Morning all. I hope you have kicked off your week well. I am still settling into a new schedule but otherwise, I think it is going pretty well. Let’s jump into the morning prompt and see where the sentence takes us before we start in on our Tusedays.
Not sure where this is going, but I knd of like the set up.
Tuesday, May 5th: I was in none of the photographs.
I was in none of the photographs. I took a look around the room at all the framed pictures. Many of the family photos predated me by several generations. There were plenty more modern ones. I saw images of my parents and my siblings all coming up. Some were individual shots, others were group ones. I moved closer to one of the framed group shots. It was a family portrait at a barbeque.
Everyone but me was in the shot. I remembered that day. I was told someone one needed to stay at the house because a package was expected. I was left behind. I remember when the delivery came, the postman walked to the door, put it down and walked away without looking back. I took the package in and told myself that inside was something valuable that they didn’t want to risk anyone stealing from the front stoop.
I didn’t see the package opened and I specifically didn’t ask as I didn’t want to shatter the illusion.
It was already fragile. There were so many excuses for me to be left behind or simply left out of something. The car was already full. Someone needed to stay behind. It wasn’t something I would enjoy. Sometimes it was because I did something troublesome and didn’t deserve to go.
That one always bothered me the most, especially when I couldn’t figure out what it was I was supposed to have done.
‘Now that you have the time I suggest you sit down and think about it,’ was the common response at such times. By the time this barbeque was held and I was asked to take in the package, the illusion of my place in the family was becoming harder to hold on to. I stepped away from the photo and wondered why I came.
‘Because they asked you to,’ I reminded myself.
I spent so much of my childhood excluded, that when I was asked to appear, I automatically shifted my plans so I could. I knew it wouldn’t end well. I knew that. Yet still here I was. Looking at the photos though drove something home in a way that talking about it, thinking abot it never really could. Looking around at the proudly displayed images I wasn’t in a single one. There was no sign that I spent eighteen years of my life in this house.
“You are here,” I heard. My mother’s voice. I turned. She held out a card. “You are expected on the third of next month. Do not be late and try to dress appropriately.”
She looked over my outfit, slacks and a blouse, crinkled from a day spent sitting at my desk. I ignored the look with practiced ease. Nothing I ever wore matched the standards she set. Even if she chose the outfit, something about the way I wore it was somehow wrong.
“I’m invited somewhere?” I asked taking the envelope with the details more out of surprise than anything else.
“They found out about you and insist everyone be there.” She shrugged. “I told them it was a waste, but they insisted.”
Ten til Midnight 