in front of me is a couch. it’s tan. it has tan pillows. it has a brown blanket. the table in front of me is wood. oak, or something. the blanket beneath my feet is earth tones to match the green walls that were there before my grandmother arrived.

she didn’t always live in wisconsin. in fact for a lot of my young life she lived down the street. i would go over with my brother and two sisters (pre-adoption days), every saturday, so my parents could learn to love each other again. there i ate macaroni and cheese and watched speed racer until two in the morning.  there i was allowed one can of sprite.  sometimes i’d get two.  sometimes i’d watch my grandma’s movies instead of cartoon network. 

sometimes, i would go over after school to babysit my cousins for 10 whole dollars.

My cousins moved there after the trailer they were living in burned down, because of some chemical reaction to the pepper spray used by the police when arresting my uncle for beating his wife. This was some time ago. since then, i doubt my cousin would ever think to call the cops on his dad again. not since he’s been molested by his mom, and learned that sometimes the best option is to remain silent.

this did happen in illinois, not wisconsin. but it seems the majority of my family has fled here. things are more accepted. things like driving slow in the left lane, and coming to complete pauses at yield signs.

i have stories i could tell you. but when you ask, i’m not always going to offer up my information. the only stories i have are the bad ones.

i miss my cousins. there are four i used to babysit. i hated babysitting them, because they were well, messed up. but there were times that they were just kids. they were sweet. they were normal.  some had more adhd then others, but they weren’t lost souls yet… i haven’t seen them in seven years.

so now i sit in wisconsin. in my grandma’s house. smells like marlboro menthol ultra lights, just like it did before. looks like tan and brown, just as it always has. the walls are covered with skeletons that we all pretend to see as innocent photographs- as they’ve always been. my senior picture is nowhere to be found amongst the grown cousins. i’m a little excited for that. it almost makes me not exist here.

but i do.

you can’t escape the family you were born from. no matter how hard you try. they’re behind you. and somehow when they’re not there you miss them. and then i do wish my senior picture was on the wall, so that when my cousin’s come over, and i’m far away again, they will remember that i exist. and that when i think about them, i cry. because i know my love for them won’t save their life. they are a victim of the family just like i am.

i feel bad for only telling you a small fraction of the stories i could.  but then again, you’d probably not believe me anyway.

my family is more fucked up than yours.