《The Partridge in the Pear Tree》
January (1) - End of the Prologue; Beginning of Chapter One
Meg Chukar was standing at the pulpit, sweating through every pore of her body. She was terrified that her almost off-white wedding gown, which she had rented from the cheapest retailer she could find, was about to become a translucent, see-through piece of fabric. Starting from her armpits, arriving at her neck, traveling down her back, reaching her inner thigh and splashing down to her feet, she slowly felt her body become a pool of salty water. But, more than her profuse leakage, she feared what was causing it.
Here she was, about to be married to the boy in front of her, Devon Lord, at the tender age of eighteen and she wanted nothing of it. The moment her parents forced her to marry, it had hit her all at once that her life was over before it even began. Eighteen! She had thought, everything before was the prologue, the setup. And now I won¡¯t even get to experience the main part!
Only months before, she had felt invincible and ready for anything. She had everything and was ready for more. She was in her last year of high school, ready to get out and experience the world. She would finally be able to move away from her parents¡¯ house and be liberated from their strict hands. She had already tasted that freedom when she began secretly dating her first ever boyfriend, despite her parents¡¯ abhorrent rules against the concept. She had sipped on that sweet juice of rebellion when she had him for the first time in her room and in her bed while her family was out. Back then, nothing had felt so essential, so needed, so good. Now, that memory of her first time tasted like bile stuck in the back of her throat. Bitter and overpowering.
Never had she imagined the shame she would feel when she explained to her parents that she was pregnant. She felt weak and small and vulnerable when the full extent of her father¡¯s anger boiled over and the deep accusation in her mother¡¯s eyes ripped her apart like the claws of a feral beast. She felt the itchy frustration at herself that her shame had yielded her to her parents¡¯ order of keeping the baby. Yielded her to accept marrying her boyfriend, Devon, the moment they both came of age. His eighteenth birthday was in December and her birthday was in January. January 1st to be exact. It was a cruel joke. Here she was, on the first day of the new year, the first day of her adulthood, and she wasn¡¯t given the privilege of easing into it. It was thrown at her face, fast and hard and hurt like a cinderblock. Worse actually, because unlike a cinderblock in the face, it didn¡¯t kill on impact. It strangled.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
The audience was comprised of seven people. Meg¡¯s mother and father, both of the looking relieved, making Meg feel even more sick to her stomach. Devon¡¯s father and little sister; the former seeming almost as stressed as Meg felt, the latter with an air of simultaneous uninterest and curiosity. The officiant was Reverend Gregory Sin who was the pastor of the Chukar¡¯s home church; the humor in the man¡¯s name being an intrinsic natural truth. The last two were the somber groom and the dazzlingly sweaty bride, making vows they didn¡¯t believe in, receiving on their fingers inexpensive rings they didn¡¯t want, signing fake documents with fake pens in a fake church and committing to live a fake life until a real death do them part.
At the end of the service, Reverend Sin awkwardly announced that ¡°You may kiss the bride¡±, and out of a mindless obligation for tradition, Devon Lord closed the distance to obey the order given to him. But Meg Chukar was not about to kiss the groom. She swerved out of Devon¡¯s way, down the stairs leading to the pews, walked with intentionality down the aisle and through the sanctuary doors. Her dress, almost as angry as she was fluttered about behind her like the plumage of a bird in flight. Devon watched her go, wide-eyed and holding back tears. Someone might as well have played Ode to Joy in reverse.
January (2) - A Little Sister
Meg flew out of the church doors, through the parking lot and straight into her grey Kia Soul. The first matter of business was to get the dress off of herself and change into anything else as soon as humanly possible. She turned the car on and slammed on the acceleration causing the poor vehicle to growl in annoyance and speed up, slowly, at its own pace. Meg¡¯s house was only fifteen minutes away, but she made it in thirteen as she sped through the empty Ohio roads. The ride was silent. She didn¡¯t have the energy to choose music. As she drove, she let the sound of the engine be her instrumentals and the whistling of the outside wind her vocals. Numbness dulled her senses to the point where she felt that she was watching another Meg Chukar drive, floating above it all in nothingness. The corn fields broke away to reveal a small cluster of residential houses that counted Meg¡¯s home as one of its own. She turned into her driveway, stopped the car and got out, leaving the engine running. The January winter air was freezing, and her hands were already losing their color in the ten steps it took to reach her front door. The moment she entered the house, she hurried up the stairs to her room, threw off her cold wedding dress and changed into a warm sweater and a pair of comfortable sweatpants. Returning to the mudroom, she swirled a scarf around her neck and threw on the thickest coat she owned and her padded gloves. She nestled her feet into three pairs of socks and slid them into her winter boots. As she walked back out the door and into her car, she already felt miles better, as if the warmth of her new attire was melting away everything that had happened in that church.
