the daily post, first fill.

note: yay first daily post fill!


another note: the “neighbor” mentioned here is one that i have never met, but know through stories told by chauffeurs and household helps and my mom. i’m pretty sure that half of this isn’t true, but from what i heard, she was a wreck. i’m not exploiting her or capitalizing her experience in any way, but i find it intriguing to build some semblance of a backstory from what little i know.

enjoy.

———-

she always plays that guitar, the curly-haired girl with the shrill voice. her chauffeur says she’s eighteen, and that she goes to school in some university somewhere far-off. not too far-off, of course. it took something of a half-hour drive, at best, as far as i know. but it shouldn’t matter, should it? not for one as young as she, one who has a future set in stone, unlike mine, maybe.

it’s a surprise i’m sober enough to fully recognize the chords that she was playing — the e chord, blending in, fading to the c chord, and so on and so forth. i don’t recognize that song she is playing, as i don’t know a lot of western music these days, my days blurring.

i never met her. i never knew her. i only know her to be my neighbor’s daughter. i only know her to play that guitar every day. and when i do hear her in an argument with her parents, i wished that she would understand the plight of a mother, what hardships she had to face. she was lucky, that girl, that she had her siblings and her parents and her family complete. and i am here, days blurring to nights blurring to days again, and never making enough money for him, my son, on the verge of getting evicted from this house, the confines of this place like a comfort with every passing moment.

and her voice, at this moment, comforts me. words i try to make out — i thought we could wait for the fireworks — typical words for a typical teenager. my daughter went through that phase once. now? i don’t know. where is my daughter?

maybe i am lost, after all. and i’m hoping that the girl with the guitar and the hair and the voice still held half the idealism i once did when i was a child.

and i’m hoping my children do, too.

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About hookedonoxygen

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