Sweep It Under the Rug

My eyes are wet and my vision is blurred. Small spheres of liquid salt slip into my mouth. The taste is distinct: tears. I don’t know exactly how long I’ve been crying.

I miss her. I miss her already. And for what?

It’s only been a day.

I roll onto my back and I lie there, still and motionless. I let the hours slip by as I witness the sky changing color.

I can’t move, can’t speak.

My parents come into my room, bearing food and water and a pleading invitation to come outside of my room, but I couldn’t care less.

Why had I been such an idiot? Why had I ended things? I reach across my bed to braid her blond hair, like always. But she’s not there. She’s not there anymore. And all I feel is empty.

Absolutely empty.

I pull back my arms and tuck them under my blanket. I shut my eyes and eventually, I drift off to sleep.

—————————————

Margot and I met in the tenth grade. She was the popular girl that every guy wanted, though she would turn down every single one who asked her out, breaking their ego. Crushing it, actually.

I soon learnt why she turned them down, but it took a few months.

From the day we met, we were the best of friends, we did everything together. After growing close with one another, I came out to her. I remember right after telling her, she blurted out that she was one too. A lesbian, just like me.

On her seventeenth birthday, she had a party at her house. I was always amazed and jealous of what her parents let her do.

That night, to entertain, Margot stole an insanely expensive bottle of wine from her parents’ basement. She sprinted up the stairs and started a game of ‘spin the bottle’.

I didn’t want to join.

I really didn’t.

I didn’t want to end up having my first kiss with some snot-nosed asshole from school.

Margot eventually convinced me, and reluctantly, I joined the circle, sitting beside her. She went first and I could see the curiosity in her eyes as she let go.

It spun.

And spun even more. And then it stopped.

At me.

The bottle was pointing straight at me!

There was a mix of cheering and laughing from everyone, expecting us to protest and demand that Margot spin the bottle again. We made eye contact, both frantically debating in our minds whether or not we should go through with it, or just have Margot spin the bottle again.

She leaned in and gave me a quick, small kiss. Everyone in the house went nuts.

Absolutely nuts.

She pulled away, smiling. I think I was smiling too. Was I?

I definitely was.

For the next hour, everyone took a turn spinning the bottle. It was an absolute shit-show, but it was so fun.

Everyone had the same emotions, same facial expressions, every single time.

First came the obvious dread and excitement as you let go of the soon-to-be spinning bottle. Dread of kissing someone terrible, someone you didn’t like, and the excitement of kissing your crush if you got lucky.

Anticipation came next, waiting for the bottle to stop at someone’s feet, your heart beating in your ears. Then, smiles and cheers, either because everyone knew that the two liked each other, or because everyone in the room knew it would be hilariously awkward.

People started leaving after a few more hours, but I stayed with Margot to clean up. I would glance at the clock every few minutes, hoping my parents were okay with me staying out this long.

1:56 in the morning.

2:05 in the morning.

2:13 in the morning.

I stopped cleaning and I sat down next to Margot on her old basement couch.

I needed answers. I needed them, desperately. “So, where are we at? Did that mean anything?”

She looks at me and she whispers, “Yes.”

She kisses me. Better than before. Better than when we were in front of everyone during ‘spin the bottle’.

—————————————

My eyes flutter open. My back is stiff.

The sky is, once again, a new color.

I hear a soft, cautious knock at my door. My mom. She comes into my room. In her hands, she holds a brown paper box.

“What’s that?” I ask, unsurprisingly congested.

“Margot came over and dropped this off, Tash,” She exhales loudly, setting the box down on my desk, “She said it’s for you.”

“Don’t call me that, Mom. My name is Natasha. Margot was the only person who called me that.”

“Sorry, Natasha,” She says, grabbing my doorknob. “Are you feeling okay, honey?”

I start closing the door behind her, ushering her out. “I’m fine mom, stop hovering. I just need to be alone.”

I shut the door behind her as she walks away.

I spin around, plop down on my bed and stare at the box. I study the color, the folds, the tape that was used to wrap it. On the top of the box, in Margot’s messy handwriting, a message is written: Here are your things, Tash.

