I slowly placed my hands on either side of Samantha's head, and barely touching her, lifted it off of my chest, placing it on the jacket on the ground. A gust of wind came off of the field behind us and caught her hair. It flew up, and she rolled onto her side, her back against the wind, one arm under her head while the other was tucked against her breast for warmth.
I stood and took three careful steps away, to look down into the stream we were lying beside. It reflected the moon's light, and while I watched the water gurgle around the rock, I saw the reflection of a cloud above me.
The cloud slowly moved across the sky. It was a storm cloud, coming closer and closer to the edge of the city we sat on. It seemed to be slowly growing, until it stopped right above me, and I looked up into it. I could see dreams in it, blocking the moon, replacing the silver light with a dark blue one.
I turned around, and still careful of Samantha, I started to walk up the bank. The field was almost completely obscured when I reached the top, and even the lights of the park pathway, which I could close my eyes and see, weren't visible.
The wet grass started to seep through my work boots, but I was distracted by a star. It stood alone, without peers. Clouds floated beside it, but the fastest ones always slowed when they came close. It almost seemed like they were scared of blocking its light. The light didn't touch any of the other clouds, and it didn't illuminate ahead of me. The star didn't seem to mind being by itself, not wavering or growing any dimmer. Now, with the moon obscured, it actually was brighter than before. The star, floating alone in the sky, was reigning as if on a throne, saying, “No, Moon, I don't need you. And no, Clouds, don't try to block me.”
I admired the star, for its self-sufficient nature. For its unwavering light, taking nothing but always giving.
As I continued to look at the star, I heard laughter in the distance, and squinting into the darkness, I could make out a mass. It was moving sporadically, stopping every once in a while. It seemed to disappear for minutes at a time, blending into the haze of fields and canopies which made a pitch black background. But then it would appear, and be clearer than before, never enough to make out details outright, but enough to guess. It was five or six people, all cutting through the park, and the sound of vulgar words and the smell of strong barley reached me, carried on a virgin wind.
“I'm sorry, Wind, that this had to be your burden.”
I spoke aloud, and I saw the five top bumps on the mass swivel. The wind had switched directions, and I turned back down the hill, not wanting them to see me.
Samantha was still asleep on my jacket, and I sat down beside her, staring into the grass on the other side of the stream and letting my mind wander. I couldn't hear the people, sheltered in the small valley beside the field. I relaxed, and let my weariness sink into the ground, while Samantha beside me was still traveling in another land. Her eyebrows twitched, passing it on to her nose. I left her alone. She had been at school all day, while I had been at work since the morning. When she came over and took me out two hours ago, I had been surprised, but all she wanted to do was go to the park. So we ended up here, and she had fallen asleep with her head on my chest. I didn't expect it.
I lay back and my shoulder brushed Samantha. She turned towards me, still asleep but trying to hold me. I remembered the mass of people, and my heart began to beat faster as I pushed Samantha away from me and stood up, looking past the top of the bank. The mass wasn't anywhere to be seen. More clouds had gathered around the moon, and I couldn't see the grass below me. Samantha still glowed. I sat down again, a few steps away from Samantha so I didn't accidentally touch her again.
Down the stream, where it kissed the lake, a fish jumped. The noise echoed up the stream, and woke Samantha up. Her eyes fluttered as she lifted her head up, looking around for me. But the moon didn't give enough light, and so I knew she couldn't see me.
After a few minutes, I began to see fear in her movements. She didn't stand up, but instead nestled more into my jacket, covering herself and trying to find protection from her dark surroundings. Through all this, she didn't make a sound, not to call out for me, or even to ask if she was alone. If she had called out, I don't know if I would've answered. She looked like a bird that had fallen out of the nest too early. Lost and alone on the ground, away from the mother that fed her. Maybe she'd be picked up by some child, who only wanted to help, but would leave a smell on her feathers. The mother wouldn't take her back after that, and, her legs to weak to walk, she would wait there for something to happen.