The emptiness of the world surrounding her gave her the impression that she owned everything she could see and there was no one to take it from her. She found strength in her aloneness as she drove the car a ways away to a nearby park. It was cold, but there had been no snow yet, so the ground looked dead and decayed without the usual white coating that would almost give it a soft rebirth before spring. She parked and made her way to empty looking tree that stood towards the back of the park. It wasn¡¯t very tall as far as trees are concerned with a short and stubby trunk as its base. Where the tree was impressive was in its width. Long branches sprung out of the trunk, first very thick, thinning out the farther they went and breaking off into smaller branches reaching out into the distance. The canopy of dead wood formed an almost perfect semi-globe around the trunk, with the lowest branches almost parallel with the ground underneath. From afar it almost looked like an oversized mushroom. It was as if the branches were in the process of forming a cocoon around the trunk to keep it safe from oncoming danger.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Meg made her way over to the hibernating pear tree, grasped a sturdy hold and with the speed and fluidity of someone who had climbed it before made her way to the inside of the cocoon and found a comfortable notch in the wood to sit. This was her favorite place go when she was bored or felt whimsical or just needed to be by herself with her thoughts. That day was an instance of the third.
Ironically, the special place of hers that was giving her comfort and solace, was a gift from her father on her thirteenth birthday. David Chukar was botanical chemist who specialized in GMO development. He was involved in finding ways to mutate different plants so they could grow bigger, last longer and resist certain environmental factors that would have otherwise killed them. When Meg was a child, understanding nothing of chemistry let alone genetical engineering, she once asked her father what his job was. His response would be: ¡°I¡¯m a doctor for fruits and vegetables. I make sure that they become healthy adults, so that you can eat them and be a healthy adult¡±.
Every year, for her birthday, David would give her different kinds of vegetable seeds for her to plant in their back yard and tend to until they produced their goods. One year he gave her tomato seeds, the next year was peppers, a few years after that she received cucumbers. On the days of her birthday, David and his daughter would go outside and plant them. He specifically chose vegetables because they would grow and yield sometime during that year and Meg would be able to see the results sooner rather than later. She would start to grumble in that cute childlike manner that the seeds were always vegetable seeds, and he never gave her any fruit. David would then ask her if she was willing to wait a few years before anything happened. She never wanted to wait that long and would shake her head no with confidence and a grin as if claiming she never wanted the fruit in the first place. It was when she entered her teens when David switched up the formula and gave her pear tree seeds. ¡°The teens are a long period to get through¡± he said to her, ¡°and it¡¯ll be important to be patient. But you won¡¯t be alone. The pear tree will grow up with you and hopefully by the time you move out of your teens, it will have given you pears.¡± Meg specifically ask that the seeds be planted in the small park near their home. She had said that she wanted it to have space to grow as big as it possibly wanted. When David asked her if she thought the tree would be lonely, she replied ¡°not with a sister like me¡± in a matter-of-fact kind of tone. Ever since then, new seeds stopped being a birthday gift.
As the pear tree¡¯s branches cradled its older sister, Meg thought to herself that if there was any perfect time for a pear to grow off of a branch, it would be right at that very moment. But no flowers bloomed from the extremities of the wood and no fruit followed; of course not, it was January.
January (3) – Breakfast with Carol
January 2nd was a Monday which meant Meg had to go to school. The overwhelming and in-your-face irony of that fact was not lost on her. When she woke up that morning, there was a split second where she thought the events of the day prior were a dream conjured up by an anxious mind. It was only when she became aware of the dried tear tracks lining her cheeks and her swollen and tired eyes that she remembered crying herself to sleep when she had returned home. And now she would have to finish her high school of all things. She slumped down the stairs, irritated that she wasn¡¯t even offered the privilege of an education waive for her misfortunes.
