Mattering, Or Not
Today’s writing prompt over at MindLoveMisery Menagerie is the image below: Poem–“Alone”, by Edgar Allen Poe.
From the moment I was born, I was alone. Even with my parents and nine brothers and sisters, I was alone. I didn’t look like them — any of them — nor did I think the way they did. I had nothing in common with my “family.” For awhile I thought that perhaps I’d been adopted, but this was not the case. I was a blood-Poe, yet I felt invisible.
I remember this one time when I was invited to a birthday party. I was maybe six or seven, and very shy. In fact, I was sick over the whole thing and scared to go. But, I went. I didn’t join the Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey game, but no one noticed. I sat at the table with the empty plates and half-eaten birthday cake and watched. Afterward, they all went upstairs for some reason, but I stayed in the basement at the empty birthday table. Two older kids, teen-agers I guess, were watching TV but they didn’t notice me either.
Such a helpless feeling it was, not being noticed, not mattering.
When the party was over, my mother came to pick me up. When I heard her ’66 Plymouth Belvedere pull up, I ran out of that house as fast as I could.
If you’re going to be alone, it’s better to do it with family than strangers.