The Wrong Man

Prologue

There are odd things about my family. Not talk of our home city odd; just odd. 

Imagine waking up for school, and all you hear is silence. Or imagine it’s a school holiday and you expect to spend time with your family but end up disappointed when you see the black card on the kitchen table with your name on it.

I never complain about my family since my sisters reassure me that everything is fine by spending time with me or taking me to my playdates. As a kid, everyone expects me to behave like one ― immature, childish, naive, etc. But when they meet my sisters, their faces change as they understand the reason behind my strange behavior. 

There are many rules for me set by my families: Don't speak before spoken to, don't misbehave, don't cuss, don't horse around, don't overeat, don't stay up past eight, don't let others wash you, don't eat unless you saw them make the meal, don't talk to boys or gossip with girls, and don't forget the cell phone that mother gives me for emergencies. 

I never understood these rules. I just knew that I had to follow them precisely. 

Or else the outcome will be painful.

My sisters are always there to make sure that I don’t rebel against any of the rules. My behavior eventually adjusted to fit the rules and my mind followed the protocol like a robot. I never speak out of turn, I don’t play unless I’m in a room or at the playground, and when I spend the night I wash myself ― ignoring the constant prompts by the adults to unlock the door since they insist that I’m not doing it right, but by morning when they meet my stern family face to face. All of their previous actions have been changed to apologetic behavior, and they let me wash on my own without any complaints. 

The rule, don’t speak to boys, causes me to distance myself from them at school as a precaution. I subconsciously sit a few feet away from them during class and if a boy fails to sense my discomfort to talk to me or if a teacher decides to neglect my feelings, I’m allowed for that short moment to call my parents during school hours, but if my phone is dead ― I’m allowed to run home or use another phone to contact them. 

So far, only ten teachers have ignored my parents’ warnings and only four families caused me to switch houses during playdates or sleepovers. 

As I’ve said before, my family is odd.