her.
Nothing to say about dad. Dad is the company’s brain, heart, liver, lungs. He created it. The company is his favorite child and the meaning of his life.
For the company to grow and develop, the parents worked very hard. And Olya also had to study for five and work hard.
It worked almost always. But the four she did. And then she realized that to become worthy of their parents will never be able. Because she’s never gonna be the straight-a student that her mom was.
She wasn’t punished for fours. But looked so that… “it would be Better they beat me”.
She’s 25. Behind the shoulders of the law Academy and has a lot of practice in the parent company. Works hard and hard. And parents, satisfied with its effectiveness, give it more and more responsible sites. They see her as their successor. It’s her life.
From a constant tension headache. Strict dark a grey a suit. Buttoned jacket. Tightly tied hair on the back of his head. From accessories – only a fountain pen Montblanc, donated by parents at the end of the University (we must be modest and not to stick out their wealth), but a couple of stray hair naughty curls, defiantly violating the dress code.
Such its see. Such its know. Such its want to see and know.
Bright dresses and flowing skirts-the sun, which she lovingly chose and bought herself bored in the wardrobe, with the hope waiting in the wings. Someday it will come. Otherwise…
That “otherwise”, she fears even continue to to think. She drives away these thoughts, which are becoming more and more persistent. She wants to escape from this world in which she lives. From a world which resembles a dull dark forest.
She is infinitely lonely in this strange deep forest, where even your own echo is not audible. It’s cold. There’s never any sun. So she doesn’t have a shadow either. But if she has no shadow or echo, where is she? And what is this forest in which she disappeared?..
She’s 16. She smokes. He keeps cigarettes in his Desk drawer at home. Her parents never look at her Desk. Yes and in room very rarely. For them the main thing – that there was always a perfect order. And there’s always order. She cleans herself. And not only in his room, but throughout the apartment.
She was very scared her parents would find out about her Smoking. She can’t even imagine what would happen if they found out. And really wants to know. To have paid attention to it, outraged, scared. Punished. Would do anything to make her understand – she was noticed, worried about her.
One day it did happen. She smoked at home. In his room. Open window. Mom came home from work and smelled cigarettes.
Asked simply: “You smoke?”She said, ‘Yes.’ No one ever asked her about it again. She wasn’t banned, she wasn’t scolded. Mother, too, was Smoking and could not here be for it example. So, I could not demand anything from her.
Why dad was silent, she didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.
She’s 18. University. First session. And the first serious four. How do you tell your mom? It will be necessary to retake as soon as possible. Home gets, immersed in sad thoughts.
In front of the entrance stops, nervously lights a cigarette. A passing grandmother shakes her head reproachfully, “What would your parents say if they saw you smoke? You little brat after all. And where only parents eyes”. She burst into tears.
A strange grandmother with an unkind face took care of her now more than mom and dad did. They never cared about her Smoking. And they didn’t care. Grandma, unwittingly, voiced what the girl did not dare to admit to herself. Parental love as the increased grant – only for five, and her for parents as if isn’t present.
Perhaps, this was the last time, when she crying. Childhood ended. Olja realized this now very clearly. And with it ended all hope that anyone will ever hear and understand.
And only a trusted friend will hear a cigarette, understand and calm. It is always possible to ask for help. She won’t. When it’s sad, when it’s scary, when it’s lonely. When you want to howl or scream. She always is.
Or maybe it’s just the same as everyone else, indifferent and distant witness of her life?
She’s 25. She had long wanted to quit Smoking. But she wanted to smoke too. These two desires fought in her, and each of them had its own truth. And everyone had their rights. She, as a lawyer, knew it well. And as long as those rights were equal, she was powerless to do anything. We needed some circumstances.
Asthma. Doctors. Surveys. Hard recommendations: to smoke you must quit.
Thrown. The result was far from expected. Suffocation became more frequent and even more severe. I had to smoke again.
The trap closed. Smoking slowly but inevitably killed her. Quitting increased her seizures and threatened to kill her quickly.
“I don’t believe it can be handled. Doctors treated – didn’t cure”. In the voice of despair and hope. In front of her familiarity with its symptoms. With myself.
She has a long and difficult way to go. She’ll find her voice. It will start to reflect in the mirrors. To know its features. See the shadow.
Today she took the first step out of the woods. The invisible girl.
One day I’ll see her in a bright flying dress.