Unlike You

Three

I don't realize the door has opened until I see an all-too-familiar-face standing in front of me.

"Dad?"

"Serendipity?" I stand on the ratty old welcome mat of our home, in utter confusion.

"Did you know I was coming home today?" I ask.

"Don, honey, who is-" I hear a feminine voice ask from beyond the door. I recognize the voice before I see them.

Mom.

"Ser? Is that- is that you?" she questions.

"Did any of you seriously not know I was coming today?"

"No, sweetheart. We thought you were coming next month," my dad confesses.

"Didn't the center call you at all?" I push.

"They did, but I thought they said the twenty-first of next month," he explains.

"Unbelievable," I groan before pushing past my parents into the house.

The inside is not as familiar as the outside is. The living room is the first room you walk into. The walls that were once an off-white color are now a soft brown, the furniture that was once from yard sales, are now black leather and hard wood, and the TV that used to be an old box TV is now a flat screen.

I turn to my parents in utter shock.

"I see you've redone the place," I point out, gesturing to the room around me.

"We were going to tell you sooner, but we just never got the chance. Your father got promoted at work to the vice president."

My dad works for this company that sells mattresses and he didn't make much being a salesman. I guess being vice president gets you a new paint job and a flat screen TV. Go figure.

"I'm gonna go to my room."

I walk down the hallway that leads to my bedroom, which is directly across from Myra's. Something deep inside me tells me to go knock on her door and surprise her, but my head tells me that princesses don't want surprises from peasants.

I turn to my door that I have missed more than anything. Having some privacy is a luxury that I will never take for granted again. I look over the pictures that I have pinned to the white door. They are mostly of my sister and I from when we were kids, but one picture catches my attention more than all of them. The image makes me sick as bile raises to my throat, a burning sensation that I find unpleasant.

In the picture, are two girls. Both fifteen years old, standing in their two-piece bathing suits with sunglasses on and drinks in their hands. Their arms are wrapped around each others waist as they pose with each other, smiling at the camera.

Amy, I think.

Amy was my best friend. We went through everything together, and when I say everything, I mean everything. We went through up's and down's, high's and low's, and anything in between. She's gone now. In a better place than here, that's for sure.

I tear my eyes from the picture as too many unwanted memories start to flood my brain. I twist the door knob a bit to forcefully and step into my room, slamming it behind me.

I close my eyes and press the back of my head to the door. I take in deep breaths, hoping to calm me down. Once I feel the tears subside and my nerves calm down, I let my eyes slowly flutter open.

I take in the familiar things and the not so familiar things about the place I spent most of my days in. The walls that I begged for days to paint are still the same sea foam green color, the hardwood floors still have scratches in them from days long forgotten, and my bureau that holds the clothes that I haven't worn in an entire year still sits in the same place.