¡°Good morning¡± stuttered Meg¡¯s mother, Carol Chukar, with an awkward tilted smile. Meg could tell that her mother desperately wanted to return to normalcy as soon as possible. ¡°G¡¯morning.¡± Meg mumbled as she opened a cupboard and grabbed cereal and a bowl.
¡°Do you have any plans for the week, Meg?¡± Carol was usually quite the talker and always came with a topic to discuss which meant she was easy to interact with for those who wanted to. Meg did not want to.
¡°No¡± she replied, directed more towards the milk gallon she was grabbing than the middle-aged woman at the table. She didn¡¯t sit at the table and contented herself with mechanically munching on her cereal, hunched over the kitchen counter.
Carol Chukar was surprised at this lack of response, obliviously so. Considering the wedding ceremony that she had adamantly brought about, Carol Chukar gave off the impression that she wanted to deny its existence more than Meg. Trying to drown the day prior with additional words she exclaimed enthusiastically, ¡°I bumped into your English teacher Mr. Garfield the other day at the library, and he mentioned you,¡± a pause, naively awaiting a reaction that never came, ¡°he said that you always have the best responses to the readings out of everybody in the entire class and he is always impressed by your unique takes. Is it true that your favorite assigned book was George Orwell¡¯s 1984? He said that when you go to college, you should consider writing academic papers on the book, you grasp it so well!¡±
Still no response.
¡°I actually remember reading 1984 when I was in college. It¡¯s been a while but to be honest, I don¡¯t particularly remember liking it very much. It was a little too cynical about religion and Christianity for my liking.¡±
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
The most apparent weakness of a talkative person is silence and Meg knew that full well. Her mother¡¯s constant attempts to get through to her were becoming unbearably annoying but Meg wanted to twist the awkward knife and keep it deep. She was doing all she could to get out of the house and head to school quickly and she had the sneaking hunch that her mother wanted her out for the day even more. Mr. Chukar had already left for work earlier that morning and Carol was increasingly feeling his absence. Realizing that her daughter was not going to talk to her, she just sat there and sipped her coffee steadily observing the empty bird feeder out their dining room window as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Meg gathered the rest of what she needed for the day and drifted out of the house without a glance in her mother¡¯s direction, who was still utterly enthralled by the bird-less bird feeder. As she hopped in the driver¡¯s seat of her Kia, she thought about the absurdity of the situation she was in. She felt like she was just hacked into, and a virus was sent out that was programmed to corrupt her daily life, routine and habits, bit by bit.
Her high school was a twenty-minute car ride from her house in the downtown of Pipersville, Ohio, the town closest to them. It was a high school of no significant size or status. Meg¡¯s senior class was about one hundred and fifty students. It was a bored school and as with bored people was always looking for something that would spice things up. Meg knew she was about to become the spice.
Up to the day where she got married, she had told no one of her pregnancy and the subsequent consequences. But Meg knew information was like fluid and could drip its way through the cracks and punctures of unexpected places. She halfway expected the whole student body to be waiting for her at the entrance gates rearing to hear juicy details. Her heart sunk at the prospect of the next few months. It would stay under wraps at first, but someone was going to talk. She hoped Devon had the common sense to stay silent on the subject though she couldn¡¯t help but doubt it. After all high school boys gossip just as much as high school girls do. The difference is that it comes out in huge sporadic bursts as opposed to consistent drip feeding. It was all pointless anyway because she knew that the baby was inevitably going to want to introduce itself and the swelling was going to be hard to miss. Hopefully it was going to show up later rather than sooner.
Meg parked in the school lot and was welcomed by what was, in her opinion, the most glacial gust of winter wind that had ever graced a human¡¯s face. Meg shivered in her bones, suddenly more excited than ever to graduate from high school. Hers was a unique senioritis.
January (4) – The Desert Sun
As she made her way through the school gates Meg peered with horrid anticipation at the students coming and going in the courtyard. So far, nobody seemed to pay her any mind and she let out a breath she felt she¡¯d been holding in since leaving home. She was going to be safe for the time being, despite feeling sweaty again with a lump in her stomach that would not release. She looked at her hands, hoping that she wasn¡¯t quivering like leaf. They looked normal if not a little chapped from the cold. The pale gray wedding band glinted on her ring finger sticking out like a bad mole. The ring! Her eyes widened in surprise as awareness of it hit her.
