Fiction: Pacifier

-Can you make her some scrambled eggs? I’m a bit busy.

It was pretty obvious that Dad wasn’t really into helping Mom with chores at this hour. There you have it, I could see that predictable passive-aggressiveness surfacing. He’s gonna help but he’s gonna behave in a not so friendly manner while doing so and even afterward. In fact, he’s already mumbling and groaning. I could hear his voice from my room.

During the cold season, the ceiling fans weren’t there to filter the unwanted noises and voices. So all the sounds seemed to pierce through my brain even sharper than before.

It feels like the calm before another storm. As if the ticking time bomb is ready to explode.

I’m tired. I’m sick of this. I want some peace. It’s better if I forbid them not to do anything for me.

But… if I behave like this, they might get suspicious of me. They’d misunderstand me like they do all the time. I’m not mad. But I don’t like this behavior of yours either. If I tell you not to do anything for me, that doesn’t mean I’m mad or anything.

I sighed.

-Mom, I don’t want to eat scrambled eggs now. I… I’m not feeling like it.

There you go. Anything out of the routine meant a weird behavior to Mom. To her, that was equivalent to sickness.

Mother, I’m not sick. You’re just plain ignorant.

-Why? What happened?

-I don’t want to eat anything heavy now. I’ll just have some soup. Also I was feeling kinda nauseated in the evening. So I’ll avoid eggs.

-Nauseated? What’s wrong? Are you okay?!

-I’m fine now. It’s nothing biggie.

It’s not a lie. I did feel sick in the evening. But for a different reason. I wasn’t feeling sick anymore. So it’s not a lie. A white lie? Was I twisting the truth? Or taking random sentences from various paragraphs and using them in another order with another context for another purpose? I hate lies. I hate lying. I hope I’m not lying. I’m just acting like a pacifier.

I feel like a hypocrite. Well, it is my fault. No one told me to open my mouth.

Every time I did something wrong, my actions backfired. I hoped I wouldn’t be really sick in the future.

-Looks like your daughter ain’t having eggs. You don’t have to cook. She should’ve said it earlier… Your dad was getting riled up for no reason.

-Oh, really?

His relief was so obvious. I could sense the shift in his voice at that exact moment. I just hoped he calmed down. He happily started pacing in the dining room.

Mom came back to interrogate me again. Dad stood in front of my room as well. I tried to give them straightforward answers with a straight face.

-Yeah, you do look sick kinda.

No, I don’t, Mom. It’s all in your head. You’re trying to mold me into that idea of yours. That, if she’s unusual, she must be sick.

They left.

Oh well, now I can’t even fry sausages for myself. I guess It’s only me and some plain soup. That’s what happens when you twist the truth.

It feels peaceful now that he’s pacified. But the outer tension got replaced by my inner guilt and turmoil. After all, one can’t escape the chaos. Whether it’s outward or inward, it’s inevitable.

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