Becoming Eleanora

Chapter 2: The weight of dissonance

One evening, as the sun sets its weird, annoying, eye-penetrating yet pretty glow through my window, I reach for a worn-out copy of a novel, Regretting You. The words have become my companions, offering familiarity in a world that often feels like I'm an alien. I let my fingers glide over the pages, losing myself in the story once more.

As I start to read it all over again like it was a new book, I'm drawn into the main character's struggle—a tale of love, loss, and redemption. I find myself identifying with the character's inner pain and struggle as if their pain is the same as my own. In the world of this book, there are no well-meaning strangers pretending to understand my situation. It's just me and her—the protagonist, bound by shared experiences of isolation and broken dreams.

But just as I engage myself in the story, my dad's voice rises from downstairs, snapping me back to the reality I can't escape. "Elenora!" he calls, his tone holding a rare hint of concern. "Dinner's ready."

I close the book with a heavy sigh, carefully marking the page to continue the journey later. My crutches clack against the hardwood floor as I make my way downstairs, the sound echoing the weight of my steps.

At the dinner table, my parents sit on opposite ends, avoiding each other's gaze. My mother tries to fill the awkward silence with unnecessary gossip (As the African middle-aged woman that she is), but her words are not heard, and for the first time in my life, I heard my mother stutter while talking about a scandal at the church. I stare down at my plate, pushing the food around, because my appetite magically vanished. My mother NEVER stuttered while gossiping... NEVER

“Something wrong with the food, child?” she asked. I shook my head lightly hoping she would excuse me from the dinner table “Well, you better eat before I make them put your hand in a cast. And that goes for the rest of you”

It’s funny how my mom still manages to whoop my behind even though she knows I'm crippled. She doesn’t literally whoop my butt but, she uses a slipper or a wooden spoon on my palms, and that hurts a lot!

"Ellie would you like to go to school?" my mother asks, her voice tinged with desperation. "I found a really good school right here in New Jersey, a school for disabled kids just like you. And, you already have a friend, Keisha’s daughter, Evelyn, from church."

"I'm not sure, Mom," I reply, my voice carrying the weight of exhaustion. "You don't know what it's like to be the crippled girl everyone pities."

My mother frowned at my choice of words, but I'm too fed up with my reality to care. I've reached a point where I can no longer suppress my true feelings. Her well-meaning, weird positivity feels like a slap in the face, a reminder of how different I am from the world around me.

"You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Ellie," my mother says softly, her voice trembling. "I just want you to be happy."

Her words stir something inside me—a flicker of guilt that I can't fully extinguish. I know she loves me and wants the best for me, but it's hard to see beyond the confines of my own despair.

The dinner continues in silence, the tension in the room growing every minute. Then my father decided to speak up, “Ellie, you must go to school” he said with an echo “I will not have you in this house eating up all my money on meds and checkups when we all know that you can’t get better. At least go to school, get a degree and make our family proud” my mother gave him a death glare and stood up from her chair dramatically “If Ellie says she doesn’t want to do something then she is not doing it, same with all my kids. Even you have a degree and you ended up a disappointment” my dad stood up too in anger

“I’m only here right now because I married you, God, I would’ve just married Julie like my parents asked me to” he yelled in anger, there was silence, and you could hear everyone breathing. I saw a teardrop on my mom’s face, “Well, you could’ve married her, maybe I would’ve had a better husband who would love and understand both me and my kids, maybe Ellie wouldn’t be going through all this if you had married just married her” Noah, my immediate younger brother went in the middle of them and pushed my dad away from her “Dora, help mom and Ellie upstairs, please” My sister, Theodora took me to my room while my mom walked behind her in tears. When it's finally over, I sit on my bed once more, seeking refuge in the world of books. But tonight, even the best stories can't soothe my troubled mind.

As I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, I wonder if there's a way out of this suffocating existence. I pray for a glimmer of hope, a sign that things can change. But in a world defined by my parents' dissonance and society's shallow positivity, that hope seems impossibly distant.

As days turned into weeks, the walls of my lavender room felt like they were closing in on me. The fire and hatred between my parents was a backdrop to my existence, suffocating me with its relentless grip. I yearned for a respite from their constant bickering, but there was no escape from the chaos that has become my life.

One afternoon, as I sat by the window watching raindrops slide down the glass, a persistent knock interrupted my solitude. With a heavy sigh, I turned my wheelchair towards the door. The last thing I wanted was to deal with yet another overly cheerful neighbor or well-meaning friend of my mom.

To my surprise, when I opened the door, I found myself face-to-face with someone entirely unexpected—a boy around my age with striking features that mirrored my own black heritage, A black person, in my neighborhood! His eyes were warm and understanding, and there was a gentleness in his face and vibe that immediately put me at ease.

"Hi, I'm Nate," he said, extending his hand toward me. "I just moved in next door, and I thought I'd come to say hello."

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. I wasn't used to such directness, and I had grown accustomed to pushing people away with my negative aura. But something about Nate made me want to let my guard down, just a little.

