Staring at faces trying to uncover their meaning. Reading minds is like playing God. Its something impossible and so alluring. I'm sitting on a chair that is a part of a kitchen island, or you could call it the breakfast nook. Either way, it's where we eat our meals when we're not being formal. My auntie Margaret is standing, cooking, frying plaintains complaining that they are not sweet. My cousin, Solange is reading one of the many catalogues for usefull, useless trinkets such as the slap-chop, or the garden buddy. I'm staring at their faces wondering what they're thinking. Are they silently addressing the elephant in the room, and if so which elephant? Or is this just my narcissism getting wildly out of hand? Why am I so paranoid? so egotistical? to think that is what they are thinking? But sometimes I can see it, in the little expressions on their faces. They'll start talking about something, something in regards to me, and when they're finished it seems as if they've had a sudden 'a-ha' moment, a sudden realization. There face darkens as if that's the most horrible thing. My uncle Lincoln walks through the door. He's toting a black, lap-top back and a suit, without the jacket, or the tie. He asks me what happened today, and I tell him what I told Auntie Margaret. I tell him what Solange already knows, nothing. Nothing happened, my last day here, and I have nothing. Nothing to show for anything. Its funny how everything in life works. You start with nothing, end with nothing. Yet having nothing and accomplishing nothing is the worst thing you can ever do in life. I feel my Uncle's stare as I start to wander into my own mind, day-dreaming they call it. He asks me what are my plans now? I wait a while, formulate something in my head something that sits more natural then "I don't know. My life is shit. I don't know." I look at him and smile and tell him that its back to the drawing board for me, I'll figure something out." Forever the optimist, is this how these people see me? Shit, I shouldn't call them these people. They are family and we've been really close lately. That doesn't make up for the years of distance. Distance I put there. I do wonder how they see me. If my uncle lowers the volume on the tv a little and asks my aunt, "What is wrong with that girl?" or "She's like her parents, no? Which one do you think she's more like?" or "Doesn't she remind you of Pauline?" That one for some reason makes me want to cry.