Magical Madison #1

I stared down at it. It would be the perfect family picture. We look like a family. Sitting on the beach, in the afternoon sun, all of us slightly squinting, all sharing one blanket, chips and salsa in the middle. Smiling.

Any passerby would think the picture that sat on my desk was of me and my perfect, happy family.

They would be wrong.

That was one of the worst summers of my life, but all I have to remember it is that stupid, happy picture. Why do I keep it anyhow? If you look closely, you can tell my smile is forced.

I’m not sitting anywhere near my two younger sisters and they’re the only ones in picture who have their arms around each other. We’re all on the same beach blanket. I’m surrounded by my family, but I’m not touching anyone. I’m not close to anyone.

Who has divorced parents who still insist the whole family go on vacation together every summer? No one! Well, no one but me.

Ten years ago, when they were going through the divorce, I hated my parents’ divorce because of how miserable they made each other. I look back and remember the broken dishes, the smashed artwork, the fights that ensued just during the once a month pick up and drop off, where our parents passed off us kids like poker chips to be used as bargaining tools, not as their children to be loved and cherished.

“A new study finds that a full quarter-century after their parents' divorce, the offspring remain emotionally troubled.”

Great. If only I could stop myself from reading those studies.

Now, they rarely fight. We go on fucking vacations together. I now hate their divorce because of how miserable it makes me. There’s still the usually passive aggressiveness, which is my dad’s specialty, at who paid for what (well, I paid for groceries last time…have you given me a check for half the rent of the beach house yet…I gave the kids money to buy food on the beach…).

I should just stop looking at the picture. It brings more pain.