I let Samantha know I was there, and she changed completely. Calling me over, she made room on my jacket and I sat down beside her. Silence passed between us for a bit, with her looking up into now threatening sky, full of rain clouds, while I ripped up grass and threw it in the stream. It glided down, away, sometimes getting caught on the bank or between rocks sticking out.
Samantha raised her hand up and pointed at the star I was looking at earlier.
“It's so marvelous, how it just refuses to be blocked. Even alone, it wont give up, and the clouds don't seem to want to bother it. Its almost like a jewel in a crown, sitting at the top and shining so everyone can see it. It's the crown of the sky, that single star. It sits against that black curtain and just hangs. Does it miss those other stars? Does it hate the clouds for blocking them? Or does it enjoy it, just being the only one up there, taking all the attention. But its not selfish, its just happy. Happy with what it has, and what it gets. I bet if you find that star on any other night, clear or not, it'll still be shining as brightly. No matter the circumstances. I love it.”
Samantha looked at me and blushed.
“I didn't mean to talk so much.”
I just kept staring at her, as I had been while she was talking. I hadn't followed her hand up to the sky, but instead just watched her mouth. Watched while it articulated her feelings, how her feelings for the star seemed to make it shine brighter.
“Don't worry, I was enjoying hearing you talk.” I said.
Samantha didn't say anything after that, and she lied back down on the coat, pulling my shirt so I did the same, still staring up into the sky. But me not paying attention, instead listening to her breaths. Her hair moving against the coat as she twisted her head to look up into the sky.
“I love you.”
The words seem to startle Samantha as much as they did me when she said them. My heart beat faster and I was elated.
I saw us together, in a house on the beach. I would wake up first, and just stare into her calm face. Then her eyes would open, and we would both get out of bed together, to spend the day. We would row out, and just sit on the ocean, maybe go swimming. Together, we would make dinner and eat it all, than just talk for hours. I would come home from work to see her, and she would have dinner ready, and I would tell her to not be such a housewife. And as we sat down to eat, I would pull her chair out, push her in, and bend down to her ear, to tell her how I felt. She would smile, and look up, and I'd be smiling down at her, and we'd embrace.
Samantha was still lying beside me on the coat, and her lips had barely closed after saying it. I leaned over to her ear, ready to tell her. I forgot about the black mass I had seen earlier, about what I had done when she embraced me. The lone star still in the sky had disappeared, as had my admiration for it. I wanted to tell Samantha how I felt, that I loved her too. I opened my mouth, knew she could feel my breath on the side of her head. I had the words ready, and about to say them,
A sudden breeze whipped against my cheek, and I felt winter air. It wrapped around my head and down my back. I shivered. The cold air hung there, and looking up, I could see snow falling from the gray sky. It caught in my eyelashes, glittering a bit in the sunlight. Behind me I heard a bough snapping under the weight of snow. I lifted my hand up to feel my cheek, where it still stung, and felt wool. Taking my mitten off, I reached up again, but couldn't feel anything through the frost bite. I put my mitten back on, and the wind picked up once more, pushing tiny snow crystals against my face. My cheek stung, and I could see it in my head, all red and pudgy with baby fat. At the age of ten, I still had a bit left.
I went towards the nearest tree, trying to find cover from the wind. I huddled under it, waiting for the wind to calm down, but it didn't. Instead, it kept increasing, until I couldn't see further than a few meters. The snow started to come down heavier too, and just as I decided to try and make my way back to my home, a branch above me snapped and fell down, hitting me in the head and burying me in snow.
It covered my entire body, and my head ached. If anyone had come out looking for me, all they would see was a nondescript lump under a tree. It suffocated me, and when I opened my mouth to try and breath, the fresh powder just rushed in, instantly melting and drowning me. It was like being underwater. My coughs were muffled by more snow, and I lay there, trying to breath. My head was aching from where the branch had hit it, and the black dots in my vision were accentuated by the pure white all around me.
