My Regular

The sound of people chatting filled the single and open room. An aggregation of conversations filled the air. Several ladies in the corner laughed and giggled at how cute each of their hairstylists were, a seemingly somber couple addressed a number of issues, a young adolescent and a well versed middle aged man discussed “obedience” close by, but all of this was white noise to the ever vigilant studier, Sarah Asher.

A straight “A” student, she calmly read, highlighted and “dog eared” pages in her text book. From time to time she would frantically jot down annotations in her note book and forever seal them in her mind. Occasionally her hot coffee (or tea, depending on her mood), would grow cold as she would get lost in her information overload and she would need to get a refill to re-excite her taste buds. From the outside looking in, she had her life in order. In college she was successful, in her swim team she was consistently pushing herself to be better and not the least bit unattractive. No one, however, really saw her with any group of friends, not even one. People tried to befriend her and would get rejected with walls of excuses; they would just tell themselves “it’s a necessary sacrifice for academic and physical success”, to lessen the pain of rejection. Sarah, even, would say those exact words to keep her mind off of the real reason she kept to herself, her and her books. She knew they were excuses, but as long as she told herself them, she didn’t have to think back on her horrendous childhood.

From childbirth, she was unlovable by her parents. A bastard child is what the world calls her, a beautiful creation is what God calls her. That beauty, that love was so inaccessible to her because of the walls of security she built brick by brick around her heart. Confused by the sexual abuse her father unnaturally forced on her and the lack of sympathy her mother would give her began adding up by the age of five. Nights meant for adventure stories and fairy tales were drowned in the alcohol her father consumed each night, her views of beauty, distorted by a mother who would disappear several nights a week, returning the next morning, makeup smeared. By the time middle school rolled around, she found that if she locked herself away in her room and studied hard enough, she could block out the sound of constant fighting between her two dreadful parents. Someone could be finally proud of her accomplishments, her test scores and gold medals, even if she was the one giving the praise.

The abuse and neglect continued all the way through high school. There was no prom for Sarah, there was no “girls night out”, not even a desire for communication with piers, for that was untrustworthy. From time to time, she would look up from her books while in the library to see friends chatting over coffee, but then sink back into the corner of her heart, into the walls of security, the walls of prison. She knew it was prison, she knew she was chaining herself up on the wall, further and further away from the bars that kept out pain, further into the dark.

And this is where she finds herself today, a regular Starbucks patron. Determination written on her face, shame etched on her heart. The constant books and workouts don’t fully block out past memories or hurts, she knows this, but this prison is all she’s known. All her life. It’s comfortable. It may be prison, but she calls it home, and her heart grows darker each day she spends in it.