Talking to Cynthia | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Talking to Cynthia | Previous Challenge Entry
By Graham Keet
10/09/22
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I’m probably clumsier than most ten-year-old girls; some consider me a bit of an odd kid.

I don’t have brothers or sisters, but I have a few friends, and I have Cynthia who is with me at any time of the day or night. She’s with me now, sitting at the end of my bed. Nobody else can see her, but I know she’s there. You ask me what happened to my face, Cynthia? It’s a long story, but this is what I tell others who ask.

It was all my fault—I didn’t see the door was open … and … and I guess I ran straight into it. Yeah, I know I did the same stupid thing a week or so ago, maybe I am a bit odd.

Oh, those noises my friend Wendy in the apartment below heard last night, well, that wasn’t me. I guess I inherited my clumsiness from my Mom—she told Wendy’s mom that she slipped in the bath and hit her face on the edge of the tub … and the bruises on her leg were caused when she hit the floor. I feel very sorry for Mom, but I know she’s used to it by now.

My Dad says Mom and I should listen to him more often. Some days he’s very kind to us, but we must be careful on Friday nights. Mom and I try to be in bed and asleep when he gets home after being with his friends, but then he normally wakes Mom up to fix his food. Two weeks ago Mom was really sick and running a fever, but I guess Dad was so hungry that he made her get out of bed to fix his supper. I think she must have been half asleep and that’s why she slipped on the kitchen floor and hit her head on the side of the fridge. It bled quite a bit and this made Dad angry, because she couldn’t carry on with the food.

My teacher sent me to talk to the school counselor, Mrs. Watson, who seemed very worried about me. I told her everything was fine at home and that my parents love me very much. I’m sure they really do, and that’s why I always try to do what they want me to do—especially my Dad. He works so hard to get money for us and that’s probably why he is often tired and irritable at home, so I try to be nice to him.

The only thing I’m sorry about is that Wendy isn’t allowed to visit me anymore. I’m not quite sure why her parents stopped her, maybe it’s because of my being clumsy so often and bumping my head on things. They said they can hear sounds like someone falling sometimes. Anyway, I see Wendy at school and we sit together at break and chat. Wendy says her parents want to call the police, but I told her they mustn’t do that because it would make my Dad very angry, and Mom gets sad when Dad gets angry.

But Dad is often in a very good mood, especially when Mom is tired and goes to sleep early. Then he comes to my room and we chat about lots of things. We even play a little game together that has no name—it’s just a game. He says this is our secret game and the secret will be lost if I tell anyone; so I’ll only tell you, Cynthia.

I really don’t have much to complain about, especially when I hear what happens to some of the other kids. My Mom takes me to Sunday school whenever she can. It’s a bit far from where we stay and Dad doesn’t let her use the car. So we walk. Miss Jensen, my Sunday school teacher, says I must ask God to help me with anything that worries me. She says God knows all about me and will really help me with anything I ask him. So I do. I think it’s starting to help.

So Cynthia, perhaps in time I won’t have to tell people I’m clumsy so that they stop thinking I’m an odd kid. I pray for this to happen soon.

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