Audiobook Excerpt narrated by Jesse Vilinsky
The Circus of Stolen Dreams |
Audiobook excerpt narrated by Jesse Vilinsky.
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Vilinsky, Jesse: The dining room window reflected the blurred facade of a happy family at dinner, a mom and dad and their one and only child. Andrea glared through the silent, transparent scene up at the moon and the way it shone like a spotlight, piercing them with its otherworldly glow.
Family dinners used to be loud. Francis would tell jokes from his joke book and make ridiculous noises just to get Andrea to laugh. Andrea would cut in, the words pouring out of her like water in a swift current as she told them all every single detail about her day. Their mom and dad would look at each other, their faces a mixture of wide eyes and amused smiles.
Now no one, not her parents sitting next to her at the table, not the blurred family in the window, not even the man in the moon knew what to do other than steep in the silence. Andrea stabbed a piece of chicken. Her mother put her fork down and folded her hands as if in prayer, giving a slight nudge of the elbow to her father. "Just tell her," she whispered, as if Andrea couldn't hear.
Her father shuffled carrots around his plate, then cleared his throat. "Your mother and I, we know this hasn't been easy on you."
Andrea's breathing, grew shallow. She curled her fingers into a ball, pressing her nails hard into her palms, making mini moon marks against her skin.
"But we think it's time to let go," he continued. Winter's coming. Your mother could use the space in the garage.
"And we think it would be healthy, Drea." Her mother stared empty-eyed at the wood grain on the table. "We'd like you to go through his boxes and choose a few things you'd like to keep."
Any food Andrea had already eaten formed itself into a knot in her stomach, threatening to make its way back up.
Her father reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but Andrea recoiled, pressing her back into her chair. For the past three years, Andrea had blamed him for everything, for the divorce, for showing up on Sunday nights and making them sit through fake family dinner. She had even tried to blame him for what happened to Francis. But, as always, the steady pulsing rhythm of blame grew a little louder from a dark place, deep inside. Your fault, your fault, your fault.
Andrea tilted her chair away from empty seat at the end of the table. "I'm not ready." She tried the three words that had gotten her out of so much since it happened. Homework, soccer, talking about the night Francis disappeared. She didn't want to go through her brothers things, but the thought of the box is being discarded unseen scrubbed at Andrea's scabbed-over wounds like in eraser, hot with friction.
"I can't keep looking at them every time I walk in the garage," her mother snapped, her voice cracking on the last word, ripping garage, right in half, like it was a piece of paper. "Someone is coming to pick them up tomorrow. You don't have to go through them. We just wanted to let you know. It's time."
Her father drummed his fingers on the tabletop, then sighed, "Thanks for dinner, Sus," he said, picking up his plate and carrying it to the kitchen.
Her mother watched Andrea with dark, sad eyes, and her mouth fell open for a moment like she was about to say something else. Instead, she picked up her own plate and followed him, her shoulders curved inward as if the air had been sucked straight out of her chest.
"Fine, I'll look," Andrea said, tossing her crumpled napkin on her plate, though there was no one left to hear her. There was just the silent house, weighted with the words no one had been able to say, for so much longer than the three years Francis had been gone.
This audio excerpt is provided by Books On Tape® / Listening Library.