If mother thought we were blind to what she was doing she was an idiot. Perhaps she was simply an idiot. It was getting increasingly hard to tell. Our entire family had been aware when she had not come home that one night, and then she stayed away for an entire night once more. Then, she stayed away even more. It was ridiculous. And here she thought she was going to have a lovely little family meeting, that she would explain everything with rational thought and reason. We turned the tables on her- and by turned the tables I mean she got kicked out back to her ancestral home.
Folsom had no interest in romance, children, or any of that. Honestly, after the stunt mother had pulled before Shawshank’s birthday with our dad, well, Shawshank didn’t really have an intention of leading mother’s legacy. I truly had been the only one left and so I took on the responsibility. I wasn’t focused on romance, I was still a teenager, but at least I had my friends.
Naturally, as I am sure is obvious, I am Attica Caldo. I’ve read mother’s journals, she spoke of my ‘issues’, which is by far the most inconsiderate way to put it. I enjoy books, chess, people. My hobbies include talking to my local librarian, Kole, and my friend Hanna. My sister, Folsom, is my best friend. I am, technically, insane. I do not think that defines my entire being, though.
Shawshank was probably never going to forgive mother, dad had left just before her birthday and she had been so close to him. She was torn up, she had been visiting his grave since his death, even when he had come back, she had never been the same since the fire. It was sad, and I had been concerned for a long time but I wasn’t sure what I could do for her. I felt this grief would be something she would carry around for her entire life.
As the new matriarch I took over most of the responsibilities, I cooked, I cleaned, but I didn’t really mind. Keeping busy, moving through life, it helped me, a continuous movement, it kept my thoughts at bay. The voices at bay. The inconsistencies in my life. If I kept moving then things were okay.
It was what prompted me to get a job as a barista before school, though we had sold quite a few things of mother’s to make it by, but I wanted to be productive. I enjoyed being productive, being part of life. Her journals had spoken about me like I was sick, terminally ill, or a danger to others. My ‘issues’ were simply conditions, and it wasn’t as if they were major. Plenty of people had worse lives than me, plenty of people were dealing with worse hardships.
I was the one who made our cute little cake for our birthday, I even threw us a party. Folsom didn’t have many friends, she fished, but I had friends. I had Kole, from the library, and Hanna, and friends from my clubs, like Dean. I enjoyed my friends, and I wanted to throw a party. I wanted something good for this transition, with mother and her mistakes, well, I just wanted something good. And it was good.
Adulthood came with choices, careers, relationships, and responsibilities. I could do it, I was capable. I entered the social media career- a career that was, even in its name, social. For some reason I was entered in at level three, but I wasn’t complaining, obviously they saw some potential in me. I worked from various locations, the library most frequently so I could talk to Kole.
One of my new projects as an adult was to take pictures, I wanted to take photos, to capture memories. I thought it would be nice to decorate my room with photos of my friends and family.