¡°Damn it! Shit, shit, shit¡¡± spewed out, trailing behind her as she ran to her locker, covering her left hand as if it were injured.
She reached her locker and jerked it open as soon as she swirled the numbers in the padlock. There were a few textbooks inside as well as some paper folders for her assignments. She slid the band off her finger and into a folder and took a second huge breath of relief. How had she forgotten about it? She shook her head in disbelief and mentally smacked herself across the cheek in exasperation. It was good that first period was imminent. Her distress was probably confused for a banal fear of being late for class.
¡°You doing alright there, Meg? You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡± A booming smoker¡¯s voice came from behind the locker door.
Meg was so on edge she jumped despite herself. The voice, however, was familiar and appeasing. She turned around and looked up to greet a girl five inches taller than her. To Meg, Alicia Mander was a six-foot giant built like a marble statue. And she had a boisterous attitude to match her size. If Meg¡¯s demeanor was the equivalent of a partially cloudy day with chances of light showers, Alicia was the yellow-hot desert sun, constant and unyielding. It was this sweltering heat that Meg desperately needed to burn away her troubles.
This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
¡°What¡¯s up Lisha?¡± Meg grinned despite herself.
¡°Nothing much. Just got a case of Monday depression. You know how it is. I am so over this high school bullshit!¡± she knocked her knuckles against her forehead in a display of exasperation. ¡°How ¡®bout you? How was your weekend?¡±
Meg flinched. ¡°Oh, you know. Doing what I can to not freeze to death,¡± she said desperately trying to be casual.
¡°Tell me about it!¡±
¡°Ha, with the way you exude heat, I¡¯m surprised there aren¡¯t spring daisies popping out of the snow everywhere you go,¡± Meg jabbed, slowly regaining some life. Maybe the semester would be okay.
¡°This just in: the origin of global warming has been discovered by Stanford scientists. A woman named Alicia Mander is single-handedly superheating the planet. The military is sending an attack force to neutralize her as we speak,¡± Alicia took on the matter-of-fact persona of a news anchor. They both chuckled before Alicia asked. ¡°By the way, are you okay? You looked distressed. Did you forget an assignment?¡±
¡°Yeah, actually. I forgot to do my pre-calc worksheet.¡± Meg was not lying. The question had sparked the missing homework back into her mind. Ironically, the worksheet was saving her from coming up with an explanation to diffuse Alicia¡¯s questioning.
¡°Don¡¯t worry, you can copy mine. It¡¯s math which means if the teacher asks why their identical, we can just say we worked on it together¡± Alicia proposed like a good friend.
¡°Done. I¡¯ll buy you a smoothy after classes to pay you back.¡±
Alicia shook her head. ¡°I can¡¯t. I have basketball practice after school and then the team was planning on going to laser tag afterwards. It¡¯s one of the girls¡¯ birthday today. I¡¯ll take you up on that offer another time though. Trust me, I won¡¯t forget a free smoothy.¡±
Meg imagined it would have been nice to go laser tagging on her birthday. She opened her mouth to tell Alicia that it wasn¡¯t a problem when she spotted a real problem. Turning the corner into the hallway, followed by a group of other boys as well as brewing storm, was the groom.
January (5) – Processing
Meg¡¯s eyes locked on to Devon and a split second later, he noticed her. Everything in his posture declared that he wanted to come over to talk, though he was clearly hesitating. For Meg, this was out of the question. Luckily for her, Alicia had her back to him, and class was about to begin, so she took full advantage of both factors to get far away. Pretending she had seen nothing she resumed her conversation, speaking a little quickly for her liking.
¡°No worries Lisha, we¡¯ll do smoothies another time,¡± she looked at her watch conspicuously. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ve got to run to class, or Mr. Garfield is going to be on my case for being late. I can meet you here at lunch to grab the homework.¡± No sooner had the words left her mouth that she was off and running before Alicia could reply.
