Gemma: Part & Parcel

On Mondays, when I would sit at the window at Lorna's house, I felt like the whole world outside was somehow trickling inside. I'd sit and watch the rain for what felt like hours, but would really turn out to be only a few minutes. I remember hearing Lorna's television in the background, coming from her bedroom. I remember the sudden silence once her "afternoon shows" were over and she'd slip into her Xanax and milk-induced nap. I remember that that was the first time I had ever really felt completely alone. The whole house was quiet as winter, and I would sit there at the window, watching droplet after droplet of rain crash into the glass pane and slip down until it hit the sill and puddled for a while, until the pressure of too many droplets forced the tiny puddle to burst and send the new family of droplets into a cascade down the side of the house, an adventure I couldn't watch from where I sat. And I remember everyday, when I knew Lorna was asleep and wasn't going to wake up for anything, that I'd rummage through her jewelry boxes to try on her costume jewelry from her "stage days". I'd put on piece after piece and stand in front of the mirror imagining myself to be anyone and anywhere but who and where I was. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not.
Also, I remember how at around 3:30 in the afternoon, I'd pull out my little box of tic-tacs (the white ones), pour myself a glass of milk, and wash two little tic-tacs down my 9 year old throat with a gulp of milk. Then I'd curl up in front of the window and fall asleep waiting for my father to pick me up in an hour.