The Door Girl, Part 14

Rage made its way in to my heart. People will ask me what losing my mom felt like and it’s a hard question to answer. When life is one way, it never occurs to you that it is supposed to be any other way. How could it be? And you, me, we…could never be anything different but what we were. Choice was never an option.

        I sat in the trailer many days playing Super Mario Brothers.

        I am twelve years old and I’ve finally made it to the last level. I play video games for hours upon hours alone. I cannot beat that damn dragon. I try and I try. I continue to fail. A hard-bristled hair brush is sitting next to me on the bed. The little man in the red hat who is me dies again and I scrape the brush against my cheek, gently at first. But each time I die, I progressively scrape it harder. I pour myself in to the game; I will beat it if I have to bleed to death. My face begins to burn, but I continue to tear away the skin because I am a worthless piece of shit who can’t even beat an imaginary foe. I keep fighting to win, my face raw and bleeding.

I lose. Again. And I have nothing to show for it except a bloodied face and a racing heart. My grandmother walks in and asks what the hell I did to my face. I tell her I was mad that I kept losing the game.

“Don’t you ever goddamn do that again,” she stares me hard in the eyes.