Alicia curiously watched as Meg sped walked down the hallway before she turned around to go in the opposite direction. Devon was there to greet her. He was short and thin for his age and would subconsciously move cautiously when close to Alicia¡¯s towering figure.
¡°Hey Alicia,¡± he said a little awkwardly, ¡°I guess I just missed Meg huh?¡±
¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think she noticed you.¡±
Devon shrugged his shoulders, trying to be as casual as possible, ¡°Yeah, I guess not.¡±
******
Class was getting hard to sit through. Not only because of the immense rift Meg felt between her classmates but also because she wasn¡¯t feeling so well. During her second period, she had felt lightly nauseous but thought nothing of it. Her third period was when she had begun feeling gassy. She had had to excuse herself twice during class to go to the bathroom and just sit on the toilet, hoping the vertigo feeling would pass. By the end of her third period, it eventually did, and she shrugged it away, telling herself she had eaten something bad.
When the end of fourth period bell rang, Meg made her way to the locker hallway with the intent of picking up the pre-calc assignment that Alicia had promised her. When she got there, she waited for her friend on a nearby couch, scrolling through her phone to pass the time. Twenty minutes passed and there was still no sign of Alicia. Assuming that she was late, Meg pulled her lunch out of her locker and ate as she got lost in social media boards. Ten minutes later and Alicia had still not shown up. Meg was getting tense now. The closer she got to her fifth period, the more she regretted having forgotten that assignment. It was a big one and the stress of not having it was starting to sink in.
She pulled out her phone to text Alicia about her whereabouts, when she heard footsteps in her direction.
¡°Hey, Meg. I¡¯ve been looking for you.¡±
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
She looked up to see the face of Devon Lord looking at her with big anxious eyes. ¡°What do you want?¡± she asked bluntly, surprised at how cold her response was, especially considering she was a nervous wreck looking at him.
¡°I¡I don¡¯t know,¡± he stuttered, his eyes lowering to the ground, ¡°I just haven¡¯t talked to you in a minute. It being Christmas break and all.¡±
Interactions had been bearable since they had learned of the pregnancy. Once Christmas break came around, neither Meg nor Devon reached out to the other and, until the wedding, had not interacted once. Even on that January 1st, there wasn¡¯t much chit-chat in the midst of the preparations, ceremony and general unpleasantness of the day.
¡°Talk about what? What do you want to talk about?¡± Her dread was turning into frustration.
¡°I just think, a lot of things happened, and we should probably process them, I think, maybe.¡± Devon¡¯s discomfort was clearly on the rise. Meg had noticed that he had also taken his marriage band off. She expected to feel relief but somehow felt bitterness instead.
¡°Yeah, you know what? Let¡¯s talk. As a matter of fact, I have a question for you.¡± Meg¡¯s tone was sharp and poisonous. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you fight it? The wedding was my parents¡¯ idea and I tried to stop them. But you did nothing. Why?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know Meg. I tried to bring it up with my dad, but he kept telling me it was the right thing to do,¡± answered Devon in a small voice. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what ¨C
¡°THAT WAS HIS REASON TO YOU?! ¡®IT¡¯S THE RIGHT THING TO DO¡¯?! ARE YOU JOKING?!¡± Meg stood up from her seat, ready to pounce.
¡°I¡¯m so sorry Meg, I¡¯m so sorry. I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t know what else to do.¡± Devon was backing up and cowering his face behind crossed arms.
¡°YOU DID NOTHING, DEVON! NOTHING!¡± Meg¡¯s shouting was starting to attract the curious eyes of students who were heading back to class.
Devon tried to tone her down, nervously shifting his watering eyes all over the place. ¡°Meg, can we talk about this later? Please?¡± he begged.
¡°I DON¡¯T GIVE A SHIT!¡± YOU¡¯RE THE ONE WHO WANTED TO ¡®PROCESS THIS¡¯,¡± she quoted Devon with sarcastic hands, ¡°WELL HERE YOU GO, I¡¯M PROCESSING! HAPPY?¡±
¡°Meg, please¡¡± Devon was almost as small as his voice.
