Althea hated her name, not because it was her Grandmother's, but because everyone shortened it to just, "Al". It was like the rest of it didn't matter. She had always wanted a more flamboyant name that couldn't be shortened, like Marina...these were her thoughts as she tied her shoes for school, cross, loop, around, loop, cross, pull. She headed down stairs for breakfast, the stairs hardly expressing the passing of her eight years old gallop. She tromped into the kitchen without ceremony. Her mother faced the window, washing something in the sink, alone in her own reality. Her father didn't even lower the paper, rapt in the world of the latest news. She plopped down in her seat to face a plate of cold grits and a Pop-tart, cinnamon, with a bite out of it. She stared at her mother, hoping for some sort of acknowledgement, a smile maybe. She flicked the back of the newspaper trying to get her fathers attention but he just shook out the crinkle and kept reading. They were trying so hard to ignore each other that a vacuum existed outside each of them that sucked life and joy. Althea eyed her plate, scooped up the Pop-tart, grabbed her backpack and headed for the door. She paused for the requisite goodbyes and well wishes for school but they didn't come. She stepped into the cool, early, Fall day. Groups of kids were also making their way to school like schools of fish, clumps of boys here and girls there, always another running to catch up. Althea didn't rush to any group. She was an odd fish out, not a solitary giant like sharks or whales, just an unnoticed species of plane markings and simple manner. Althea skirted around these groups walking faster since she didn't have to socialize. She also hated to be tardy. Here school was a pleasant red brick building of common type, standard playground, flagpole, janitor hoisting the colors for Elizabeth Austen Elementary. Althea liked that name too. It reminded her of Jane Austen. Althea liked the idea of being literary. The halls were already full with the din of students trying to talk over each other and the teachers trying to talk over them. They were all slowly being herded like sheep into the class rooms, doors closing like stock panels being pulled shut. Althea found her way to homeroom, took her seat and proceeded to exist. Althea followed the rules, made passing grades and never caused a ruckus. School was just where she had to be till 3'oclock when she could go home. She sat by herself for lunch, watching the melee of playground games float by, the last of her Poptart, a crumbled dusting on her blouse. When the bell rang to go inside, Althea ran to the monkey bars and went hand over hand like a Colobus to the end, then ran back to her classroom. As she found her seat, she felt light headed, no, just light, not heavy. She maintained this feeling as she went home. She clomped up the porch to find her mother in a rocker snapping beans, her eyes in the distance of some far away remembrance. Althea stopped at the bowl and broke a few to help but received no praise or even recognition. Her father wasn't home yet from work, so she crept into his study to relax from such a nonexaustive day. There were family photos carefully turned this way or that on the shelves for better viewing of families and relatives Althea didn't know. They all seemed happy, young, not much older than her. She thought it must have been a happier time and fun. When her dad came home, he would want the study for himself till dinner. Althea went up to her room, Marjorie, also whose name was better, blocked he door like a ten pound sack of orange tabby fur. Althea hoisted the cat and flung her onto the bed. Marjorie landed afoot, circled and plopped down in the middle, a queen to be attended or left alone, depending on her mood. Althea flopped onto a used beanbag chair her father had gotten from a garage sale last year when he was still playing the part of dutiful father and husband. It leaked alittle, those little Styrofoam balls that clung to everything like a magnet spilling out onto the floor. Althea sank deeper into the chair, feeling ever lighter and weightlessness. She awoke to a dimming sky and the smell of burnt mac and cheese. As she got up and passed her closet mirror something was wrong. Her lower half was gone. Not a gory stump of torso dripping blood, just poof into thin air. She still felt her legs and could touch them but they were simply not to be seen. She ran downstairs trying to decide on a cacophony of shouts, screams and why me's? She was greeted by a lesser Norman Rockwell, parents at either end, a table of food between, and a small place setting for he amongst the salads and bread. They had started without her, had they called? She didn't think so. Could she sit down, could she eat? Where would the food go? It wasn't long before she was a floating head. She tried to eat but was having trouble following her fork without a hand. No reaction from her parents. Did she exist, she must. There was here room, pictures of her in the study. She dismissed herself unceremoniously from the dinner table and went to the study. She wanted so badly to appear in one of the happy photos on the wall, in the surf, in the forest, on a mountain but there was nothing, by the time she made it around to the mirror over the fireplace, all that was left were her eyes. Eyes not full of fear or surprise but of resignation.
I wasn't sure how to finish this story, then I remembered that all the energy created at the beginning of the universe exists and cannot go out of existence, merely change states or position. As I remembered this a crinkle on the floor made me turn around. There huddled in a ball, nighty pulled around her bare legs was Althea. We stared a moment at each other, till she asked if I saw her. I took her hand and led her to my daughters room, away at college, and pulled back the covers for Althea to climb in. I covered and tucked her, looked into her eyes and said I see you and I will see you in the morning. With this knowledge she smiled a self-satisfactory smile and went to sleep, invisible no more.
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