One white and one yellow dove

pixabay

One white and one yellow dove.

From a corner of the car, I hear my parents talking about me. My academic performance has declined and I've been skipping classes. My dad is very upset and so is my mother. They point their fingers at me, their eyes trying to drill into mine. They want me to feel bad, to say something. But I've felt bad enough since my grandmother died, I've said enough words in silence since the news of her death echoed off the walls of the house. So I prefer to see them, without really seeing them: my brain is disconnected from my body: in my mind I sing a lullaby my grandmother used to sing every evening: "A white dove and a yellow dove, and a yellow dove. It's stung me in my chest, it tickles me, it tickles me."
At school they have told my parents that I don't pay attention to my classes, that I will surely fail the year. I have trouble with math, chemistry and physics.

─How is it possible that you have lowered your grades? -my mother asks me, waiting for an answer. I look at her and don't know what to tell her. I would like to tell her that I miss my grandmother, that I would have liked to die with her, that I am very afraid at night every time I fall asleep because I don't feel like getting out of bed. But I prefer to keep quiet and in my head the song continues, "A white dove and a yellow dove, and a yellow dove."

The guiding teacher says we should take you to a psychologist, but I'm not taking you anywhere because you're not crazy," my dad says angrily, slapping the steering wheel. I feel like crying, but I can't cry in front of them because it would be worse.

Maybe we should take her, to see what's wrong with her. It's not normal that she doesn't want to eat, that she spends the day sleeping," my mom interjects, looking at me as if I were a stranger, "Look how skinny and haggard she is! Did you have breakfast today? -my mother asks me and I nod, but it's a lie. I only had coffee and water. Since Grandma died, all my meals are bland. Or sometimes they are too salty. Although I think the salty part is because of the tears.

pixabay

We get home and I run to my room: for a while now my room has become my refuge, my den. There I put on the music player, then I throw myself on the bed and finally cry. I put the pillow over my mouth so they don't hear my crying. The music plays and I feel a huge loneliness like a little girl lost in the crowd. My mom knocks on the door and I ignore her. I cover my ears and start to sing: "A white dove and a yellow dove, and another yellow dove, it has bitten my chest and it tickles me", while the tears come out by themselves.
Months go by and nothing changes. I leave my room, go to school and return home. In my room, music soothes my soul: I'm not interested in chemistry, physics or mathematics. At school I also look like a sleepwalker. I have no friends and nobody talks to me. My parents go to high school every week:

─You're going to lose the year, if Nancy doesn't change,─ says the teacher in a worried voice.

My parents just scold me:

─What's wrong with you, what hurts, what's wrong? -And I remain mute without saying a word. Is it so hard to see that my soul is hurt?

At the end of July, the final grades are handed in and as predicted: I am flunking. My parents have finally taken me to a psychologist and the specialist has said that I am depressed because of my grandmother's death, that they should leave me alone, that I will get over it. My parents don't know what to say, they don't know how to treat me either, for them sadness is not an illness, but they see me as if I could infect my sisters. I won't leave the room, my parents order, I'm grounded. And I listen to the music as I sing: "A white dove and a yellow dove, and a yellow dove. It's bitten my chest, it tickles me."