I'm a Burden

    I’m a burden.       

Who wants to be a burden? It’s worse than being not wanted. A burden is responsibility a person is stuck with, can’t get rid of.  Imagine a mule loaded with heavy sacks of grain piled high on his back. If only some of the weight would be removed. How can a person, who is a burden, feel loved? How can a teen carry a not-wanted identity and not be scarred for life?

In my novel, Baggage burdens., Jill overhears her parents argue. She learns she is an unwelcome burden. From her very critical, often inebriated father Jill expects an unloving attitude. That she has lived with. But from her mother, the one she thought loved her, well that was unbelievable. To her mother she was a liability, a responsibility that was more than she could handle? Jill thought her impression had to be a mistake, but it wasn’t. Jill heard her mother words. Jill searched for another explanation. The alternative she conjured up implied that Jill was more than a burden. She was a painful burden. Jill guessed that the bruises and cuts that her mother tried to hide were really meant for her.  Punishment for Jill’s lack of discipline fell upon her mother.  ‘No wonder I’m not loved.’ Jill reasoned she wasn’t a loving person. She didn’t deserve her parent’s love.

The mold is cast. Jill’s identity is sealed. She isn’t a loving person. She doesn’t deserve to be loved. Jill’s parent’s overheard fight scars Jill for three decades. Her future friends and family will have to deal with that defined identity.

“What’s this junk doing here?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll put it away.” 

Alice guesses her husband is referring to Jill’s homework assignment on the coffee table.

“What’s the matter with that girl? Can’t she ever put her own stuff away?”

Frank bends over the table like a huge bear in a stream looking for fish. He raises his arm high. Then he bats the cardboard structure. Jill’s creation flies across the room and crashes into the far wall leaving a trail of debris.

* * *

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Trying to salvage Jill’s home work. What do you think?” Anger slips out of Alice before she realizes it.

“I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re doing a poor job of raising that kid.” Frank shoves himself away from the wall, grabs Alice by her arms and shakes her. “How many times have I told you? Tell her to clean up when she’s finished.  How many times?”

Fear replaces Alice’s anger. Half crying, she answers, “I don’t know.”

“Too many times. That’s how many. Too many times.”

Gripped by fear Alice looks for a defense. “She doesn’t listen,” whines Alice, feeling overwhelmed. Pain pierces her arms. “I can’t control her.”

“Doesn’t listen,” shouts Frank.

“Yes,” she pleads in desperation, hoping he’ll release his grip, hoping she’ll escape. With fear rising she adds, “she has a mind of her own. She's an independent spirit. I can’t do anything with her anymore.”

“Mind of her own!”

“Yes there’s no controlling her.” 

“She’s a spoiled brat. Starting right now here’s what will happen. Tell her clean up this mess,” he says, looking down at the caved in box. He shoves Alice toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms and swings his foot at the box. He misses and almost loses his balance.

haiku capsule:                 

undisciplined teen     

whose job? mother’s? father’s?

a kid, a burden.

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