She has grown up, yet sometimes she still waits for her doorbell to ring. When she does the dishes, she sometimes turns the music down to ensure she hears the ringing. She hopes a man is looking for her and that suddenly her mother remembers an affair she had the day she got pregnant. He would ring her doorbell and say, ‘I am your real father; half your blood is mine.’ But no such man has shown up, and she can see the similarities every time she looks in the mirror, the parallels to the unknown man she has known all her life. She has grown up, but some dreams remain.
Her parents had vowed that they would love each other for the rest of their lives. After their vow, a small, cheap church choir sang a love song. She was born nine months after their wedding. How romantic – what a lie. She could never imagine them having a loving wedding night. Probably it was a matter of minutes until she was conceived. She can’t imagine it another way. Her mother closing her eyes, not out of pleasure but out of relief that soon she would not be alone with him anymore. Every month she grew inside her mother, her parents’ love shrank. It was a matter of weeks until their love completely broke away.
Even inside the womb, she would hear her dad scream and then sing. Later they would call this manic depression. It drove her crazy from inside the warmth of her mother’s belly how he sometimes threw plates across the living room and smilingly watched the news shortly after. Throughout her childhood, she was a part of their marriage, divorce, and everything that followed. But she never had any rights. They never asked her what she wanted or longed for; it was never her turn to make a decision.
From the day she was born, she was their referee, not their child. They asked her who was right, who had the better argument, and who screamed louder. As a small girl, she sat on the couch, the two of them standing in front of her. They told her what the other one had said or done. She always said her mother was right. When she went to bed, she sometimes dreamed about the three of them vowing to each other in church. There were three rings, not two.
When she was old enough, she left. He called her a few times, wanted her to give him money, wanted her to meet his new wife, wanted her to visit him during therapy. It was never about her. When she moved to another apartment, she didn’t share her new address – she didn’t want him to ring her doorbell.
Even inside the womb, she would hear her dad scream and then sing. Later they would call this manic depression. It drove her crazy from inside the warmth of her mother’s belly how he sometimes threw plates across the living room and smilingly watched the news shortly after. Throughout her childhood, she was a part of their marriage, divorce, and everything that followed. But she never had any rights. They never asked her what she wanted or longed for; it was never her turn to make a decision.
From the day she was born, she was their referee, not their child. They asked her who was right, who had the better argument, and who screamed louder. As a small girl, she sat on the couch, the two of them standing in front of her. They told her what the other one had said or done. She always said her mother was right. When she went to bed, she sometimes dreamed about the three of them vowing to each other in church. There were three rings, not two.
When she was old enough, she left. He called her a few times, wanted her to give him money, wanted her to meet his new wife, wanted her to visit him during therapy. It was never about her. When she moved to another apartment, she didn’t share her new address – she didn’t want him to ring her doorbell.
Lena Rissmann is a postgraduate student at Central Saint Martins (University of the Arts London). Her writing is shaped by the perspective of a young and curious woman. Most of her short stories and poems centre around a woman as the protagonist and try to creatively explore different societal issues. Originally, Lena is from Geneva (Switzerland) and has studied Communication and Innovation in Berlin, Paris and London.
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