¡°AND WHY THE FUCK DOES YOUR DAD EVEN CARE IN THE FIRST PLACE HUH? YOU EVER THINK TO ASK HIM THAT?¡±
Devon had given up on speaking. He was pathetically looking down at the ground, tears welling up his somber face. His arms were limp against his sides. He had accepted the role of punching bag. His resigned body made Meg angrier. All she wanted was for him to scream back at her. To prove to her that he was as hurt over the matter as she was. She wanted to get physical. She wanted a fist fight between the two of them.
Devon gave her none of those things. He just stood there lifeless, and it sucked the life out of Meg as well. Her anger subsided, leaving only a vacuum of emptiness. She breathed deeply and turned around to get her bag. She wanted to go home.
¡°Forget it,¡± she spit out before gathering her things and walked away from the inanimate husk that was Devon Lord. He made no move to stop her. He just stood there, head down, shoulder¡¯s slumped, quietly crying.
Meg walked out the school doors, paying no heed to her final three classes. She didn¡¯t even have the assignment for one of them anyway. She got in her car and drove home. She failed to notice Alicia watching her go from the parking lot, curious as to what had just occurred.
January (6) – Luck Run Dry
Meg wanted to get away from school, but she didn¡¯t particularly enjoy the idea of going home either. There she would have to face her mother, explain why she had returned so early and get a full on, no holds bar lecture on the importance of her education. She was quickly realizing that she was a lacking a safe space from her troubles. School was a cesspool of people she didn¡¯t want to interact with. Alicia was the only exception, but it was hard to talk to her without telling her of the marriage. Afraid of what Alicia would have thought, she had kept it to herself. And if Alicia didn¡¯t know, she wasn¡¯t about to tell any of her other friends.
Home was no better. Inhabited by only Meg and her parents, she had no place to run. The pear tree was the closest thing she could think of as a haven of comfort, but it was deadly cold, and she couldn¡¯t just sit in the tree for hours. Her anxiety fashioned itself like Saran wrap around her body. Twisting and turning as it wrapped itself around her, suffocating under the enveloping film. Ironically, it was as if being embraced by it. Her only friend that never let go; it protected her from the outside while choking her from the inside.
Unable to make a decision, she let inertia take her through the most familiar roads she knew until she had parked in the garage of her parents¡¯ house. Meg sighed, resigning herself to shutting up in her room for the afternoon. She usually parked on the driveway, but the garage was available, so she made her way into the house through the garage-side doorway.
The plan was to keep her head down, walk right past her mom who was probably sitting at the kitchen table, ignore any sort of inquiry about her early return, march up to her room and hibernate or something. But noticing that Mrs. Chukar was not in the kitchen, the lack of cars in the garage came back to her.
She must be on some errands, Meg thought, the anxiety loosening its grip a little. She just hoped her mother would not come home until after the final school bell had rung. But this was good. Meg had the house to herself. Her eyes faintly sparkled as they locked on to the basement door. She already knew what she wanted to do.
Meg was an excellent pool player. It was Uncle Diedrich, Mrs. Chukar¡¯s brother, who offered them an antique pool table that had belonged to their father before his passing. Uncle Diedrich had inherited it but didn¡¯t have the room to store it. He came over when Meg was twelve to set it up in their basement.
Meg, switched on the basement stairs to reveal the gorgeous oak table standing in front of her, waiting for some action. She snatched the triangle and set up the balls inside it, then placed the cue ball in position, just as she had watched her uncle do it every time he came over. He had taught little Meg the rules of the game and how to properly hold the cue stick to correctly punch the white cue ball. They would play games upon games when he came to visit. When Meg would learn that he was going to be coming over, she would already have the table set up for his arrival.
Unsurprisingly at first, Uncle Diedrich would wipe the floor with Meg. He was unrelenting. In the same match, he would instruct her on her positioning and angle while also cleaning the table before she could pocket a second ball. It was all about learning on the job for him. Meg struggled at first, but she would often practice after school and soon found her footing in the game. Still, he would beat her.
Sometimes Mr. and Mrs. Chukar would attend Meg¡¯s matches with her uncle and cheer her on. Mrs. Chukar was particularly vicious in taunting her brother. She would heckle him and consistently tell him that he was an awful player. His sister¡¯s pestering would light a fire in him, and he would perform tricky angle-off-the wall maneuvers to prove her wrong. Meg had often found it strange how her mother¡¯s quieter and somewhat awkward personality would burn away in that basement to reveal the fierce glint in her eyes and energy in her gut.