The bough was still on top of me, and its weight, plus the snow, was pinning me down onto my chest. I began to panic, trying to wriggle my way free as I could hear my heart in my ears. As I struggled, powder started to seep through the cracks between my clothes, which melted when it touched my sweat. It ran in rivers down my neck and back. I felt the numbness of frostbite begin to set it, and I became more desperate. I needed to get out, but no matter how much I moved, I was still pinned down by the branch. Sweat started to sting where the bough had hit my head, and I feared I was bleeding.
I struggled before I stopped. My work had only created little pockets around my arms and legs, but I was still stuck. The excursion, combined with the wound on my head, left me lightheaded. Slowly, my skin was becoming more numb, pushing me closer to unconsciousness.
I took a deep breath. When the cool air reached my lungs, it caused me to gasp, and it that moment my father appeared in my head.
He was a big man. Always in jeans and work boots, the few times I saw him. I could hear the snow crunch under his boots as he walked above me. I started to scream, calling him to dig me out. He reached one hand down, pushed it through the snow. He covered my mouth, told me not to scream. I stopped, and he withdrew his hand. Still lying under the snow, I heard the sound of his footsteps again. I didn't call him to come back.
The sun coming in through the hole blinded me through my eyelids. I opened them, and saw the hole. It was still snowing on the other side, and a pink light outlined the edge. It was my escape.
I put all my strength into my left arm, and pulled it free. Then my right. I reached through the hole, and made hand holds, pulling myself through the snow, forcing the space bigger. I extended each arm as far as I could. It felt like being trapped under an ice flow. I kept reaching, hoping to feel an exit, but just more snow. I began to sweat again, this time from fear. My legs were still caught.
My feet were twisted around in the snow, and caught behind something. I pulled and kicked them, trying to get it around whatever was holding it. I heard a snap, and the weight on my left foot grew greater. More snow had fallen off the tree, breaking the bough and pushing down more weight. But the broken branch had also freed my feet, and I pulled them out. Then reaching up once more, through the hole, I felt the wind on my hand.
I grabbed the edge and pulled myself through the snow and heard the icy layer on top crack as I pushed it apart. Pulling myself forward on my chest, I crawled until I was completely free. I looked behind me, to see the bough still intact, sitting on top of the snow.
I was lying out in the open, and the wind was pushing against me. I needed to get into cover. I pulled myself to a different tree, pushing all the fresh power in front of me like a wake. Whenever it became too much, I pushed it out of the way. When I reached the tree, I leaned against the trunk, and sat, resting, trying not to think.
In the distance, another bough snapped. I sat up as the soft thump echoed through the forest. The suns rays were now plummeting between the trees. It was sunset, and I knew I needed to get home. I went to stand up, my right foot sinking into the powder. When I went to stand on my left, I collapsed when I put weight on it. It didn't hurt, but when I tried again to stand, once more it gave. The snap hadn't be snow falling on the bough, but my foot.
I began to cry. My tears streamed down my face like spring flood, but before they fell off my chin they had frozen again. The warm salt stung my frost bitten cheeks while I lay where I had fallen. I hoped snow would fall on me, so I would be protected from the wind, maybe preserve my body for my parents to find.
Crunching snow, and my father had returned again. He saw me lying there, on my stomach and crying, under a frosted tree. I looked up at him, and he came over and crouched down and stared into my face.
“Stop crying.”
The wind hit my cheek hard and made it sting. My cheeks were starting to become raw from the punishment. The wet streaks only made the wind sharper. I rubbed my nose and tried to stand up again.
I stood on just my right leg, sunk into the snow up to my knee. I started moving forward, squinting my eyes into the storm, to try and find my house. But the snow and wind was too much. It was like fog had descended on the yard, a giant ball of wool covering my eyes. Leaning into the wind, I picked a direction and started stumbling forward.
