“Polly. I’ve left for you these things to think about. I hope this can finally put to bed the issues between us.” Sophie scrolled through the cordially written list pinned up on the kitchen noticeboard. Polly wasn’t around, but Sophie thought it her responsibility, no, obligation, to be fully aware of everything that was going on in their fair household. Also, that it was a tad bitchy to leave a note addressed to Polly airing out their dirty laundry in public. She umm’d and err’d for a few seconds more before unpinning it from the wall, taking a pen to the back of it, scribbling down a humble message for Nola and then taking it upstairs and slipping it under her door.
It’d been too long since the argument began between Polly and Nola that seemed wanting to engulf the rest of the house. Sophie and Emmie were not about to be pulled into a situation that didn’t belong to them. They tried to talk to them separately, to get them to just sort out their issues rather than simply shouting about them, but there was to be no success and soon after, no motivation to help further.
Sitting in her room, drawing a scene from one of the many books she’d read, Sophie thought about all the arguments she’d had with people. The proper ones. The big ones that mean days of avoidance and grim faces all around. The fact is, she couldn’t think of any. She was even great at avoiding lover tiffs. Danny was great, they had good communication. Of course, she realised it was a rare trait of fantasticness she had, but she was having trouble comprehending how this particular incident had lasted as long as it had. She wasn’t a slick talker, but she didn’t say anything that was stupid either. What did she do if she could tell someone was becoming annoyed with her actions? Well, she usually took a step or two back, apologised for any agitation and then would walk away. Surely that was the way to solve these things? Just accept them for what they are, apologise and have done?
Unfortunately, the thoughts had drained her attention. The picture turned out rubbish and she scrunched it up and threw it away. This wasn’t the first time, by far, but she very rarely threw away a picture. They were always worth keeping, just for the effort that went into them at any rate.
Whilst Nola wasn’t being very welcoming of a solution that wasn’t her own, Polly wasn’t exactly on great form either. A few days ago, she stormed into the house early after a ‘night’ out. No reason given. Just a furious tone and a slamming of the door. She kept her appearances to the rest of the house to the barest minimum. It wasn’t completely uncharacteristic of her at this point, but it did seem like she was finally bucking this reclusive trend. Obviously something had got to her, but without knowing it, no help could be offered.
Sophie looked around her room. A bookcase filled with more books than could actually hold it, with the extras leaning against it or balanced precariously on top. The roof that was her large bed kept her art supplies out of the way. No posters, just print-outs of pictures she liked the look of, photographs some people had sent her that she enjoyed having around, as well as a few of her drawings. They would all come down soon when she moved out. This little space she had carved out for herself wasn’t really hers, not to begin with. The realisation was not wanted. Her and Danny would last past uni, this much they had already established, but the gap between where they lived was not at all welcome. It didn’t bare thinking about.
There was nothing else to do. No new books to read, no-one in the house to talk to, not even anything on TV. Checking e-mails was only productive the first time. Sophie was at her wit’s end. Fortunately, the front door opened and closed with a swiftness telling only of Emmie. This was good, at least. Someone to talk to. Nope. Emmie had little to say. She was mentally preparing herself to dump her boyfriend before going out and doing just that. Sophie sighed and returned to her room. She felt a bit useless. These quiet days, where nothing is going on, but you don’t really feel compelled to do anything to alleviate this. She laid down on her bed, looking around and soaking in the inevitable. She had to think about moving out sooner or later, might as well do it now.
She formulated a plan in her head then followed it through, with a military-like precision. Scrapes of blue-tac were collected for re-use, papers neatly arranged in piles of pictures and photographs. The room’s personality had shrunk dramatically. This was never her room, but now it was closer to how it was when she moved in, with the odd bits of colour from the bedding, desk materials and books providing any remaining character. Shoes, coats, well they were all kept out of way. It was a tidy room. It was when she moved in, it was when she lived in it, it will be when she leaves. A tidy room for a tidy soul. With that, a sadness swept over her, one that had been brewing since she awoke that day. She sat down on her bed, looked down at her feet, then moved to lie down curled up and started to weep. Sophie had explained and demonstrated her personality in her room and over the last few years had really understood who she had become, yet in the coming weeks it was going to be taken away from her as she returned to something old and stale.
True, Sophie hadn’t had any significant arguments, but she was having a constant fight with time and she felt like she was always losing.
[To the next entry: Fisticuffs At Night]