Just a little something

I wrote this earlier in the year, it was my first essay assignment for English. I was so nervous to take this class after 10 years of not having to write papers! I'm falling in love with writing again, I'd forgotten how much I loved that creative release. Anyways, I was told by my professor it was one of the best he'd read in a few years, both wow and weird for me to hear, but what a relief! Just wanted to share it with you.



Home Sweet Home




It was the day. The place smelled of lemon scented cleaning solutions that lingered heavy in the air. We were careful to take shallow breathes so your nose wouldn't tingle like tiny little creatures franticly crawling into your brain. The recently soaped carpets looked as if they'd never had a foot placed on them, so plush and soft, like a fresh sheet of snow tempting you to lie down and make angels in it. The house was all bare, nothing but the stark white walls staring back at us as we stood there trying to take in our last memory of what was our home. There was an eerie sense, like a hospital or a Doctor's office when you're waiting, for what feels like forever, to be seen and there is nothing in the room to keep your mind off whatever dreadful fate is in store for you. Our voices echoed off the high vaulted ceilings, every noise sounding as if a microphone was somewhere near by capturing even the smallest sounds. The scene was so different just a week ago. The living room was cluttered with hot wheels, dump trucks and clean laundry desperately needing to be put away. Spongebob Square Pants and Patrick were chattering in the background, the kid's giggles decorated my senses as they playfully splashed water all over the bathroom floor in an intense game of shark and dolphin and the smell of a favorite family dinner, chicken and biscuits, swirled around our home as it simmered and baked in the oven. I went into our bedroom one more time. My eyes slowly scanning the room, memories flooded my vision. My eyes locked onto my bathtub, my over-sized, perfectly warm, refreshing escape. How I would miss my bubble baths, how I would miss my escapes.

I had spent days trying to organize which belongings should be stored where. It came down to a science of rank; most valuable, easily accessible, sensitivity to outside elements, and so on. Boxing up our lives in an ordinal fashion, labeling it with a black permanent marker and sending it on its way to some cold, dark storage unit where it won't see daylight for months. Two trucks, a cargo van and three trips later, our home became just another house. We were ants marching down the slow lane, carrying well over 3 times our weight, carefully following our leader making sure not to break the line. We kept on pace, there was no looking back now; I knew it would only make it hurt more. As we drove to our new place I stared out the window lost in thought. In some way there was a sense of relief, like the cords were finally cut from the bustier laced-up too tightly by my evil step-sister, we called money, as she sat back patiently waiting for it to steal my breathe away. The knot in my stomach was new, the unknown future, our fate, was reaching to my insides, forcefully holding them, reminding me this was not going to be easy.

Standing in the driveway waiting our arrival, my parents waved and directed us where to park. Question after question squawked in my ear, like when that annoying person in class won't stop clicking their pen while you're trying to concentrate on a test. So badly you want to scream at them to stop, but you can't, you have to compose and keep going. Where did I want this to go, did I want the bed on this wall or that, did you want the TV on this stand or facing that wall? Are the kids' dressers going upstairs or with you? We actually fit more in our living quarters than I had expected; Our Cal King bed, the boy's temporary futon bed, the crib, three dressers, two wardrobe racks and a little table for my computer. We were putting the term living room to its fullest potential. I took a break and fell into my bed, the only real thing of comfort I had left. I stared up at the ceiling. I could see all the way upstairs to each of the bedrooms up there, which means they can see me. So much for privacy, note to self; Look before you undress. Not that my brother hasn't seen me naked before, but still, awkward. As I laid there, I couldn't help but think of where I was, how did I end up under this roof again? Not in a million years had I ever imagined I'd be back home, especially considering I didn't leave on gracious terms so many years ago. Could I survive this? I have to, right? I have to be the strong one to hold it all together.

At night we used lie in bed and stare out our over-sized window placed high up on the wall. We had the perfect view of the calming deep blue sky. On a clear night, we could watch the stars glimmer and airplanes move slowly across the sky on their way to some far off destination, most of the time confusing them with falling stars. It reminded me of 3rd grade when I took a class trip to the library and made constellations from poking holes in black paper. We'd place the paper up to a light and watch it sneak through the tiny holes and see our sky creatures appear. Depending on the time of year, we could see the moon, lighting up our room with a soft, cool glow, making blurry shadows from unknown objects. There were nights it would shine through so bright it would wake us up. Pillows placed over our heads would work to block it out, but sometimes we would sit up and talk and gaze at its beauty. Cloudy nights were my favorite view. The bright, white light reflected off the puffy, inflated looking clouds. They rolled and floated across the dark, endless backdrop, glistening from the moons reflection, like the white wash from the ocean's waves, gently brushing the surface of the sand on the beach. My view now is still entertaining, but not to fool myself, definitely minus the romance of the moon and all it's glory. I see new shadows from the nightlight's glow. We agree that at night, our ceiling becomes a giant fish tank, and the poor grouper can never seem to catch its' dinner, always so close. To my left, about 20 inches from my head, my middle son sleeps. He is toes to toes with my oldest son who sleeps on the opposite side of their temporary bed. They both cuddle with their favorite blankies, one's arm dangling off like fishing pole with a lose line, the other perched up like a stink bug. The view may not be romantic with ocean filled dreams, but it is still beautiful to me.

As a child, your parent's are super heroes. They make everything happen. Magically melting away all your fears and sadness, covering you with a blanket of security, holding your hand to ensure you'd make it through. You never understand the love and selfness of a parent until you become the super hero; it's your turn to save them. There is no pain like witnessing your children's pain. As I sit and hold my sons on my lap, their emotions spill out like a shook up soda bottle, bubbling up and pouring over everywhere. They share their words through wetness and gasps of air. They miss their home, their bedroom and sleeping in their bunk bed. I hold them tight, hoping in someway that if I held them tighter I could squeeze my own tears back in. They ask when we're going home so they can go ride bikes with their neighbor friends and watch a movie on our couch. The air in my chest is gone; there is a hand around my throat like a vice, closing in making it hard swallow. What can I say? What words will ease pain and make them understand, we aren't ever going home, that will never be our home again. My words come out with caution, carefully tip toeing off my tongue, trying not to show my devastation. I tell them how much I miss my bedroom and that I miss taking baths in my big bath tub. I remind them of the times we'd eat popcorn and watch funny movies and distract them with a proposal. Popcorn, they love popcorn. Through their red, puffy eyes and wet shiny cheeks there was a glimpse of happiness, just a crack of a smile, but I'll take it.