My dragging leg left a trail behind me, and I hoped when my parents came out looking for me, that they'd find it. The snow kept gathering in front of me and the rampant snowfall soon had me buried to my waist. I had to stop every couple of steps to push the snow out from in front me, leaving behind little piles to my left and right.
It felt like I was wearing a suit made of water. The snow would melt when it touched my skin and mix with the salt from my sweat. Still leaning into the wind, I bumped into trees without seeing them. The harsh bark would rake against my frostbitten hands as I felt in front of me. Then, I would sit at the roots. But I would hear the sound of a branch breaking in the distance, or notice snow falling above me. I would remember what had trapped me, and continue on once more.
The yard at my house isn't a huge one. A couple acres. But I walked until the sun had set, and the chill winds only became colder. Soon, my sweat started to freeze and with each movement of my arms I could feel the ice cracking on my skin. The skin on my hands had become raw from feeling trees. But still I stumbled forward, touching bark, leaning into the wind.
When you're trapped in snow like that, when everything's white and you can't fell anything, you become used to it. You begin to think that that's all there is. Everything becomes white. And just when you become use to it, something pops into view. A tree, or some snow covered bush. A little bump in the flat landscape that doesn't fit in. You hope to see colour, and in the distance, something's a light pink. But it's only the setting sun, and you realize just how long you've been out there. The silence echoes, like the loudest trumpet. Silence that's broken only by the sound of giving in to it. When you're alone in the forest like that, freezing, the only sound you hear are branches snapping or collapsing under the weight. Those trees that couldn't take it anymore, and let that piece go because they needed to. It held them back. When a branch breaks, the entire forest hears it, like everything's trying to pass on the message. Then it's night, and it only becomes colder. Snow starts to become ice, and it cracks with each step, little bits stabbing you in the leg when it plunges through. Making you trip, and for one brief moment while you fall, it holds you up. Then it breaks, and you plunge down until the powder holds you up. Hurting like concrete. You feel out for trees, and your hand slips when you touch them. You can't get a grip on anything. Then, for one moment, the snow lets up, and the wind stops. The sky, for one second, is clear, and the moon is sitting there. It sprinkles its light making crystals of ice in front of you. And you look at that white globe and think for one moment that everything is snow.
I fell at the base of a tree, and grabbed it to pull myself up. It was too cold to stop moving. But when I went to hug the tree, I couldn't get my arms around it. I scraped my hands trying to find the edge of the bark. There wasn't a tree that big in my yard. I pulled myself, and started feeling my way through the bark. I touched a hinge and found the door to the shed.
I had built it with my father. He had taken me when I was eight, and told me I was old enough to help him. So I held the boards while he hammered. After a month of weekends, it was done, and he rubbed my head.
A floor board in front of me had a bent nail in it. It's twisted form had been beaten into the board, after I had tried to nail it in. The coating was already starting to chip and a thin red shadow was growing on it.
From my position on the floor, I saw the shed was the same as I had last seen it. The entire thing was built from boards my father had made from fallen trees. It was a mix match of pine and fur, all stripped of their bark. He had sat for a full day stripping those logs, using a chisel and hammer to rip it off. He would make it loose, and then pull it off with one hand, like pulling the strings out of celery. It made the same whisking noise. The inside of the shed was still sparse, from what I could tell. The only light in the shed came through cracks in the walls and the open door behind me. There was a tower of bins in the corner, holding old tools that couldn't hang on the walls. It was the only feature in the bare shed and I knew I'd find no bed inside the boxes.
There was a banging and I felt my coat lifting off my body. The wind had blown the door against the wall, bending the latch with the impact. I stood up and wobbled over to the door, pushing it close. The latch snapped shut and the door hung barely open. A whistle of wind was able to make it through the crack and I thought about moving the bins to block it, but the thought escaped as I was hit with tiredness.
