Keith

Part 1

Keith was nothing special. There was nothing that set her apart from others or made her different in any way, shape, or form. Her hair wasn't a crazy color or perfectly flawless such as the hair of models in magazines. She had no special talent that was useful of any sort, or any talent that wasn't of any importance either for that matter. She wasn't smart like some of the other kids in her class that could ace any test without any effort what so ever, instead she had to study for weeks before to even come close to making a C. There wasn't an after school sport or instrument that she devoted her time to. Instead, she spent her time at an old bookstore downtown sitting in the very back corner reading, or simply just breathing in the musty smell of aging books. There she would sit, and by sitting she would be.

Nothing ever happened in her life except for the adventures she embarked on in the pages of whatever she decided to read that day. She would sit for hours lost in a world that doesn't exist, while life continued on around her. Keith had decided long ago that the world was cruel place and had no interested in interacting with others. She was alone and friendless. Her only friends were the ones in the pages of her books.

* * * * *

The brisk air around me was damp from the earlier thunderstorm that had occurred while I sat in the safety of the cozy little bookshop on Hansen Street. It was almost eight o'clock and the street lamps were beginning to come on, their orange glow reflected off the puddles in the street. Mom was going to kill me, the rule was that I was allowed to go wherever I liked until the streetlights came on. When the streetlights came on I was to be at the dinner table having dinner with my parents.

Time had slipped away as it does most of the time, however this time I had gotten to ensnared with the whimsical tale of Alice in Wonderland. I had already read Alice in Wonderland three times, but I liked to pretend that I was a different character in the story each time I read it.

I could see the kitchen light shining through the red curtains of the second-story window of our dated apartment. My father was sitting on the stoop, his face illuminated by the warm glow of a match being lifted to the end of a cigarette hanging between his cracked lips. He took a few puffs, causing clouds of smoke to swirl around him before thinning into the sky above.

"Hey, dad," I said before passing him and walking through the door. He didn't acknowledge that I had just walked past him or even spoken to him, I'm not even sure if he acknowledged me as his own daughter. To him I was just a passing figure of the silent and lonely night, a mere stranger.

I climbed the stairs silently, trying to hold on to the remnants of the poetically written words in my mind before entering the world of chaos that belonged to my controlling OCD mother.

My parents were opposites, to one parents everything was noticeable, while the other noticed nothing but the burning smoke filling their lungs and killing the pain. One was reliable and one was a photograph on the wall, noticed and silently noticing unnoticed. One doing everything and one barely wakes up in time for dinner at night. One sleeping soundly through the night while one wonders the streets perpetually at night and sulks back early in the morning. One was upstairs relentlessly cleaning the kitchen and one was downstairs smoking a cigarette before embarking on a long nighttime journey.

"I'm home. Sorry, I'm late," I said as I pushed the door open. I dropped my backpack by the door before mom came rushing into the living room.

"Shoes off! Shoes off!"

Startled, I quickly pulled my shoes off and placed them next to my backpack. She let out a soft sigh and smiled before going back into the kitchen. I followed her and sat down at the kitchen table.