"I'm Eleanora," I replied, accepting his handshake. "You moved in next door? Welcome to the chaos."

Nate chuckled softly, and there was an understanding look in his eyes that told me he saw past my attempt at nonchalance. "Probably better than my old neighborhood"

I hesitated, unsure if I could trust this new presence in my life. But there was something about Nate that felt different from the rest of the world—a familiarity in his eyes that made me feel like we’d been friends for ages.

"It’s way worse" I mumbled, expecting him to react like everyone else—either with pity or with an attempt to fix me. But Nate surprised me once again. Instead of recoiling or offering empty reassurances, he simply nodded and said, "You're right, this is a white neighborhood, mine was black. You know how we get sometimes."

I stood there processing everything, does he not see me in a wheelchair struggling to keep the door open while my little sister, Amelia, runs around the house screaming?

Over the next few days, Nate and I spent time together, creating a friendship that felt like a breath of fresh air in the drowning waters of my life. We shared our hopes, dreams, and even our darkest moments—the ones we hid from the world. With him, I didn't have to fake a smile or pretend I would magically walk again when I knew I wasn't.

Nate had his own struggles too, and his ability to navigate life with a sense of calm and understanding was both inspiring and comforting. We found solace in each other's company, and for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel so alone. In fact, I felt surrounded by joy and happiness

As the days turned into weeks, the dissonance in my home remained an unpleasing presence, seemingly impossible to escape. I continued to find comfort in my lavender room, surrounded by the familiarity of books that offered a refuge from the pain outside.

Despite my refusal to interact with others (Except Nate) or go to school, my mother's persistent positivity and my father's distant persona were not the only constants in my life. There was someone else who refused to be pushed away by my negativity and stupidity— Nate.

Nate was a very nice person. He had a lively and free-spirited nature, and his mix of Asian and African American features reminded me of my own blended heritage. While I had grown weary of the world's false positivity, Nate gave out genuine joy and a carefree spirit that seemed to touch everyone around him, including me.

At first, I found him kind of annoying and yet fascinating, his constant smiles and infectious laughter grating on my nerves. But he persisted, determined to break through the walls I had built around myself.

One afternoon, as I sat alone in my wheelchair zoned out, staring at little children playing on a swing, Nate approached me with a friendly grin. "Hey, Eleanora, mind if I join you?"

I hesitated, unaccustomed to such invitations. But there was a sincerity in Nate's eyes that intrigued me. Maybe spending time with him could offer a reprieve from the heaviness that weighed on my soul.

With a small nod, I allowed him to sit beside me. We exchanged brief pleasantries, and despite my initial resistance, I found myself opening up to him, sharing snippets of my interests and aspirations.

"I personally like to read books as an escape from reality, Colleen Hoover books." Nate said gently, "I love the way she writes and the words she uses, how descriptive and interactive it all is. Sometimes it’s hard not to want to be a character in one of her books"

His words struck a chord within me, HE LOVES COLLEEN HOOVER! “Me too, I love her books. They’re amazing” He turns around t smile at me

“If you were to be a character or to live a life of a character, which one would it be?” he asked trying to make a conversation “Lily, but not from it ends with us. Probably from it starts with us. You?”

he chuckles lightly and I felt like I said something dumb “Marshall from both of them”

Over the next few weeks, Nate became a regular presence in my life. He showed me that it was okay to embrace both the light and dark aspects of my existence. He didn't judge me for my pain, but he also didn't let me drown in it.

Through Nate's friendship, I began to see the world through a different lens. He introduced me to his diverse group of friends, and for the first time, I felt like I belonged. They didn't treat me as the crippled girl to be pitied; they accepted me as Eleanora, with all my flaws and strengths. As our bond deepened, Nate encouraged me to join him in volunteering at a local community center. The experience of helping others gave me a sense of purpose, a feeling of making a difference in someone else's life. Nate's infectious positivity was slowly seeping into my heart, replacing the bitterness that had once consumed me.

With each passing day, I began to let go of the weight of dissonance that had held me captive for so long. The warmth of friendship and the acceptance of Nate and his friends brought a glimmer of hope back into my life. It was a slow process, and I still had days when the darkness threatened to swallow me whole. But Nate's unwavering belief in the goodness of life reminded me that I was not alone.

As spring was coming to an end and so was Nate’s school semester which meant that we’d spend more time together, I looked back at the past months with a sense of delight. The journey was just beginning, and the heat in my parents' relationship still existed, but I knew that I had found unexpected companionship and the strength to face whatever lay ahead.

Nate had taught me that life was a circus of emotions, both beautiful and painful and that it was okay to be imperfect. With him by my side, I was ready to embrace the uncertainty of the future, knowing that even in the darkest of times, there would always be someone to share the burden and bring light to my world.

And so, with renewed hope and a heart full of joy, I stepped into summer, ready to navigate the complexities of life with a newfound resilience.