Tonight’s story is of a girl, no more a kid. An almost adult. She is between the naivety of childhood and maturity that only life can inspire. But something has happened. Her otherwise dull life has just learned new words. Words she cannot unread or forget, ever.
She is loved, almost protected, and cherished by many. A peal of joyful laughter always backs her smile. Along with wondering about her true purpose in this life, she also has childish desires, like staying up late till midnight. To ride her bike alone without her older brother watching her constantly. She has many of those, too, older siblings. She is the fourth of five siblings. Forever in search of the real meaning of life and where she truly belongs when she is not hiding from her younger sister the last piece of her mom’s brownies.
She was always a convenient baby and then a kid who is now becoming a conventional well-adjusted, almost adult. Maybe her siblings are supposed to be her tribe. Her mother has mentioned it many times. She claims that these siblings will always be her real friends. The ones she can rely on. Soon she will learn otherwise; life is like that. Fickle and unreliable. When you think you are happy, a wave of upheavals engulfs your existence, followed by a drought of love. And that can indeed affect an otherwise happy and well-adjusted child. Since there is no best friend yet, she has decided to live with this tribe that brought her into existence.
Now back to the story. It is 6 pm, and the girl is at the gate of her big house with people who are supposed to be her family by blood. But the blood these days is just not thick enough. ‘It isn’t like it used to be when I was growing up,’ she has often heard her dad say. She is sitting by the big rock with her legs crossed. Because that is how girls sit, the nuns in the school have taught their students well. Her face is calm, but there are some trembling and deep breaths. She cannot believe how strong her heartbeat is. She can hear it beat clearly. There is no need for a stethoscope, like when she plays doctor with her baby sister. Her pale cheeks have reddened in the heat. The adults passing by would like to believe that. Only she knows what that truth is. It feels like she has been hiding it inside of her all her life. Even though it has only been 2 years. Her latest accomplishment sits heavily next to her on the rock. Her baby sister calls it Rocky. The girl smiles, thinking of her baby sister. She is the smartest of them all and the most loved. The girl makes a mental note to protect her by all means forever.
A pang of regret, shame, anger, and betrayal breaks her thoughts. Her book falls off the rock into the wet mud. It rained last night while she read into the morning hours. The summer sun dried up the puddles, but there were still scattered holes of wet mud and trash. She stares at the book not wanting to rescue it. Because it burns her every time she touches it. The burning sensation then slips all over her legs, shoulders, and waist underneath the oversized tee she borrowed from her big brother. Her neck is scarred; she is sure of it from the burns. The burns are real and they hurt even though no one asks her about them.
“Hey, sweetheart! Why are you sitting out here? Waiting for me again?” Her dad is finally home.
“I finished my book.”
“ I knew you were reading when I returned from work last night. I thought no way my bookworm went to bed early. How was it?”
Unfolding her legs and trying to stand up, the girl picks up the book, wipes it with her shorts, and replies softly.
“It was different.”
The soft breeze passes, reminding her of the early evening and warm brownies her mom bakes at least twice a week.
“You want to take a walk? I did not get enough exercise today. How about it? You can tell me all about the book and your favorite character.”
“Sounds good. I am ready.”
“Ok, let’s go then. I haven’t read this one, so why don’t you start by telling me what is it about?”
“It is about a girl who lives with undiagnosed dissociative identity disorder. Because of this, she goes on killing people. The diagnoses only dramatically come to light in the court when she is charged with the murders.”
“Oh! That sounds like a tough topic. So what happened to her? There has to be a trauma that has led her to hide in the safety. You know, like a defense mechanism. Her brain learned to protect her when no one else did.”
“Her father sexually abused her.”
She watches her dad look straight ahead, and then he turns sideways to look into her eyes like he does when he is about to say, ‘I am proud of you, sweetheart.’
“That is sad, and it angers me. I am sorry this sounds like a tough book for your age.”
“You know every human will react differently to the same trauma.”
Focussing on his voice and words, he continues, “And you know you can tell me anything. I will destroy whoever makes you uncomfortable or touches you without your permission. You are my daughter, and I will always protect you.”
“Yes, I know, Dad.”
She stares at her feet, and her legs have rashes on them now. She is sure her dad can see them; they are a dark red. Her father walks back to stand before her, realizing she has stopped walking, staring at her legs. He holds her hand and kneels to see her in the eyes. Her face is blank without emotions, but her eyes tell a different story.
“Tell me, my sweetheart.”
“So, you mean I might not get diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder like this girl in the book.”
The breeze has stopped. The girl looks at his saddened pale face, eyes teary and wet, as he hugs her. She can feel him trembling. Or is it her? It is tough to make out who is trembling and who isn’t. Her burns don’t hurt as much anymore. She feels calm.
“No, Meera. You will not, but first, Daddy will show you how he breaks every bone of a monster disguised as a human being. You want to walk more?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
They are side by side talking and stopping so her dad can calm himself down. The evening breeze flies past them, blanketing the father and daughter, an almost adult.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 
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