Where Dreams Lay

[eight]

[eight] "don't you worry child, see heaven's got a plan for you" -Swedish house Mafia ft. john martin

The house feels empty now. As I walk around my home, it is starting to feel bigger and bigger. The kitchen isn't occupied 24/7 like it was before. The main hall isn't vibrating from the jumping and running. Every time I enter my bedroom, I close my door and the memory of Mom sitting by my side comes back. It's almost like I can see her brown messy hair falling out of her lose ponytail, like I can see her back leaning against that door. All I can think about when I enter my bedroom is her voice, telling me that one day everything will work out. That this is just a phase, that it will pass, and my life would become better.

    Dad used to come and check on me. When I would have a bad day, he would notice, but never say anything. I never figured out why, but I know he knew if I had an off day. He would open that same door and peek through the smallest crack, saying hello after he came home from work. He asked a few times how my day was, but I never said anything but "it was fine." Or "okay, I guess." I ignored him and soon enough, he began to ignore me. I never regretted something as much as I regret not fixing things between us.

    Back to the present, I'm sitting on my bed, playing candy crush on my phone. This tedious game has got me addicted for twelve levels so far. I don't even know why I downloaded it; I was just trying to find a distraction and came across it. For the past hour, its been working.

    Just as I'm about to finish the level, Casey runs in, leaving the door open. She's out of breath and says, "Paris! You need to come downstairs right now!"

    I groan, "Casey what is it?"

    She grabs my hand and begins to tug, "Just come! PLEEEEEASE!"

    Giving up, I get off my bed and follow her to the main floor. She is still tugging my right arm with force and I try to keep up with her. Those little almost-six-year-old legs can run fast.

   

    When I enter the kitchen, the first thing that pops into my mind, is that I forgot Joey needs help with little things. That Luke can sometimes do things that upset him, causing . . . a huge mess.

    "Joey! What on earth happened in here?" I almost yell, while walking around the puddle of milk.

    "I-I . . . it was Luke's fault!"

    I take the carton out of Joey's hands and lift him up under his arms, then carry him around the puddle.

    "Seriously guys, I can't go upstairs for one minute without you making a giant mess!?" I turn to Luke, who's giggling quietly, "And you! What did you do to make this happen? I know Joey didn't just . . . SPILL the milk!?"

    "Hey I was just blowing bubbles in my milk when some kinda squirted out of my nose." He puts his hands up in defense mode, "It's actually his fault for laughing too hard and dropping the carton."

    I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, "Whatever, Luke. Just take him upstairs to change into a fresh shirt. I'll clean this up,"

    They go and I'm left knees down on the floor, mopping the milk dry, when it feels like it's just moving place to place, creating a bigger spill. The best part is, Casey is just sitting at the table, watching me.

    I feel like Cinderella right now . . .and not the princess beauty part of her.

     Ten minutes later, I'm sitting on my living room couch, watching Bubble Guppies. Casey's head is on my lap and I follow her request of making little braids in her hair. Once I do a few, I untie them and start over, seeing her smile at me every couple minutes.