Where Dreams Lay

[twenty]

 [twenty] "if i lose myself tonight, it will be by your side." -Alesso vs. One republic 

Today brought nothing more than hanging around at home. Occasionally, I would do something with Casey or Joey, but overall, our Saturday was average.

Wandering around, thinking about mom, and thinking about dad . . . is what made up my day. We didn't go see her, because I thought it was too soon, but after school tomorrow, I'll find my way to that hospital one way or another.

Right now, it's almost five in the afternoon, and I'm cleaning my room. It's kind of crazy how messy a room can get over the course of a week. I mean, it isn't only me who has this problem right?

I keep my music low as new pop songs pump through my ear buds. Usually I hate the normal 'biggest hits' that the radio plays, mostly because the songs are either overplayed or too cheesy for my liking. Want to know who my real obsession is? A red-head that sings crazy good with songs that I never get sick of.

After I finish settling my room, I realize that mom and dad's room is empty, with no one to clean it. Even though it's only been a week, I know that if mom were here, she'd go nuts being the clean freak she is. I decide to check out the area, see if it needs some tiding up. Turns out, I was smart to think this, because their bed isn't made properly and some of mom's dresses are on the side bench. The memory of mom rushing downstairs because she was the last one to get ready pops back in my mind. She must have done a 'guess and check' with her dresses. There's about four laid on the bench.

I take them in my arms and head for her closet. It's a walk in, since you know, she's mom, and she deserves a, sigh, really nice closet.

It's pretty full in here now that I get a better look. She's got multiple storage boxes with drawers attached, and random knick-knacks on the floor. I don't blame her for this much of an unorganized mess, she is a busy woman—or should I say . . . was one.

Her smell fills my body and of course I feel the emptiness return. For a few minutes, I just stand there, motionless in her closet, soaking in the familiar smell. My eyes suddenly flicker towards a box that's different form the others: it's purple, with a pale yellow ribbon around it—almost like a present or something like it. I pull it out of hibernation and examine it more closely.

My heart drops, pulse rapidly growing, and hands start to sweat when I see my name printed on the front, in cursive letters. This fancy box is meant for me. I can't bring myself to try and remember anything mom has said about it. Opening it right now could be good for me because it could expose any secrets and answer some questions I have. Opening it right now could also turn into something I'll regret later, depending on what it contains. Clearly, it's from mom, so at some point I am going to open it right? So why can't it be now?

I tell myself that I'm overthinking the situation. I turn my head to see and listen if anyone's coming, but from what I know, the kids are playing in the living room. I give up with the mind games I'm playing with myself, so quickly with force but not too much to break it, I rip off the yellow ribbon. The box has a lid that I slip off gently. The content of this box confuses me at first glance. There's yellow tissue paper that I remove, and under it there's knick-knacks like a charm bracelet that matches the one I'm currently wearing on my left wrist. The one she gave me . . . all along she's had one to match mine. The thought creates butterflies in my stomach and I try to hold back any sudden reactions that could end badly.

There's also a picture of her and dad—not at their wedding but somewhere else. It looks like it's at a park, on a summer day, since mom's wearing a skirt and dad's legs are covered with shorts. They look younger, happier, in love. Looking at it more closely, I smile while staring at mom's lips that are forming a smile from ear to ear. Back then they printed the date on the bottom of a photograph, and this one reads a few years before I was born.