Set me Free

1

Have you ever witnessed how beautifully colors change and how each change of color signifies different stages? The bright red which over time diminish into a dark shade of blue, black or even purple. Gradually, the dark colors dissipate into a vibrant–almost the same brightness of a highlighter–yellow or green.

As I stared at myself in the mirror, my eyes flickered to the area underneath my left eye, the yellow and green stage. It took about a week for the contusion to have reached the beautiful yellow and green color. I traced the outline of the bruise and flinched at the tender area as I was brought back to the moment I got it.

"Dad, I think you've had enough." I cringed away from the stench of alcohol on his breath and attempted to keep the bottle away from him.

He struggled to stand straight so he yanked a strand of my hair and didn't think twice before he pulled back his arm and swung right at my face.

I flinched as I relived the memory and continued to apply whatever makeup I had left on the bruise so that it appeared less noticeable. I glanced at my watch and quickly cleared my belongings from the bathroom counter and rushed down the very short hall to my bedroom. I dropped everything in my closet and grabbed my apron for work and shoved it in my backpack then picked up my shoes and treaded quietly to the front door of our tight spaced apartment.

My father remained passed out on the sofa and grumbled in his sleep as I stepped out of the apartment. The afternoon sun struck me right away as I squinted my eyes and dropped my shoes to the ground grumbling at how bright and sunny it was. I hated the sun.

I slid on my shoes and darted to the bus stop a few feet down from my apartment just barely making it. It wasn't like the bus driver would have left, she always waited for me.

"Don't you just love that bright sun out there today?" Rhoda asked while smirking down at me. I smiled at her friendly face and then continued to roll my eyes as I stepped onto the bus.

"Just love it." I exhaled.

Rhoda's face softened as she briefly scanned my face, settling with a gentle smile and nodded her head behind her to where the rest of the bus riders were sat. I made my way to the middle half of the bus and sat by the window.

We passed by the same houses, we passed by the same streets and the same people got on the same bus. Every day was the same day–at least for me it was. Every afternoon, six days a week, I tiptoed out of my apartment and got on the bus to get to work. I worked ten hours for those six days to make enough money for both my dad and I to survive–well for my dad to fulfill his full time job of being an alcoholic. So, instead of going to college like everyone else my age I continued to work to support our needs.