Roman Statue

(Robin, 1979)

Robin poked her head inside the den. "Dad?"

He looked up from whatever he'd been doing at his desk. "Yes?"

Gray stubble covered his chin. He was still in his pajamas-a pair of blue flannel pants and a white t-shirt-and there were bags beneath his eyes.

"You're not going to work today?" Robin asked.

"I took a leave of absence." He pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

"Well, i have to work today, and then after work, i think we're all going to the carnival."

He nodded, picked up a pen. "Have fun, then."

The clock on the wall behind him ticked each second. It was the only sound in the house, and it'd been like that for days.

There'd been no word from Robin's mother. Not a phone call, a message on the machine, not even a postcard.

Anger made Robin clench her jaw. It was like they didn't even exist. Like her mother flew off to Italy and forgot that she had a husband and children.

Did she not care what her sudden departure had done to her family?

Apparently not.

Which made Robin even angrier.

"Okay," she said to the silence. "I'm leaving." she added, before closing the door and looking out at the empty living room. The bare coffee table. The darkened TV screen. The couch that looked brand-new because it was hardly ever used.

Robin lived in a movie set.

Or at least that's what it felt like.

There were things around the living room-books, pictures, a Roman statue-but they looked like props against a fake setting, a place portrayed as a family room but without the family.

Tears bit her eyes. She clenched her jaw again, took in a steadying breath through her nose.

No crying.

I need to dwell less on my mother and focus more on myself, because that's what she'd do.