MAISIE****†***†****
The car fell silent as it stopped. Maisie, go to your room, her mother's voice was clipped, the unspoken disappointment hanging heavy in the air. Maisie knew. The third position wasn't a victory, but a brand searing her with the shame of not being enough. Third. The word echoed in her mind, a stark contrast to the hours hunched over her books, the methodical highlighting, and silent prayers for success. How could I have gotten third position. The tormenting thought kept echoing in her mind. I read, I studied hard, I did my best.... didn't I? I thought all I did could make mom proud, what will she say?
Maisie could not ask her mother this questions, remaining unspoken trapped behind a wall of fear. She pushed the car door open an glanced at her mother, a rigid silhouette in the back seat, the silence she experience while in the car with her mother felt like an enternity under a judging gaze. If only she could look at me, just a little. A nod, a small word, a praise, the way xverna's parents did, for just a fleeting moment...
The instant Maisie's room door clicked shut, her carefully constructed dam of her composure broke. She stumbled to her bed, pressing her face in the soft pillow, muffling the raw, roaring screams that tore from her chest. Tears streamed, hot and furious, leaving her body trembling with the force of her sob. "No". she can't see me like this. The thought was a fresh wave of panic, it will only make mom angry.
At dinner later that evening, the vast dinner table was occupied by just Maisie and her mother, the room thick with unspoken tensions, her father still at work, a usual occurance. The rhythmic clink of spoon against plates and the sharp scrape of her mother's cutlery were the only sounds. Each sharp noise sent tiny jolts of anxiety through Maisie.
Maisie noticed the insistent pressure of her mother's knife against the plate, each grating sound a subtle yet distinct indicator of her mother's brewing annoyance, her irritation a palpable pressure in the room.
Suddenly, the sharp clatter of dropped cutlery shattered the quite room. "What are you doing, Maisie?" Fatima's voice was brittle, her question more of an accusation than a genuine inquiry.
Maisie flinched, her grip tightening on her fork. "Eating", she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mother's gaze felt like a physical blow, cold and sharp, filled with disdain and accusation. "This is why your results was bad," she stated her tone flat and final, each word a tiny shard of glass piercing Maisie's already wounded heart. "You eat too much", she continued, the implication hung in the air, heavy and cruel. The words landed like a punch to the gut leaving Maisie breathless and aching with fresh wave of shame. It wasn't about the third position anymore, but even her doing something as basic as eating was now wrong.
What is wrong with you? Fatima continued, her expression filled with irritation.
Maisie moved her trembling hands from the plate to her lap, fidgeting nervously.
"Nothing Mom", she mumbled, her gaze fixed on her twisting fingers.
If your cousin had participated, she would have been the winner. But what did you do? You went to make friends with those people, when your own cousin is in the same school. What a failure. You disappoint me. Again! Do better. With those final, cutting words her mother rose and walked off, leaving Maisie alone at the imposing table. Silent tears streamed down her face as she numbly walked to her room, the aches in her chest was very tight. She curled up in the darkest corner of her room, her body shaking with soundless sobs, hiccups escaping her lips in the suffocating darkness.
Some hours pass before Bernard came home. He found Fatima sitting in the living room seeing a show.
Welcome back honey, she said with a smile, happy to see him.
Thank you, he replied, his gaze searching hers. Where is Maisie? His own face held no smile.
In her room, Fatima said, her smile fading completely.
And how did the competition go?
She failed.
How come? I know she studied for days.
She took third position.
And how is that failing? Bernard asked, his brow furrowing.
She should have been the winner.
Hmm, I see, he said, his face thoughtful.
I'm going to Maisie's room first. Take this to my room, handling her his briefcase.
Maisie was still crouched down in the corner of her room, although not crying, her head rested heavily on her arms, which were propped on her knees. The knock on her door jolt her up.
Maisie! It's Dad, I'm coming in.
With the gentle click of the door opening, she quickly wipe off the remaining trace of tears on her cheeks, scrambling to sit on her bed.
I heard you took third position, he said sitting beside her.
What will he say? Will he blame me too? The anxiety coiled in her stomach. Dad, I'm sorry I will try harder next time.
He simply stared at her his gaze gentle, observing her every small movement, her anxious face, her fidgeting fingers, downward gaze. He could almost hear the frantic beat of her heart. Does she think I am going to reprimand her? what a child. You don't have to be sorry, Maisie. You tried your best. He placed his hand on her head. You getting, third position does not mean you are dull or you didn't work out enough, okay? A reassuring smile touched his lips.
Maisie lifted her head slowly, fresh tears welling in her eyes, as her gaze met her fathers. A soft sound escaped her lips, not a sound of fear but of relief. He moved closer to her gently pulling her onto his lap, wrapping his hands around her. "it's okay" he murmured. She clung to her father burying her face in his chest, her tears echoing in the room, hiccups escaping her lips.
For what seemed like an hour Bernard gently stroke her, his presence comforting her. Slowly the tension in Maisie's small body finally eased, and she drifted off to sleep in the safe haven of her father's arms, before he carefully tucked her to bed.