I’d never figured myself peculiar until I struggled to break my habit of chewing on the living room couch.
When most little girls share secrets with their sisters, it’s about stolen cookies or broken toys or even that they’ve been keeping the neighbour’s cat in their wardrobe.
“Tell me something,” Chiara had said. “Something you’ve never told anyone else in the whole world.”
I remember my blood pounding in my throat, like the confession was trying to beat its way out of me.
It wasn’t the dog who tore at the arm of the sofa until the stuffing bled out. It was me.
The poor thing looked to me to save it when Rosanna slapped his rump with her folded up newspaper – but the humiliation of having to explain that the sensation of my teeth on the corduroy fabric brought me more comfort than even my mother’s arms ever could was more than I could bear.
I whispered “sorry” into his sleek fur, and snuck him treats all that week, whenever I had the chance. I think he forgave me. I tried to stop chewing on the couch.
But the knot of shame in my chest became increasingly more difficult to ignore. I would not be able to blame the dog forever.
There were rules about the way things worked that even as a law student I hadn’t been able to figure out. I had a vague sense of what it was people wanted from me, but I never knew for sure until it was too late. Rosanna would pull me aside and scold me for being rude, or thoughtless, or selfish. There were thoughts you shared and thoughts you didn’t, she said. I only ever seemed to share the thoughts nobody wanted.
On one occasion, I was so awful that Rosanna beat me like the dog. I decided it wise not to share any thoughts at all.
I steered clear of the couch. I could only imagine what would happen if I was caught, and having been at the receiving end of Rosanna’s newspaper, I didn’t want to inflict it upon the dog any longer. Instead I got lost in the patterns on the carpet.
They had whole worlds in them, if you only stopped and gave it your attention for a moment. Though, sometimes, I could find breaks in the rhythm, and it bothered me so much I crept downstairs in the middle of the night with my markers to correct them. Only then could I sleep soundly.
I did not sleep soundly the night I confessed my secret.
Chiara had recoiled from me like I had stung her.
“You’re lying.”
My smile faded. “I’m not.”
She searched my face, and did not like what she found.
She turned over, throwing her blanket over her head, and didn’t say another word to me for the rest of the week.
She had torn into me and let my stuffing pour out onto the duvet. It took me years to learn how to sew up the wound.