If Meg had looked in a mirror, she might have seen the same glint as she steadied the cue stick for the break. She jerked the stick back and forward and back again, almost in a simultaneous movement and connected with the cue ball. It sped across the green carpeting and shattered through the numbered balls letting off a high pitch and resonant clattering sound that Meg had learned to adore over the years. It was a clean sound, pure and smooth, and never the same, as the balls broke in different ways with each new game. A percussive sound that brought her familiarity and love. But a sound that had recently come with a melancholic ring also.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Uncle Diedrich had come over for thanksgiving when Meg was on the cusp of turning seventeen. And she had beaten him. For the first time in her life and the last time in his, Meg had defeated him twelve times in a row! It was a miracle. Her family was baffled, but as the streak kept going, her uncle smile grew larger. All the games were tight. Meg could have lost at any point, but the thrill of the game was palpable. And both Meg and her Uncle Diedrich were having the time of their lives. When Meg tucked the twelfth game¡¯s eight ball into its pocket, he gave off a deep hardy laugh and said in between chuckles: ¡°Meg, you just ran all of my luck out of me! I¡¯m bled dry!¡±
Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Chukar had a field day during that dinner. She gave her brother miniscule portions of turkey and stuffing, heckling him and telling him he had ¡°lost the right to a good thanksgiving meal after that pathetic humiliation of a defeat.¡± Meg¡¯s huge grin never left her face. Nor did Uncle Diedrich¡¯s for that matter.
Apparently, his luck never returned to him because a month later, he slipped on his icy porch stairs, snapping his neck as he hit the ground.
Meg struck the eight ball against two walls, and it curved gracefully into a corner pocket. As it joined the other balls, the game clattered one last time and Meg closed her eyes enjoying the sound. She had played very little when her uncle had died. It had felt disrespectful every time she picked up a stick. And when she had learned of her pregnancy she stopped playing altogether. She turned off the basement lights and made her way upstairs. It felt good to play again. She was light on her feet as she shuffled in the pantry to make herself a snack. That was when the nausea happened.
It was heavy. Heavier than her dizzy spell at school. The kitchen was spinning, and her stomach was rebelling against her. All balance was off, and she had to lean against the walls to safely reach the bathroom. The area behind her eyes was sore and uncomfortable. She collided against the bathroom door frame which only worsened the vertigo. Scrambling to her hands and knees against the toilet bowl in a cold sweat, it seemed like her intestines were fleeing up her throat. The floor of the bathroom was diagonal now, lurching back and forth like the deck of a boat. Instinctively her head was hanging over the bowl and she was vomiting before her brain registered what was happening. Her body had taken full control and she yielded helplessly to the gagging. The episode felt like an eternity and her body kept trying to throw up despite having released everything it had. As she struggled to get a hold of herself, the vertigo faded into a light dizziness and left her slumped on the bathroom floor. Tears had been forced out of her eyes from the strain and she sat there desperately trying to catch her breath.
Slowly her functions returned to her, and she carefully wobbled to her feet. She wiped her mouth and went into the kitchen to drink a glass of water and to compose herself. It had been a buzzing thought in the back of her mind at school, but the pregnancy had just become very real. Meg felt scared and miserable. All she wanted to do was to lay down in her bed and never leave it again.
¡°Meg? What are you doing home so early?¡± a nervous voice appeared from the kitchen entrance.
Mrs. Chukar gazed uncomfortably at her daughter and Meg could tell that she was the last thing her mother wanted to see. Despite her lingering wooziness, Meg thought she noticed that her mother seemed more scared than annoyed or disappointed. There was something about her eyes shifting around, but Meg was more worried about getting a lecture than anything.
¡°I didn¡¯t want to be there,¡± Meg mumbled truthfully.
¡°Okay, well don¡¯t get into the habit of it,¡± said Mrs. Chukar, making her way upstairs, ¡°dinner will be in a few hours when your father gets back. I¡¯m going to take a shower.¡±
Surprised she was so easily off the hook; Meg nodded and went to pour herself more water. Once she heard the sound of the shower, she moved upstairs and to her room, closing the door behind her. The anxiety had come back. Her brief respite from playing pool was gone but she thought about her Uncle Diedrich. She thought about what he would do if he had heard of her pregnancy and her parents¡¯ plan for the marriage. She imagined he would probably fight on her behalf. As her eyes fluttered closed from exhaustion, she missed him a little more.
