Three Years Ago Today

Part 1

Today I woke up before my alarm sounded, it's a bittersweet moment knowing I can rest an extra minute or two only to be blasted with an obnoxious tone. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...

I push the off button. I can still hear the ringing in my head. The best way to get over how much I hate that sound is to start my day whatever that may be. My pale pink comforter is warm, as I sit and it drapes beside me I regret waking up. These damn wood floors are always so cold in the morning, standing only applies more pressure, ensuring the cold gets pressed into the soles of my feet. Walking doesn't help either, with each step my feet venture into a new place, seemingly colder than the last. The trial is over once I reach my kitchen, a straight shot from my bedroom door. The laminate flooring is not any better than the hardwood but I have laid down a running mat for this very reason. My feet, mildly numb from the previous steps are now okay.

For some reason every morning when I am done with my tea I toss my kettle in my cupboard, behind some Tupperware, completely neglecting the fact that I will need access to it the next day. It's like a maze trying to pull the stupid thing out without causing an avalanche. Most days I can maneuver it in just the right ways to avoid the unsightly scene of an empty cupboard and mess filled floor, today is not one of those days. The crashing of the plastic against the cold laminate is worse than the alarm, sharp and piercing.

I had to get out of there. The sound of plates smashing as they hit the ground rang through my ear, the sound of plates smashing pierced my heart. Behind a wall and through a closed door, my earbuds in, still each dish got louder. Just like slamming doors. I couldn't ever get away. At Least the throw blanket on the couch was warm. Sitting up, the blanket draped around my waist calling out for me to stay. I left anyway. I missed that couch. The air was so cold and dark, my breath was visible. I wasn't running, more like, walking somewhere, nowhere in particular but somewhere else. Anywhere else would have been nice. Cars sped past, spitting wet dirt at my ankles. I never got why every time I left they called the cops. The same bullshit continued, worse every time I left. Maybe leaving made it worse.

It did.

I have put all containers back messily in the cupboard, a nice space behind them for the kettle. Two steps to the left, still with the comfort of a surface between my feet and ice, my sink moans and groans after turning a squeaky knob. A few seconds pass before the water comes slopping out, eventually steadying to a stream. I fill my kettle more than enough for one mug, experiencing the same squeak of the nob and rumbling of the pipes as I turn the water off. Five steps back to the right, my gas stove awaits. Click, click, click, and it's on.

The open flame makes me uncomfortable but the small cast of heat is always nice. Placing the kettle on the stove, I open my phone, no messages, I have two notifications from email spam and a game app, nothing exciting. This is the same as with every morning. I can hear the slight bubbling of the water in the kettle now.

They caught up with me again. I am sat in my usual spot, in the offices with copy machines and desktops all running at maximum capacity. The kettle two desks down bubbled and hissed like usual. They had offered me a hot chocolate, I accepted. Opportunities shouldn't be wasted especially when you could get watered down plastic tasting 'hot chocolate.' The officers stopped asking me questions after my third time here, they know why, they know what I told them. I'm a disgruntled angsty teen. I never told them the truth. The fresh from the kettle 'hot chocolate' burnt my tongue every time, The mug was cold on the ceramic handle, the magma inside forgettable until I felt a searing pain. I heard them call my parents. Five minutes, that's how long I had left of this glory.

Five minutes, that's how long until they got there. Their demeanor was appropriate for a police station. Calm but concerned, relieved but upset.

Lies.

The sound of my seat belt buckling echoed in dead silence, only to be interrupted by the slamming doors and the start of the engine. Silence never lasted long for me. Sounds continued, increasing in volume as we got on the highway just a few blocks down from the station. The speed increased and then the sound of dirt and rocks being crushed beneath our tires became a steady static. The speed increased and the static was what I had to focus on. Everything else was too loud. It kept getting louder.

The boiling is now rapid, constant formation and destruction of hot air bubbles is a relaxing sound. The steam gives off heat, slightly more than the stove.

The noise settles and becomes muffled, that's how you know the water's almost done. The kettle whistles.

Screaming. Pure fear is what I heard as I saw the deer run off into the bushes. The screams stopped suddenly, was I screaming? I don't remember, I was too distracted by the fear in the deer's eyes then watching us pass the barricade. I knew what had happened. My seatbelt dug into my skin when I tried to move and look around, trying to loosen it amplified a sharp pain on my side. Click. I am free from the seatbelt. I wondered if the deer had felt a similar pain in its side if we had hit it at all.

The cold air raced into my lungs and smelled of burning rubber and gasoline. Catching my breath was not easy because of the smell, it was so strong it felt as if it was burning my lungs. The side of my forehead was warm, the warmth worked its way down dripping off my chin. My breathing became steady, so does the piercing pain in my side. With each breath out it became numb only to be reignited when the air rushed back in. I've experienced this before, nothing I couldn't handle.

I scratched the palms of my hands on the broken glass that had settled on the door handle. With my full body weight, the door swung open enough for me to step out. An oak tree towered over me. My parent's car hugging the trunk.

My mug cupboard is more appealing than the one which holds my kettle. Today I choose a plain white mug, large enough to be a bowl. My stainless steel tea bag holder sits on my counter, I randomly choose my tea for the day. I leave it up to fate. With every tea flavour, I add the same ingredient, a tablespoon of honey. The hot water rushes out the kettle fully energized. The water level rises in my mug, dissolving the honey and saturating the teabag. I stir the pale red elixir. Pressing the tea bag on the side of the mug allows a deep red pigment to spill out.

Her pale yellow shirt dyed with red. Her brown almond eyes reflected mine. Her skin was pale, lips blue. Watching my mother through a broken window, in silence, was peaceful. I've never seen her so quiet. The only sound was a weak rushing of air coming from beside her. My father had his head against the steering wheel and was almost motionless. The only movement was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Seeing my parents be peaceful, be quiet, it's relaxing.

The night was solely illuminated by the cast of a lamppost and the tail lights. The tail lights Illuminated the scene with red. My phone had power, it had service, I could have called for help. The night was so calm and beautiful, stinging lights of the station or hospital were not appealing. It was a slight incline to the roadside, only a hundred meters away. A walk would be nice. The red glow slowly dissipated as the yellow from the street lamp became brighter.

The short walk to the patio doors, across my living room, was cold on my feet. My hands stay warm as I cup my mug. The patio doors slide open, resisting at first, then becoming smooth. The brisk morning air and a slight breeze are refreshing, the light cast of the sun gives off warmth. My usual patio chair, an old wicker chair with a warm blanket draped over it, calls my name. I sit, bring my feet up. Wrap the blanket around me and bring the mug back into my hands. The warmth of the tea slides down my throat, settling in my stomach, and radiates. The taste of rooibos and honey sits on my tongue. I close my eyes and listen, the silence is peaceful. Slight traffic is on the road below but from a few stories up it's muffled, easy to ignore. I remember the brisk air on the side of the highway that day, where I continued to walk as if they had never picked me up in the first place. The only thought in my head was, I was finally free. That was three years ago today.