A Sheltered Life
by T. K. Jones
“She needs friends,” the mother says.
“But I don’t think she wants friends.”
She takes another long drag from her Virginia Slims
Not realizing it was largely her own fault
that her daughter had no friends.
No, not a single one
Always caged up in the apartment
A sheltered childhood
Preteen years of dwindling invitations
To the beach or to the mall
Not that anyone ever had any money to spend
“I’m not allowed to.”
She’d sigh, half whimpering, into the phone.
“She won’t let me go.”
The girl becomes strange.
Stranger than before.
A stranger now
A stranger stranger.
Some days not responding, or even acknowledging
Anyone or anything
A catatonic state.
Other days speaking in riddles and rhymes
In a low, ethereal voice much like a weeping cello
“She doesn’t have any friends,” her mother would tell everyone
as a matter-of-factly at family gatherings,
Leaving out the part about when her daughter was just a child
and asked if she would ever get married
The mother’s reply was, “No.
I’m the only friend you’ve got in this world.”
Destined for spinsterhood
An Emily Dickinson life.
An Emily Dickinson death.
Copyright © 2015 T. K. Jones