Growing Pains
She sat on the floor of her bedroom, her pink Hello Kitty bedroom that had meant to be an ironic statement but now just looked vaguely silly. She sat there and stared at the guitar by her knees. ‘Play me,’ it seemed to say. ‘Play me.’ It implored her to pick it up and start strumming – she felt it, but still she sat there, motionless.
It had been three years. Three years since she went crashing into the void. And now what? Endless hours spent sitting on a pink carpet, staring into space. Where was the creativity in that? Not that she had felt very creative lately. Not that she had felt very much of anything lately. It was all a bit of a blur. Everything went foggy in her mind and she found it hard to recall quite what happened. Then the numbness came; that flat empty feeling that she didn’t want to let go of. It was so much easier to bear than the pain, the violent, aching misery. Who would choose that?
She stood up slowly, surveying the room. She felt like she was an outsider, watching herself. She saw her hand reach out. She saw herself grab the guitar by the neck, then swing it back forcefully. She spun right round in a circle, smashing the guitar into the pink wall. The she fell to the floor, sobbing. The guitar lay beside her, splintered and broken. Flakes of paint dropped from the dented wall onto the carpet and the bed. What a mess she had made.
She glanced up at her reflection in the mirror, at her long black hair and black clothes. Black smudges around her eyes. She smiled wryly at herself. Black on the outside, black on the inside.
Slowly gathering herself, she went to the bathroom and washed her face. Then she started to tidy up her room. Tomorrow, she thought, I’ll go shopping. I’ll buy new clothes, all in different colours. And I’ll paint the walls blue.
Hello Kitty stared up at her from the bedcovers, as if to say, ‘Do you even know who you are?’
Then in the summer, she told herself, in the summer…I shall learn to play the piano.
Rol
Really like how open to interpretation this story is, Suzi… having read it a couple of times, I can see a couple of very different stories here, and more if I think about it longer.
And if that was a Smiths quote, extra points.
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Suzi Rose
Thank you! And right you are, sir. Always good to meet a fellow Smiths fan. :D
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Andrew Cheverton
It’s always a sad moment, when a goth feels forced to move on…
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georgelondon
liked that the Smiths reference wasn’t a direct quote and liked the feeling of outgrowing something; of not really understanding who you used to be.
Felt initially uncomfortable with the last line, as it confused how old she was in my head – that felt more of a young teenager’s line, swiftly moving on to the next ‘phase she’s going through’ (and in my head she’s older than that). But then, on second read, I kinda liked that childishness that was still there.
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Nicolas Papaconstantinou
I read the slightly fickle note that you picked up on, but got the feeling that, while a slightly childlike trait, the narrator was aware of and perhaps frustrated about the fact that she had been so stuck in place, and as such that could make her anything from young adult to not-yet-grown-up 30-something, I reckon!
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Nicolas Papaconstantinou
I love the writing here, Suzi, though unfortunately the thing that George pointed out – that quixotic trait – has associations for me that stopped me being able to totally sympathise with the narrator.
Still, a cool piece about growing up and moving on, that kind of fits whatever age she is…
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