The Other Side of Lonely

The sun peeked through a small parting in trees at the top of the forest, casting a dancing light throughout the grove. The blinding light flashed over Scola’s eyes, rising her from her slumber. The green leaves were soaking up all of the sunlight that they could and reflected the rest, protecting the area from the extreme summer heat. Even though it had rained all night, Scola could still sense that outside of the forest, it was a hot and humid day. The ground was soft from the night before, but she was perfectly clean as always. Despite sleeping on the ground, she could not find a drop of mud on her anywhere. Stretching the sleep away, Scola rose to her feet and began her morning walk. She looked down at her feet. The forest floor had an interesting pattern, made up of fallen leaves and the shadows from the trees, but it was always the same. No matter the season, or the weather, the ground looked the same, the trees looked the same, the leaves looked the same. Nothing ever changed. Ever. Was it possible to die of boredom? Scola laid down and stared up at the sky. Were the clouds moving? Maybe. Maybe not. Who really cares though? There was no wind today, so it was silent except for a few birds calling to each other. Even the birds had other beings to talk to. The trees probably spoke to each other too, in a way that only they understood. Everyone had someone, except Scola. She was alone. Forever, it seemed. She had stopped searching for an answer a long time ago. It was hopeless. She knew that somehow, for some reason, she would be stuck here forever. Charlotte stared at the wall. Blue? Green? Maybe both? She was trying to decide what colour she wanted the north-facing wall to be painted. Not that she really cared. It was her mother who wanted to make everything feel new, so Charlotte went along with it. It was easier than arguing. “Come on, sweetheart, you need to decide today, otherwise we won’t be able to get the paint in time.” Her mother waltzed into the room, as prim and proper as ever, wearing a cream couture dress that she had ordered the last time she was in Madrid. “What do you mean? Any colour of paint is always available?” Charlotte replied, genuinely confused. She often didn’t understand her mother, but this was one of her more perplexing statements. “No, sweetheart, we are ordering a new paint from Paris. It’s the same paint that Monet used to create his Waterlillies,” Her mother replied, a smile beaming across her face. Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding right?” Her mother huffed and walked away. “Monet?” Charlotte whispered and laughed to herself. Her mother married rich, but intelligence certainly wasn’t her strong suit. She was happy to throw money at anything that sounded exciting. Charlotte would have been surprised if her mother could have picked out a Monet in any art gallery, so it was no shock that she did not understand the absurdity of painting walls with supposedly the same paint. Shaking her head and still giggling to herself, she followed her mother downstairs. On one hand, she found the displays of wealth in the house vulgar, but on the other, it was only human nature to enjoy luxury every now and then. The banister of the main staircase was made of perfectly smooth marble. She loved studying the pattern as she walked down. Although it stayed the same, somehow everyday she saw something new about it. She discovered a new spot, a new colour hidden beneath the surface, or the smallest imperfection in the finish. As always, she jumped over the last step and turned right into what was formally known as the “guest kitchen”. “I’ve chosen this blue,” Charlotte said to her mother’s back, as she held up the colour card. “Excellent, darling, just put it down on the counter and I’ll add it to the order,” replied her mother, not turning around to face her. Charlotte noticed that her mother was holding a piece of paper in her hands. It was folded into three like it had been enclosed in an envelope. Charlotte could see a blank envelope on the table, torn apart at the top, her mother’s diamond-encrusted letter opening laying beside it. There were no details on the front except for a single word: Arrabella. Her mother’s name. Charlotte couldn’t get close enough to her mother to read the words on the page in front of her. The one time she needed her glasses on inside the house and they were upstairs. She cursed herself for how much she hated to wear them. “Mother?” Charlotte inquired. She could hear herself that the tone of her voice was a few octaves higher than usual. “Yes, dear?” Arrabella turned to her, smiling her usual, fake, wide smile. She had put the litter behind her back. Her eyes looked like they were somewhere far away. “Shall I call Peter to make us some