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I wander around and in-between pop-up shelves filled to the brim with the latest released books
I watch my peers gush about these material things, running up to friends, flipping through pages, eyes wide with excitement
I watch as the other children interact with each other through bustled conversation and hushed whispers swirled with squeaks of joy
I watch them as they rush to their parents, tugging on pants legs and cuffed sleeves of adults, begging and pleading for their parents to buy them what they wanted
Of course, the parents and guardians were diligent; whipped out wallets quicker than you could blink
They got to pick things out
They received a declaration of love in the form of a ‘Guinness World’s Records’ book
They were handed a slice of love and joy
Grinning smile with crooked teeth and twisted tongues; I always saw this as a large act of manipulation
How good must you be at lying in order to convince them to buy you these treats?
I never got anything
They got Goosebumps books while I had goosebumped skin thinking about how much trouble I would get in if I asked for these things
Material always mattered more than what I wanted
“You don’t need this, you want this. And we can’t afford for you to want anything right now.”
They sniffed pencils while I sniffed tears away
They flipped pages of the new books while I flipped over in my bed, trying to find the reason why my parents wouldn’t choose me
They scanned through posters while I scanned my family’s faces for any hint that they would snap
They shifted through the decorative rulers and notebooks while I shifted through the shadows of closets trying to hide myself from the rage that consumed my everything
They loved this fair, and in a way, so did I
But it was always a cruel reminder of something deeper that I will never truly receive
As if something in this fair would give me the satisfaction of being loved
As if the idea of buying something, or having something bought for you, was a declaration of affection and attachment, and it showed proof of, ‘Here, I still love you.’
Maybe this is where the idea of retail therapy started
I wander around this selection and yet I know that I cannot choose anything, because to choose is to have hope
And I refuse to hope for something that will never come
I let my fingers trail down the spines of the books that I will never receive
I let my fingers fall down the shoulders of the parents that will never truly love me the way that I need them to
I will never receive this
I glace around me, anxious eyes peeled open, and see other children get the things that I never will
Maybe it’s greed
Maybe it’s a misplaced obligation - just because they gave birth to me, doesn’t mean they actually have to like me, right?
That’s what my mother has always said
“I love you, but I don’t have to like you.”
And maybe that is something that I crave as well
Not just to be loved conditionally, but to be liked unconditionally
Because you can’t choose who you love, but you can choose who you like
And that choice is something that I want other people to have
I want them to have that because in this moment, it shows their true intentions
You don’t have to love me, but you can choose to like me
I want to be chosen
I’ve never been chosen
Not as an adult, not as a child
And child me suffers with that every day and cries herself to sleep because she wants to know why people don’t like her enough to make her a priority
There are so many things that I need from you, and I can’t voice them, because then that would make me, it would make her, the bad guy
I want you to look at me like I hung the stars in the sky, like I am the best thing to ever exist, even though I know I’m a rotten child with a half-bald head, crooked teeth, and a too-loud voice, and I never do anything right
I just, please, need you to like me
Because I didn’t choose this
I didn’t choose to be here, and yet, here I am, stuck with a family that, instead of choosing to love or like me, has chosen to use and abuse me
It’s a reminder of the love that I will never receive
I think greed is driving this car that’s in my brain, while guilt is in the passenger seat, with me, shame and spiral cozying it up in the backseat
But sometimes, when the car is silent, and no one speaks, I have the opportunity to think
Maybe it’s just because I want love
It’s something that I’ve never had the chance to really experience
And a big part of me wonders if I will never be able to experience it
And then the car screeches to a halt and I’m thrown out on the side of the highway while they continue to make things worse for themselves down the road
But I can’t make it stop, and I can’t change things
I can only wallow in these feelings of trying to understand, at 3, 5, 7 years old why things still haven’t changed, and why did I have to be born like this
I’ve never experienced love; at least, not real love like I’ve always wanted
So I wish to buy it through the books in a fair that I reluctantly participate in
Maybe that’s why I have such a big collection of books now, as an adult
Because books are stories within stories about love, adventure, and excitement, and it gives me an escape from what horrors I witnessed as a child
Because that is better than sticking your nose between those pages and pretending everything is okay?
Young me had hope
I naive, honest hope that existed in every action that I took, and every breath that left my chest
I had more faith in myself and more faith in the people and world around me
The classroom would buzz with excitement as we receive the catalog of everything that would be in the library, the day of the Scholastic Book Fair
The whole library shapeshifted from dusty old books, forgotten and abandoned, to a giant spectacle of pretty, new things that everyone wanted
No one knew that even though it was new now, there were still things in there that would never be picked up and would go right with the other books drowning in termite dust
Every kid in the school would take the time to circle like vultures around the things that we wanted, happy and gushing about the things that we loved, because, ‘Hey, look at this!’ ‘I didn’t know this was supposed to be released yet!’ and ‘I wonder how much this is? Do you think this will cover it?’
I think it was there that I started to understand how different I was from other kids
I didn’t matter what I wanted
My parents never tried
I would give them the catalog, motor mouthing off about how much I was looking forward to this one particular moment, this one day, this one event that meant everything to me, because this was the one thing that I wanted, and, oh, this, and oh, what about this?
I budgeted, I planned, I uncircled and recircled what I wanted, trying to bargain for anything that I could get, because something is better than nothing, right?
It’s the same way with love and attention
I grew up in a poor family and my excitement and pride were written off with a passing and parting comment of, ‘Maybe’
And always, I couldn’t hold back my disappointment or sadness
Mom would get angry if we cried over things that we couldn’t get
My step-dad would get even angrier
Tear-filled eyes and tear-tracked cheeks that no one took notice of
At home, or in the swirling emotions of joy in the library, in the middle of their searching, rooting, and scavenging for the thing that they wanted; for the thing that would make them happy
No one noticed that I wasn’t receiving the things that I needed
New books, sniffable pencils, the attention from peers, the love of a parents
I was invisible
And in some way I still am
And that has never changed