January (7) – A Ghost in the Mirror
The rest of the week was mostly quiet. Meg would reluctantly depart for school in the morning and leave immediately after the last bell to return home. Devon was nowhere to be found which was the best thing Meg could have asked for. There was a little tinge of pride gnawing at her that she had scared her boyfriend away allowing her to breathe a little easier.
Interaction between Alicia and her were sparce. Alicia had texted her on the day she had had her nauseous episode, lovingly asking her if everything was okay between her and Devon. Meg had been asleep when the texts came in and answered her the next morning, informing her that that the fight was of not much gravitas and to not worry about it. Alicia never addressed it again at school, mostly because they never had much time to interact, as Alicia always had something on her calendar. It was obvious however, that Alicia didn¡¯t believe a word that Meg had said, but she remained quiet on the matter.
When Meg had brought up the pre-calc assignment, Alicia had apologized, stating that she had been roped into a teacher¡¯s study session during lunch and couldn¡¯t get the assignment to her. She had tried to tell Meg that, but her friend was already gone in the desperate attempt to avoid Devon.
Dizzy spells were sporadic during the week and never to the extent of that first Monday, but Meg found herself having to go to bathroom on multiple occasions to regain some stability or alleviate some gas.
School would end and Meg was immediately in her car and on her way home. Playing pool was now the only thing that consumed her mind during the day. After the drought of the last few months, her love of the game had sprung back in full and feverish force. She would return home, ignore her mother and drift down to the basement, sometimes to play for hours on end. With every difficult maneuver she performed, memories of Devon faded away. Every time the cue ball made contact with her target, anxiety about her pregnancy was also knocked out of mind. Focus on the game was all that remained. It was her drug to make her forget. The moment she finished a game, she would set the next one up before the memories flooded back.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
She only stopped when her mother called her up for dinner, shocking her back to reality and allowing the dread to flow back in, uninterrupted.
Dinners were the same. Quiet and awkward. A sparse ¡°Pass me the vegetables¡± or ¡°Would you like some sauce?¡± would break the silence from time to time. Mr. Chukar usually returned home the moment dinner was ready as if he timed it intentionally to avoid unnecessary interactions. Meg would sometimes catch him watching her from across the table with uncomfortable eyes, as if she were some homeless women they had taken in out of obligation. That was what Meg felt. Homeless in her own home.
The meal would end and Meg would go to her room. Mr. and Mrs. Chukar would speak quietly as they cleared the table. Afterwards, the former would light the fireplace with a book and the latter would sometimes join her husband, sometimes go down to the basement, probably to watch television.
Saturday morning, Meg had slept in until ten and woke up feeling she had slept through the day. She groggily made her way to the bathroom to wash up. Her eyes caught another person in the mirror and she jumped back, startled. What she had thought was a ghost in the mirror was in fact her. She shook her head in disapproval of herself but as she looked more closely, she noticed a change in her silhouette. It was subtle, but the Meg in the mirror was a little more bloated the real-life Meg. Concerned, she took of her shirt to inspect herself and sure enough, real-life Meg was bloated too. She caught the hint of a bulge in her lower abdomen and the reality that was already ingrained deep enough, sunk a little more.
School was about to get a whole lot worse. It was time to decide what her course of action was going to be, seeing as hiding her pregnancy was going to become less and less of an option. It ate at her mind the whole weekend. Would she wear baggier clothes? Would she skip school entirely? Would she just quietly wait until people noticed and hope the swell wouldn¡¯t get too bad before graduation?
At first, she was calm, seemingly understanding it as an inevitability of her situation. But as each hour inched closer to that Sunday night, tightness began to snake its way into her chest. She had to distract herself. She had to forget. So down to the basement she went.
But before she could make it past the living room to the basement door. Mr. Chukar, who seemed to be harmlessly invested in a thrilling book on the intricacies of grain farming, picked up his head and called out to Meg.
¡°Meg, we need to have a father-daughter chat.¡±