Revelation

Author's Note: Here is my personal narrative.We had to choose a memory from our lives and put it into a "seed" story-- meaning it is focusing on a simple subject, only focusing on that subject. It's not supposed to be the happiest story! But either way, I hope you like it!

The gravel crunched beneath my tiny shoes, my favorite shoes. My mom told me to dress as comfortably as possible, and the shoes were a package deal with every outfit. Looking back, I don't know what had drawn me to them. Pink-outlined shoes that were white with an elastic band wrapping behind the heels- they were nothing special. And that was what I thought about as I walked up the three stairs to the building that was supposedly nothing special. I should've known by the way my dad looked at my mother, as we walked out our garage door to the car that morning. He stayed behind, refusing to come along to the building with the blue-peeling paint.

We walked inside.

I was five at the time, about to turn six. That's what I told the lady at the desk, when she asked me how old I was. But I looked up at my mom first before I answered of course, this lady was a stranger, and my mother knew how to keep me safe- she protected me.

My mom nudged me when the strange lady with the big curly hair asked for my name.

"Tori," I said. And I motioned for my mom to bend down, so I could tell her something. "It smells weird in here."

My mom stood back up and ignored my comment, and I was left to plug my nose. Instead, she handed the lady one of her landscape checks. I stood there and wondered what was going on.

"Tori," The big-haired lady bent down to me. "Please follow me,"

So I did.

I didn't know at the time, that I would learn to cringe at the sound of those words- almost as much as I did when I walked into the overly-scented building. In the room, I saw a loveseat couch, and an office-chair, black and sophisticated. The couch I was asked to sit down on was a soft greenish color. It smelled too. Like stale perfume and old people. Everything in here was different, I'd thought. The smells, the strange lady, the building, the weird event that was taking place. I knew that I was scared, even though I didn't know of what yet.

"Tori," She said again. I decidedly refused to look at her, as I studied the scattered setting and stacks of notebooks and piles of paper in the corners. "Have you noticed your parents fighting lately?" She said it slowly, and I remember feeling her eyes boring into me.

I shook my head, but now my gaze was now aimed to my shoes. They were the only familiar things in the place.

What is happening?

She sifted through her notebook pages, and I glanced up to see what she was doing. She took out a pencil and wrote something down. Suddenly, I had felt more uncomfortable than ever. The pencil moved swiftly and with purpose.

I still stared.

"Are you sure? Your mom says that you might have heard them yelling at each other. Have you?"

This was the first time that someone had mentioned my parents' fighting. Of course I hadn't noticed, my parents were deliberately trying to hide it from me and my three-year old sister. I didn't know that. The lady's words hurt my ears and I wanted to leave then, and I'd only been in the building for five minutes.

So I asked, "Can my mom please come in now? Why am I here?"    

She stood up then, and said, "My name is Melissa. Hold on, one moment."

When she walked out the door, I tried desperately to readjust myself on that lumpy green couch. It was so uncomfortable, and the strong fumes started to make my head ache. Was this some sort of test? Why wasn't daddy here? Questions were stirring among my headache, and in less than a minute, Melissa and my mom both walked in.

They sat down.

"Honey," Mom said then, noticing my expression of anxiety. "This is a counseling appointment."

I slouched backwards, and felt an unexpected tear slip down my cheek. Why I was crying, well, perhaps I did notice something strange at home. I didn't hear yelling, instead, it was just the opposite. Positive influence was overly crowding our home for the past few weeks. My mother acting different,  happier. She was now asking me how kindergarten was, offering to drive me to school, asking if I wanted a friend over… all things she never did before. She tucked me in at night, singing me to sleep which I had been asking her to do for awhile. And while she was bombarding me with love of a kind I've never experienced before, my dad was retreating. He was the parent that cared for me, and now he'd been staying away. Glancing at my mom differently, looking at me with sad eyes- with me of course not knowing why. Even though I loved the attention my mother was giving me, everything back then felt backwards. And in that office, right then… I put the pieces together.

The tears stopped.

"Tori, what do you have to say about this?" The counselor and my mom seemed to speak at once. And as they said that, I buried my head into the green fabric of the couch.

"I want daddy."

It was only the initial appointment, in which I was introduced to Melissa. It also introduced me to the realization of my parent's fighting status. Little did I know, the wall of yelling would collapse, and I would from then on hear the arguing, the disagreeing; instead of my parents shielding it from me. All I knew right then, was that everything scared me, and the ladies who both sat with me in that room saw it in my face, so my mom decided to take me home to daddy then. She lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around her waist as I looked down. I saw my white shoes with pink trim, and started to cry again. They were terrible shoes, I realized. Dirt covered them. They were cheap. Tears fell onto them. They were old. I tried to kick them off, and only one tore away from me. My mom forced it back onto my foot, and I started to cry more. We walked down the three steps, and I stepped onto the gravel.

My mom sighed and walked to the car as I slammed the door shut. I dried my face with my shirt. And when I pressed the material to my face, it smelled of the building, like Melissa. I didn't look at my mom when she started the car and backed out.

My mom wasn't trying to protect me, I knew. It was the truth.

I want daddy.

I still do.