V.
The ride in the car didn’t get any better than before. Only that the canary sat next to me in the back seat, while my mother took the steering wheel.
I didn’t feel any different than that morning. I still admired the natural beauty of the world and I still wasn’t comfortable in the car. My sister still sung and my mother still hummed, though it wasn’t very cheery.
We arrived at a small one-story house. The walls peeled and the door seemed loopy on its hinges. It was wrapped in the afternoon breeze, whistling about the hints of spring around the corner.
Passing through the blue hall, I staggered alone into my room, a closed in box that was only mine. I pulled out an old wooden rocking chair from a dark corner of my room, dragging it across to the window. Patting out the slightly dusty cushion resting on the seat, I inhaled the aroma of history. My olive hands slid across the window frame, unlocked the latch, and threw up the window with full force.
There wasn’t much sunlight, but the lingering breeze gently played with my hair and tickled my cheeks. I let my feet fall under me, falling onto the dusty cushion, and staring out into a weedy backyard. Frail as a wilting flower yet strong-willed like the weed that surrounds it, a skinny tree sat in the yard, all alone. I could feel it staring at me, and I stared back. I felt smiling, so I smiled back.
But my heart didn’t smile with me. As last night’s rain drops slowly rolled off of the frail branches, tears rolled from my eyes. I must have looked ridiculous. Biting my lip, the effort to smile never ended, but failed. I shaded my watering eyes from the window, I stared at my lap.
This was the first time, ever, that I had looked away from reality and its godlike nature.
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