My hand pressed against the wall as I lay down beside the boxes, using them to protect me from the wind. I curled up in a ball and closed my eyes, ready to sleep. I would wait in the shed until the storm stopped, and then head out for my house. I knew the direction from the shed, and it was only two acres, but in the dark it would be impossible to find my way. Through the tiny crack in the door, I could still hear branches snapping every once in a while and crashing to the ground. The sound of the snow catching the branch reminded me that outside, the temperature was still dropping. I find a comfortable position, and fall asleep.
Outside, while I rest, the wind continues to tease the snow. It builds up drifts like sand dunes, and changes the landscape. Pushes the snow onto frozen lakes and hides the ice underneath. It lifts up snow and, in the moonlight, it glitters for a second, before the weight becomes too much and it falls back to the ground. But then it picks up again, devoid of snow, and caresses the leafless maples, pushing the branches to scrap against the clouded sky, trying to make a hole through the clouds, to escape through. And the temperature causes the wood to contract, making it brittle with frost. Then the wind picks up against, and catches the branch, snapping it off. It sails through the air, lift up for a moment just like snow and then it plunges down, through the door of the shed and waking me up.
The branch bowled through the shed, hitting against my wall of bins and knocking them down. The bins barely missed my scrunched up form, bouncing off the wooden wall beside me and landing at my feet. The wind now flew through the door, carrying the snow and spreading it inside the shed.
I felt the familiar feeling of fresh powder on skin. It melted, and was replaced by more snow. It covered my from head to foot, and thin layer that kept growing. It felt like a blanket, spread on my to help me sleep through the night. Cover my head under it when it got scary.
The snow stopped melting when it touched me but I was already lying in a puddle. The snow made the packed dirt under me softer. No longer could I feel the pressure from the tiny stones peeking out, poking my side. Light now came through the door, bouncing off the white rug. My nightlight, to make me feel safer.
My eyes were still closed as I huddled under the snow, whatever body warmth I had slowly disappearing as I tried my hardest to fall back asleep, and ignore the open door, the drifts forming on my body and the ache in my foot, which was now stiff. But sleep never came, and I've heard that when your freezing you became tired. But as I tried to sleep, when I was the coldest in my life, and all I could think of is closing the door. So after lying for ten minutes under the wind and hoping the blanket it gave me would eventually turn warm, I stood up and dragged my leg to the door, closing it.
The branch that slammed into it had broken one hinge off and tore the latch away completely. But the wooden boards that made the door were barely touched, and when I pushed it into the door frame, it cut the wind off the completely. I pushed all the snow away from the door and sat down with my back against it, using my weight to keep it shut.
The shed was now black, and I couldn't see the branch which had ruined my sleep so much. I reached out with my foot and felt it, trying to pull it towards myself so I could feel it, but I couldn't move it. With my head against the door, I closed my eyes, but in the distance I heard another branch breaking and prepared for it to hit the shed. It didn't, and closing my eyes again, I slept.
The sun crept through the cracks in the walls, and one managed to reach my face. The light woke me up, and I lifted my head, blinded for a second. I was in my bed, and I could feel my blanket under me, gripping it in my fists. It was soaked with a sweat. I lifted it with one hand, and a part of it pulled free. Holding it in front of my face, I saw it was snow.
Little lines of light were coming through the wooden walls of the shed. I crawled over to the wall and pressed my face against the wood, looking through the crack. Everything around the shed was snow. The storm had stopped in the night, and with it the forest began to settle. The sun was beginning to rise, but its rays did nothing to melt the snow that now covered the world. Trees still creaked occasionally but there was no wind. Everything I could see was still.
I crawled over to the door and tried to pull it open. It wouldn't budge, and I began to fear that I was stuck forever, in the shed that I thought had been my salvation. I stood up and began hammering on the door, trying to loosen whatever held it back. Finally, I tried kicking it, but fell from the pain I could now feel in my foot.
