When Secret Places Collide

Tara

I throw my backpack on the floor of my bedroom. My back, neck, and shoulders are tense and tied in knots. My fists are balled and my belly is warm. I want to punch something. I want to break something. I want it to hurt me. I need to know that I can still feel it. At the same time, I want to collapse into a puddle on the floor. I want to turn out the lights and let the tears flow from my eyes and down my cheeks and neck.

I begin to pace to room. "It doesn't matter," I say to myself. I face the mirror and make eye contact with the unfamiliar face in the glass. "None of this is worth it. It doesn't matter," I repeat. I shake my head. I need out. I grab the small nap sack out of my closet. "I'm going out," I yell to mother as I skip down the stairs and out the back door.

I shuffle down the worn path through the few small acres of trees behind our house. I come to edge of our property and cross under the barbed wire on to our neighbor's land. The Lavone's have miles of land that stretch and sprawl around their house. Right on the line between our properties is a tree house.

It is old and covered in layers of moss and dirt. The ladder that is nailed to the large, oak tree is missing a rung, but I still pull myself up through the trapdoor in the floor.

I pull a candle out of my bag and situates it in the hole in the wood that is surrounded by wax, built up over the years. I light it with a match from a matchbook from one of the many hotels and other places I've been to. I lean my back against the wall and watch as the flame dances. My anger, stress, and frustration melts away.