Loneliness
By Jordana G., New City, NY
I have always wanted to be one of those kids whose parents worked, who got to go home and be by themselves, who got to make themselves a snack without an adult peering over their shoulder. In school, I hear kids take out their keys, the jangling and ringing filling my ears. I see them get off the bus and let themselves into their house. I want to be like that.
Every day when I get home from school, my mom is outside waiting. She greets the bus, a huge grin on her face lighting up the cloudy sky. I’d ask her, bug her, about when she’d get another job. “Matt and I are old enough to take care of ourselves,” I tried to convince her. And finally, it worked. Not because of me, but because she finally found something that she wanted to do.
Today is the first day I get to go home without her being there. I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself. I take that first step off the bus and walk up the driveway, a walk that seems to take a lifetime. I walk into the garage, savoring the tangible aloneness that I feel in the thick, heavy air. I unlock the door and to my own surprise, find myself straining to hear that familiar voice calling, welcoming me to the home that always smells like freshly-baked bread. Now, I don’t smell that. The air seems empty.
Shaking my head, I walk in and busy myself with getting a snack. When I finally sit down to eat, I feel a burst of solitude eating away at my insides, and I suddenly feel guilty for pushing my mom to get a job, because truthfully, it’s lonely here by myself, sitting at the counter in the empty kitchen, without the smell of bread wafting around me. I realize now that that is my mom, and that she keeps me from being lonely. I only wish I realized it sooner.
Inspired by Sandra Cisneros’ “A Rice Sandwich” from The House on Mango Street.
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