Lying on the ground, I saw that the snow had all turned to slush. Beyond it, I saw one of the bins that had been knocked over by the branch, its innards spilled all over the floor. I pulled myself over to the pile, and began to search through it. I ignored the rusted metal and dull edges, cutting myself in my desperate search for escape. Eventually, I found a hammer and turned back to the door, pulling myself through the slush. With the hammer in hand, I began to bang at the remaining hinge, trying to take it off of the wood. But the night had been hard on me, and I was too weak to provide the force needed to knock the hinge off. When I realized this, I turned the hammer around and forced it's back end behind the hinge, and pushed it up. The hinge popped out of the wood and I scrambled out of the way just as the door fell.
In rushed the untouched powder, making a ramp to the top of the snow. I began to stand, ready to begin my trek through the snow. But when I fell once again, the frostbite which had let me walk the night before having disappeared, or at least subsided. I needed a crutch, and looking in the room, I saw the branch which had broken through the door.
It was gnarled and cracked, but a single limb on it was straight. I crawled over to it and felt it. It didn't bend under my pressure, and I grabbed a saw, beginning to cut it off. It was a bit short, but once I held it I was ready to walk. I tried to stand, and leaning heavily on it, was able to keep my weight on my left foot. The harsh bark ground into my already raw hands, but it held me up, and so I began to walk out of the shed.
But the stick wasn't enough. I took my first few steps, and the stick felt good. I began to get cocky, thinking about how brave and strong I had been throughout the night. I hadn't let anything stop me, not the snow or ice or hurt foot. How little foresight I had, for when I finally reached the top of that ramp, with my first step, the stick plunged through the waist high snowing, getting caught and making me fall.
I lay in my own little snow ditch, trying my hardest to forget how I felt just prior. Finally it had reached me. This close, after the storm and the night in the shed, and I couldn't make it through the morning. The frostbite, which had caused me so much pain, had been keeping me going the entire time. I didn't realize it until then, that my foot was broken, was probably beyond repair. It was the worst feeling in the world, to tell myself I couldn't do it.
I lay there, waiting for whatever forces to take me. I didn't try to keep moving, I didn't try to take shelter inside the shed again. I simply put my face into the snow, and cried.
I heard crunching snow, and in the distance my father's voice. He was calling my name, and the crunching snow was becoming louder and louder. I turned onto my back, and looked up to see him standing beside my body, reaching down to pick me up. He held me against his chest and kissed my head, then turned and yelled for my mother. He asked me to say something, but I couldn't say anything. The hot sun, multiplied by the snow, was causing my face to burn. My father started walking back towards the house, my mother appearing from behind a tree to go with us. She began kissing me too, and pulled my shoes and gloves off, checking to see if I had lost any limbs. When she touched my left foot, I made a sound.
Later, the doctor would come to check my foot. I would find out that it was only sprained, not broken. Whenever my dad came in, while it healed, he would ask if it hurt. I always told him no, and before long he stopped asking. A week after that night, I was walking again, and trying to help my dad out.
I don't like to talk about that night, but for the next year my mother would always bring it up with her friends, and they would ask me to recount it. And no matter how many details I changed and short I made it, they always called me a “brave little boy”. But I had gone through something not many people have, and woe to those who have. For they know the pain of desperation and fear of the cold that many don't. Samantha knew me during this time, but whenever she asked me to tell her what happened I would tell her to ask me later.
With some time, people forgot about it, and I was left alone. Although my fear of cracking branches and suffocating persisted, I never hesitated to go out into the snow. And if anyone asked, I would tell them straight faced that it wasn't something that bothered me. The night was nothing remarkable, and hadn't changed me.
But Samantha knew the truth. She understood why I didn't tell her, and she could tell that I wasn't the same. Because the night had changed me. I had come so close to being what I should be. There was a feeling inside me of great disappointment, and that disappointment follows me to this day. It's followed me to this river bank, where I'm beside Samantha still, and although it's a warm spring morning, I still feel the cold wind of that winter night.
