Nobody but Yourself

Someone was knocking at the door. Shala reluctantly moved over to the bed and pushed the small pink envelope underneath the pillar. There was no need to keep it. She should have never written it. She turned toward the door. The pounding was louder and more desperate. She felt relieved to see the upper chain in the socket. She really wasn't afraid of her father's anger anymore. As far as she was concerned, they had already ruined the best part of her life. "Please Shala! We just want to talk," said a woman. "Please give us a chance to talk to you. We love you." Shala folded her arms. Her mother's voice always sounded gentle even when he tried to be firm. Her father was just the opposite. But she couldn't trust either of them anymore. She never thought they would let her down. "Please dear, open to us, please," the voice insisted. Shala caught herself moving to the middle of the floor, almost instinctively. It was the effort of her mother's voice again. It always sounded so alluring. It had this certain effect upon her that she just couldn't explain, almost hypnotically. She was surprised that it wasn't her father her father's commanded voice. He had always made the frantic attempt to straighten things out. But not this time, maybe he was putting her mother up to it. Shala gently grabbed her long dark hair weed and squeezed it back into a pony tail. Taking a deep breath she walked up to the door and unlatched the chain. She didn't want to let them in but this will be interesting, she thought.

After twisting the knob and slowly unlatching the chain, she flinched back as the door flung open. As usual the first noticeable thing about her father was his massive tangled beard and the big stomach. Sometimes he embarrassed her. His eyes appeared colder than usual as her mother stood submissively behind him, one of her hands upon his shoulder. Turning her back upon them, Shala walked toward the middle of her small room and folded her arms. She had never done this before. But they should know that she didn't appreciate what they had done to her. She had missed the most important event of her life. Suddenly, Shala felt her heart throbbing. Behind her, she heard the rushing footsteps of her father coming upon her, but then the footsteps stopped. Her mother appeared to have jumped between them. Shala heard whispering, and then a slight grunt, and then silence. Shala wanted to turn around, but then they would think that she really wanted to talk. She then felt a gentle hand upon her shoulders. "Sweetheart, forgive us. We're only doing the best for you." Uncaringly, Shala looked up at her baby picture on the wall above her bed. It seemed that she never wore anything fashionable and in style. They always fitted her in hand-me-downs. She always wore clothing that others had donated to the family or some old fabric that grandma had made out of her imagination. Feeling a soft squeeze on her shoulder, she found herself face to face with her mother who had slid in front of her. Behind her she could feel her father still standing there near the middle of the floor, motionless and speechless. She didn't know what her mother had told him but it most have been working. It was unlike him to be left out of any conversation. "Look, look at me sweetheart, you've got to get pass this," her mother calmly said. "No, I don't" said Shala, moving away and settling in the corner of the room with shoulders against the pink wall. How could she say this? She had caused her to miss the most important event of her life. The prom was over and she would never experience it. "How could you guys do this to me? I hate you, screamed Shala." She could feel her face tense up and her heart flutter as her father came toward her. "Now look here young lady, her father yelled, you better watch your mouth!" Shala turned immediately toward her father, with both arms pressed to her side and her fist clenched.

"You both lied to me. You promised me a brand new prom dress," yelled Shala. "I told you both what I wanted." Suddenly, she watched her mother grab her father who had started toward her. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it," said her mother. The strength of her mother's voice startled her. It had a flame of authority in it. This had never happened before. Her mother had always preached gentleness. Her father backed up and leaned with his shoulder against the wall. His face was filled with emotions. Her mother had established her self firmly in the middle of the floor, between both of them. "Now stop it! The both of you! We are a family, God forbid this!" she shouted. "I won't let such negative attitudes ruin this family." Shala walked over to the chair next to an old outdated computer and sat down slowly. The outburst of her mother's authority left her speechless. All she could focus on is the fierceness of her mother's eyes and the tightness of her face.

"Look honey," said her mother, gathering herself more calmly. "It's not our fault that you didn't attend you prom night. You made that decision, and we respect that. But the opportunity was there for you."

Shala sat back into the chair and folded her legs and arms. She felt the anger stir up within her but she wouldn't yell anymore. She was going to handle this more respectfully. "Wearing that dress that grandma made would have embarrassed me, mother. It looked like something out of the sixties," Shala said, glancing at her mother.

"I know sweetheart, but your grandma had made it just for you." "I know," said Shala, gazing down near her foot. From the corner of her eye, she saw her father coming closer. "Look Honey, I love ya, but you ain't got nobody but yourself. Always be yourself. Let people say what they want to say about you, but don't let them take yourself away from you."

Shala experienced something strange come over her. This word seemed to have released something within her. It was strange but she suddenly felt if no mattered anymore, not even the anger she had felt over missing the prom or the memories she had never recorded. All seemed very trivial now. Turning to gaze at her mother and then her father, who seeming stood in anticipation of her response, Shala took a deep breath, stood up from the chair and turn away from them. "Can I be alone now please," shala said calmly? "I want to be alone."

After standing silently for a few minutes she heard the door softly close. Turning around she found herself alone. There was no one else but her. Walking over to the bed, she reached underneath the pillow and pulled out the pink letter. This was the right moment-the right opportunity. She was glad she kept. She felt even more comforted that she had written it. Now the moment had come that only she could face. She turned toward the door and walked out, turning off the lights behind her. She now knew it was true. She was herself.