Free Ordinary World by Elisa Lorello

free. Your father wants no part of it. He wants to rein her in, keep her under his thumb. He probably wanted to do the same with your mother. But she was conflicted. She probably wanted to be the good wife and mother that she was instructed to be; but she probably also wanted to be the new, liberated woman that was screaming to get out. You weren’t burdened with that choice. So rather than nurture you, she resented you. You took the path that she likely wanted for herself.
     
    I listened to Melody, astounded.
     
    “Your parents probably had no idea how to raise you. And your brothers got caught in the middle. They tried to protect you from both sides.”
     
    I sat there, dumbfounded. It was as if my entire life had suddenly come into focus, and it all made sense. As if I’d just been absolved of a crime for which I’d been convicted, even though I’d been innocent all along. And then I began to cry like a little girl.
     

                Later that evening, after a dinner consisting of a grilled cheese sandwich, canned soup, and four handfuls of chocolate chips, I went into the living room. Second only to the kitchen, the living room had been the social center of the house. I remembered the first night Sam and I made out like horny adolescents on the floor in front of the fireplace, when he wanted to wait to have sex, the gentleman. And later, how many times we did make love on that very spot… Since his death, the space had become desolate, like so many other places in the house.
     
                The last rays of sunlight formed beams across the floor and spotlighted the photographs sitting on the banquet table against the wall. I perused them like paintings at the galleries and museums I used to attend in New York, and stopped at one of our many wedding photos. There I stood between my brothers, who had reluctantly surrendered their ripped jeans and biker jackets that day in exchange for sleek, black tuxedos with white silk shirts and silk ties in Windsor knots. They were clean-shaven, their hair neatly groomed, as if they’d spent a day with the Queer Eye guys. They looked so handsome, pinup perfect for a couple of Italian musicians in their forties.
     
                I’d practically worshipped my brothers while growing up. All my friends had crushes on them. Boys envied their guitars and talent and the fact that they got all the girls, while the girls gushed over their looks. They’d sheltered me to a fault. I know that now. But back then, I reveled in their overprotection and accepted it as a token of the love and attention I so desperately craved from my parents. Could it be that my parents had never wanted me?
     
                I malingered into my home office and sat at my cluttered desk, digging through the top drawer in search of my address book. It bulged with post-its and envelopes with return addresses circled and MapQuest directions to places that Sam had insisted I save. I opened it and flipped a couple of pages, then picked up the receiver of the vintage, push-button office phone, complete with extension lights at the bottom that still lit up when the phone rang.
     
                Joey picked up on the second ring.
     
                “Hey Joey,” my voice wavered; I had expected voice mail.
     
                “Hey And. Long time.” He sounded happy to hear my voice. “Everything okay?”
     
                “Yeah. You know. The usual.” I decided to get right to it. “Whattya think about coming out here for a visit? I need an excuse to finish cleaning my house.”
     
                “That’d be great! I haven’t had a break in ages.”
     
                “I was thinking of inviting Tony, too. I mean, when was the last time the three of us got together without Mom or spouses?”
     
                “Geez, I can’t even remember.” He paused for a few beats to mull it over. “I