afternoon tea? We can eat in the garden.” The tension between them was palpable as they sat in silence. Charlotte stared at the elaborate legs of the white table. She stared so hard that she thought she saw the decorative swirls beginning to move and spin. It was very hot in the sun, she was probably starting to get heatstroke. Charlotte felt irritated every time she heard the ‘clink’ that came with her mother putting down her tea cup. Clink. Clink. Clink. Flinch. Flinch. Flinch. Clink. Flinch. Clink. Flinch. As a distraction attempt, Charlotte shifted her gaze to the forest in the distance. There was no wind, so the trees were still. They looked strong and grounded, the opposite of how she felt in that moment. A flock of birds suddenly flew from the treetops. They seemed so free. They could choose wherever they wanted to go, she thought. They also had each other. Charlotte had nobody. On the outside, it seemed like she had her mother, but that wasn’t really the case. It was a complicated relationship. In that moment she longed to be a bluebird, like the ones coming from the forest. Free and never lonely. Making their homes in big, sturdy trees. Charlotte turned her gaze back to her mother. She was also staring off into the distant forest. Charlotte wondered if they were thinking the same thing. “I need to do some study.” Charlotte said, scraping her chair back across the concrete. “Mmm,” Arrabella muttered back, barely seeming to notice that her daughter had spoken. Charlotte hurried back inside and looked at the table where the letter had been sitting. It was no longer there, instead, the table was as clean and clear as it always was. Everything in this house felt so pristine and clinical. It was something Charlotte didn’t like about the mansion that her mother had forced them to move into a few months ago. Something was nagging at Charlotte about that envelope, the letter, and the look on her mother’s face. Arrabella rarely showed emotions, so it must have been something important. Charlotte felt as though she recognised the writing on the envelope, but she couldn’t quite place where she had seen that particular cursive before. She threw herself down on the lounge chair at the foot of her bed and pulled her MacBook onto her lap. She decided to drown her confusion and annoyance with her mother and actually do some study. The sun shone into her eyes and woke her from her slumber. She must have fallen asleep while listening to her biology lecture. Proof of how boring her lecturer was. Maybe she could file an official complaint to make him speed up the lectures a bit. The evening sun was pouring in through the window in front of her. Charlotte got up and moved to the window, getting as close as she could without touching the glass. She knew that her mother would have a fit if she found fingerprints on the windows. She giggled to herself and pressed a single fingerprint into the very bottom left corner. It would probably be gone within 48 hours, but knowing that she had “vandalised” her step-father’s house was always satisfying. Charlotte wondered if this house, or mansion was probably a better word for it, would ever feel like home. In a way, she hoped that she wouldn’t stick around too long to find out. She had only moved in a few months ago, at the beginning of the university term. She couldn’t live in student housing anymore, so this was her best choice to be close to campus until she figured something else out. The sun had almost set behind the horizon of the forest. Charlotte gave one last sigh at the setting day and pulled down the window blind. She turned around to the opposite wall. In order to make the room feel more homely, her mother had suggested putting some photos on the wall. She had begrudgingly added some photos from the last summer, even though they didn’t mean much to her anymore. Everyone leaves eventually, especially the people she thought she was closest to. Charlotte could feel tears at the corner of her eyes, stinging her ducts before they rolled down her cheeks. She felt the anger and hurt rise up inside her, uncontainable. She started to rip the photos down from the wall. She threw them across the room, her smiling face staring up at her from the ground. She was sickened at that happy girl. She was so naive, she thought that her life was great. She was wrong. Life can turn in a matter of a few seconds, and then no one is there to help you. There was a knock at the door. Charlotte really didn’t want to join her mother and step-father for dinner, so she pretended to be asleep. She felt the door open and then slowly shut. The room was completely dark by that stage, the sun had completely set. She felt exhausted, even after her nap, and she felt her eyelids become heavy before sleep eventually overtook her.