Smoke and Freedom
Rashelle lay on her stomach, head in her hands, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The swirly pink covers beneath her had been with her since childhood.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself out of this impossible situation. If I can’t go to the afterparty, her squeezed eyes let out fresh drops, falling onto the ridiculous pink pillowcase, my friends will all drop me. They already call me a baby. I’m nearly 18, for Christ’s sake!
A familiar anger spread through her chest and upper back, radiating out to each fingertip. This isn’t fair.
Conflicting smells wafted upstairs, her father preparing his usual terrible dinner. Bacon carbonara, probably – he never listens. Doesn’t even care that I’m trying to go plant-based. She bit into the pillowcase and screamed.
Padding downstairs, Rashelle let her hunger win. I hate him, she thought. Doesn’t he know pigs are as intelligent as dogs? I’ll tell him tonight—
As she approached, her father stood at the stove, the blue flames licking the bottom of the enormous frying pan. His presence filled the cramped kitchen like an unmovable shadow. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air, choking her resolve.
“Carbonara tonight,” he grunted, without turning around. It wasn’t a question.
Rashelle took her usual seat at the small, round table. Once, her mother used to set three places. But for nearly a year now, her absence had sat with them at every meal.
She stared down at the frayed beige placemats. I have to get out of here, she thought. There isn’t enough space for the both of us.
Later, sneaking down the stairs with her silver high heels in hand, Rashelle clutched the railing for support. Her short black dress hugged her frame, butterfly clips keeping her brown hair out of her face. She was almost free.
But as she reached the ground floor, the full kitchen lights snapped on. Her father stood there, his piercing eyes nearly black in the harsh light.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he barked, spit bursting from his mouth. Panic tightened around Rashelle’s throat, but she held her ground.
His heavy steps echoed toward her, his fingers twitching at his sides as if ready to grab her. I should scream, she thought. But instead, she froze.
“I’m going out,” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You? Dressed like that?” His laugh was sharp, cutting through the tension. “You think you’re grown, huh? You’re practically inviting trouble.”
Rashelle’s stomach twisted. She’d heard these words before, the same ones he’d used when she was younger. Only now, they carried a different weight.
“Who do you think you are?” Her voice rose, trembling with fear and fury. “You treat me like a child because it makes you feel better. You’re afraid of me growing up. But I’m not eight years old anymore!”
Her father’s face darkened. “You want to be treated like an adult? Act like one,” he spat. “But in this house, you’ll always be my responsibility. You’ll be safe here.” He grinned, his teeth yellowed from years of smoking. “Now go to bed.”
Rashelle’s body quivered, her fingers gripping the back of the kitchen chair. This isn’t safety, she thought. This is a cage.
As she turned away, she caught sight of the open flame under the stove, and an idea formed. Her father, busy lighting another cigarette, didn’t notice her pause near the gas knob.
She quietly twisted it, just a little.
Sitting on the grassy hill, still wearing her party outfit, Rashelle looked down at what used to be her kitchen window. The explosion had blown glass all the way to the road. A police officer was sweeping the remnants from the sidewalk while a white sheet covered a large figure being loaded into the ambulance.
She took a deep breath of the cool night air. It’s not exactly how I planned, but I’m out of here.
When Nat’s car pulled up, Rashelle slid into the passenger seat and closed the door softly. She looked back one last time as the smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the night.
I did it, she thought, a smile tugging at her lips.
I’m free.