I trudge up the paved driveway lugging my dance bag and wonder what questions and judgements await me beyond the threshold of that white front door. I stomp up the brick steps, raise my hand, and knock on that door. Within seconds my grandmother flings open the door, ready to pounce.

“Hello my beautiful girl!” She exclaims.

“Hi Nana, I’ve missed you” I reply.
She hugs me tight and starts babbling away about her day proclaiming all the great things she’s accomplished like finishing two books. That woman reads at such an accelerated speed that I don’t know if she even attains any knowledge from the story. Cheerily, she takes my coat and keeps on rattling.

Kimberly Vicarious likes to think of herself as more than she is and in a way, that is justified. The woman is not someone you would expect to be a former high school English teacher and guidance counselor. Her outfits always match perfectly and she never takes off her multiple gold earrings, rings, and necklaces. Not even one strand of her hair is out of place. She carries herself with a look that channels business and control. When she speaks she doesn’t bite her tongue. Every world she utters is “correct.” The single soul that has ever challenged her opinions is me, her beloved and favored granddaughter. Often, I’ve wondered why she’s always pretended to play a role instead of moving to a city and joining the professional world. Today I intend to find out.

I come to my Grandparent’s house every Monday and Tuesday to eat dinner while my Mom works. My Nana then transports me to my ballet classes. Today is one of those Mondays. As I follow my Nana further into her lair I see that the table is already set and ready. I sit down anticipating the questioning that is to begin. And here it is.

“So Kiara how was your day at school?” Mrs. Vicarious inquires. She looks way too happy.

“It was just fine, nothing special.” I respond. I’ve been using that rehearsed answer for years.

“Did anything exciting happen?” She questions.

“No, not that I can remember.” I say. Sure there were funny things but she wouldn’t understand why they were funny.

“Did you get any grades back?” She asks.

“Yes, my science quiz and history test.” I state.

“Well what did you get?” She asks with an enormous smile plastered on her face.

“ Science 85 and History 96.” I reply with a smile of my own. I was exceptionally proud of these grades and I was desperately hoping her answer would have a hint of satisfaction.

“Aw, why didn’t you get higher in science?” She says with a frown.

“It was difficult.” I say, quickly deflated.
When her questions turn into disappointment, they sting. That’s one of the reasons I sometimes dread spending time with her. She doesn’t seem to notice how hard I try and how frustrated I get with myself and that’s what hurts the most. Now you may ask why she’s so adamant about me achieving success and the answer is always explained when she drives me to the dance studio.
Once the uncomfortable questioning session during dinner ends, it’s time to head to dance. My nana is already in the car yelling for me to hurry up as I tie my shoes. That woman is insanely quick at everything. I hurry into the garage where her shiny black Buick is parked. She’s waiting inside the car smiling at me. I open the door and sink into the leather seat. Promptly she says,


“I got a water bottle for you!”

“Thanks Nana, I love you.” I say in return.
Without missing a beat she starts the engine and backs out of the two car garage. Every time we’re alone together she asks me two certain questions. I was just waiting for the first one to escape her tightly pursed lips.

“So are there any nice boys in school?”

“Nope, none that attract my attention Nana.”

“Good, you don’t need them anyway, they only slow you down. Take my word for it.” She replies with a knowing tone of voice.

“You’ve told me a hundred times.” I say, while rolling my eyes.

“I know, I’m just making sure. Wait for the college boys, they’re a million times more mature. High School boys just ruin your chances at getting into the best colleges.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I’ll figure it out by myself.” I saw haughtily.
Then came a long silence. That long silence always follows after she tries to inform me how to live my life. We stop at a light. This light is always where she fabricates her next statement.

“Do you still want to be a lawyer Kiara?” She asks. This is her most famous question. Every single time she can ask me, she asks.

“Yes, of course I do. Why do you push it so much?” After years of wondering, I finally pose the question.

“Well....” She begins. “ I just want to see you aspire to be something great. I fell in love and instead of pursuing something more fulfilling, I chose love. You are everything that I wanted to be. I see so much of my younger self in you that I can’t help but push. You’re even brighter and will shine more in the professional world than I ever would I have dreamed of. My hopes and desires are all in you. So you see Kiara...I live my life vicariously through you.”

I sat there in shock. I didn’t know how to respond. Those words were so blunt and so alarming. It was as if she had taken my life from me. MY life. She desired it and admitted to trying to use me to make herself happy. I didn’t want that. I felt sad that she is perpetually stuck in the past and wants something that she cannot attain anymore, but controlling my life isn’t an option. Right then and there, I silently vowed that I would not fall into the trap that engulfed my grandmother, but I also would not let her make my decisions for me. It’s my life and I’m going to live it however I imagine.