Tears spring to my eyes.

I crawl back into bed, burying myself in the suffocating covers.

I can’t open it. I can’t.

I can’t empty the box and put my things away in my room. That makes our breakup official.

I can’t.

I stare at the ceiling, losing myself in my thoughts.

I hear a knock at my door.

“Mom, please go away!” I shout, “I told you I want to be alone!”

The door opens and my grandmother strides in, dropping her humongous purse next to the foot of my bed. My grandmother and I have had a mutual understanding for each other since I was a child. She influences me, inspires me. I look up to her, admire her. That’s probably why my parents called her instead of any of my many other relatives.

“Wha- Grandma I’m so sorry, I had no idea it was you!” I fumble for words.

“Oh hush dearie, no matter. We must get this-” She points at me and waves her finger around, “fixed.”

I hold my face in my hands and I groan, telling her I’m in no mood to do anything.

“Well, Natasha, I was in no mood when your grandfather died, but I still got up everyday and eventually made peace with his death.”

Grandfather. Why was she speaking of him? She never spoke of him.

“Well, Margot isn’t dead. I suggested we break up because of the distance, and Margot confirmed it. We didn’t think we could manage a long distance relationship. She’s moving nine hours away, she’s not… dead.”

“You're right, sweetheart, ‘dead’ and ‘gone’ are two very different things. But they’re also two very similar things.”

After a few seconds of processing what she just said, I slowly nodded in agreement.

My grandmother is a caring and delightful woman, but she knows how to get over people if she loses them.

No.

Saying that is insensitive.

Grandma is simply skilled at making peace in her mind when a person is gone.

She doesn’t spend a lot of time feeling emotions. She feels them, and then she locks them up in a box and hides them away.

I’m not sure my grandmother is the ideal person to receive dating advice from, but since she’s in my room already, I may as well listen to her.

“I don’t like you like this, sweetie,” She says, her nose scrunching up in pity, but also in concern and love. “How long have you locked yourself in your room for?”

“A day, or two?” I mutter, half telling her, half asking myself whether or not that’s actually true.

I don’t know.

She puts her hand on her forehead and starts pacing, “This, this will not do.”

She demands that I stand up and get dressed. She exits my room and waits on the other side of my door as I get into a blue floral knee-high dress. I swing the door open and she walks right back in.

“Much better,” She says, looking me up and down. “Now, I want you to listen.”

Her advice will probably be about ignoring and suppressing my feelings. I know that doing so is bad for your mental health, but grandma is successful and overall a pretty happy woman, so it must be effective.

I also know that I probably won't be getting any better advice, my parents keep telling me to ‘feel my feelings’. And I don’t want to do that anymore. I’m tired of doing that.

I nod my head.

“Alright Natasha, relationships are complicated. But when they end, they end. And everything happens for a reason so you just have to accept that, okay?” She looks into my eyes.

I nod.

She continues, “I’m sorry that you and Margot broke up, I really am, but I think you should be simply happy that that relationship happened. But, now that you are single, you have to live your life and get over things. You can’t feel bad for yourself forever.”

I nod again.

“Now, what you have to do is get rid of most things that remind you of Margot. Get it out of your space, out of your mind. Like my grandmother always used to say to me, ‘sweep it under the rug’. She explained it to me when I was a little girl. When you sweep dust under the rug, it's no longer your problem.”

She leans back, indicating that she is done ‘working her magic’ and that I’m supposedly cured, or something.

I sarcastically thank her and she glares at me. She picks up her bag and stops at my doorway before leaving. “Remember what I said. Sweep it under the rug, dearie.”

“Good-bye grandma, see you later.” I close the door behind her.

Surprisingly, not all of what grandma said was garbage. I turn around and I stare at the box. I force myself to pick it up.

It’s heavy in my arms, hard to hold.

I swing open my closet door and bury the box underneath a pile of clothing at the back of my closet.

Sweep it under the rug, I tell myself.

I close my closet door.

Sweep it under the rug, I tell myself again.

I turn around, closing my eyes for a moment and taking a few grounding breaths.

Sweep it under the rug.

I walk out of my room, closing the door behind me.

Sweep it under the rug.