I'm still squatting over her, my mouth beside her ear. She said that four letter word two seconds ago, but I close my mouth, and turn her head to face mine. Our nose's almost touching. Her eyes sparkle. Those eyes, I would stare into them hoping she wouldn't notice. The eyes I had fallen in love with.
“Samantha”
She leans forward expectantly, a sly smile on her lips.
“I don't love you.”
However much it hurt to say that, Samantha hurt more. She recoiled like I had spat on her and sits back on my soaked through jacket. I don't try to hold her or tell her it's okay. Instead, I stand up and start walking away, telling her she can keep my jacket.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and Samantha turns me around and hugs me and presses her face against mine. She's crying, and her tears roll down my face. She holds my arms against my side, and I don't try to break free. All while, she's muttering under her breath
“But I love you”
The stream still gurgles past us into the lake. The wind still flattens the grass on the field behind me, pushing down the dark strands. A single star continues to shine in the night sky, the only one not obscured by clouds. Down the stream, a couple is taking an early morning walk, stopping at a aged bench and sitting down together, to watch the sun rise. They still have a bit to wait. Another fish jumps in the lake, and the sound continues up the stream.
I slowly release Samantha's grip on me, putting her hands at her side and pushing her away from me. She sits right back down on my jacket, and I turn away from her to head up the bank. It's windy at the top and it catches my shirt, making it twirl at my waist like a ballerina.
I start heading towards the path. The hill cuts off the sound of Samantha crying, and I'm thankful for it.
After the night I spent out in the snow, alone, I felt something inside me. A vulnerability to something I can't put in words. That day left me with a grand embarrassment, and it wasn't something that just disappeared with time. I was constantly reminded by it, whenever the story came up that I collapsed in the snow. Everyone was understanding, and most were impressed that I had lasted that long. But it proved one thing to me. When I cried, an apparition of my father taught me something I needed to know. Tears sting in the wind. I collapsed because my foot had sprained. I had acted rashly, panic and let it control me. My father rescued me, but if it wasn't for him I'd have died out there. I was ready to. I wasn't strong enough. It wasn't relief I felt when I heard my dad calling my name and felt him kissing my head.
The gravel grinds under each step of my boots as I find the path. Ahead and behind me the lamp posts are lit up, letting me know that I'm alone on the trail. Once I get home, I'll pack my bags and wake my parents to tell them I'm leaving. I had already told them that it was something I was planning on doing, and they wouldn't be surprised by the suddenness of it.
When I finally opened the door to my house, I didn't try to hind my presence. I turned on the light and trudged up the stairs, going to my room where I already had a duffel bag packed in my closet. I tell my parents, and before they can tell me to stay, or as I see my dad reach for his wallet, give me money, I'm out of the house, on the way to the bus station.
The earliest bus doesn't leave for two hours, so I'm stuck sitting there, watching the others waiting for the bus like I am.
The station's walls are covered in posters describing places that you should go, while a singular maps tells you where you can go. There's two double sided benches, and I'm sitting on the inner side of them. Across from me, there's an old man with a large suitcase, staring blankly back at me. He's wearing a long, tan coat and has a hat on top of his head. Little white hairs puff out of his ears and every once in a while they shake when he takes a big breath.
Against one wall is vending machine full of chocolate bars and two kids begging their mom for change. Each of them have a backpack on, awkwardly packed with bulges in places and dips in others. The mom is reading her book, ignoring the children completely.
I call the kids over and reach into my pocket, giving them each a couple dollars so they can have their snack. They thanks me and I smile back. Leaning back on the bench, I look over at the mother. Her book is closed, and she giving me a thankful look, before her kids come and start distracting her again.
I close my eyes. The next thing I know, the bus attendant is shaking me and telling me that my bus is there.
I give my bag to the driver, who throws it under the bus. He rips my ticket without even looking at it, and I climb on board the bus, leaning back in the ripped seats and trying not to smell the mold in the air.
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