Another Way to Disappoint Him ~ BEYZA KALENDER

Another Way to Disappoint Him

BEYZA KALENDER

As she once again sat down to try and complete a sketch, she found herself wishing that maybe one day she wouldn’t be able to hear the continuous squabbles between her siblings. They had been arguing for the past 30 minutes about whose turn it was to watch TV, an argument her mom could’ve easily settled if she would just answer her phone. Their shouts rushed out from underneath the closed door of the bedroom and the “Give me the remote!”s and “Stop yelling at me!”s quickly made their way to the room she was in. It might have been her fault for choosing the living room to sketch, but she preferred the soft, sinking leather couch to her stiff wooden chair. The living room was happier, and the sunlight coming through the window behind her warmed her back and felt comforting, like a hug that was long overdue. She leaned over the glass coffee table, opened her sketchbook, picked up her graphite pencil, and began to draw what would hopefully be a happy character. And this would’ve been fine, except she often found it difficult to draw emotions she wasn’t feeling. In an attempt to drown out her siblings, she put on her airpods and opened a playlist, so that at the very least she could sketch without hearing, “Give it back right now or I’ll scream for Anneanne!.” Her ears soon filled with the sound of the calming slow strum of a guitar as the singer once again sang away his sorrows as he did in her ear every day. She began the basic shapes of her character as her foot tapped along to the tempo. The song always began more upbeat, and he always seemed happy at first. But soon the sadness that had been hiding under layers of filler words emerged, and the exhaustion he felt enveloped her. You left, yet the tune remained from the misty voice of this love. A tired gray surrounded her and filled her lungs as she slowly floated inside it. Missing is more painful than living could ever be. The harder she tried to reach the surface to take a breath, the farther she was pulled away. The memories are unbearable. In a small moment of clarity amongst the fog in her mind, she glanced back at her character and noted how much work she had left to do. The shading was off, the lines uneven, and she had only completed its eyes. They looked incredibly tired, with despair looming over them, like tiny reflections of the emotions bubbling inside her. She often wondered how different her life could be if only she could figure out how to be content. Maybe she asked for too much, and God took things away as punishment. Was it all her fault, for the ungratefulness she had seemed to show? Had it been her fault that he had stayed behind, and not left with them? Was she the reason all of them had lost him? She was drowning again, in that sea of grey emptiness. All she had wanted was a break, perhaps a breath of relief and all she had to show for this attempt was an incomplete sketch of a sad doll with ugly eyes. She just wanted to take her mind off of everything wrong or unfortunate in her life. A break from the guilt. But the harder she tried to forget, the more she remembered, and the angrier her strokes became as she continued the sketch. Was she so incapable of feeling contentment that she couldn’t even create a happy character? Having failed again, she spewed any emotion she could find, any rage she had for her mother, any loathing she felt about herself, any sadness she still felt about her dear dad, out onto that page to end this nightmare of a sketch that had brought up so much pain. It no

longer mattered if the doll looked happy because she didn’t feel that way. The fog had buried her inside itself. Then, the music stopped. The musician packed up his sorrowful words and left once again, while the memories he had dug up lingered as reminiscences of a cruel, unfair exchange. All that was left for her was her vain attempt at being happy, and the shouts of her siblings coming from the room next door.