To The Moon

Part 1; Chapter 2

The sun in San Diego was so much brighter than what I had back at home. It was only 7:00 and it felt as though it was noon. I had come in late last night and when my mother didn’t greet me at the door I went straight to my old room, though I had slept on the floor instead of the bed. It was as if my room was a distant memory. The reality was clouded and looking in felt like I was dreaming. The light pink paint had faded and as I flipped the light switch the overhead chandelier flickered until it acquired the energy to show me the dead room before me. Unlike the rest of the house, it hadn’t been redone, hadn’t been renovated to fit the aging woman who was my mother. It was still stuck in the past. My room looked as though it hadn’t been visited in five years, which -- knowing my mother -- probably hadn’t. 

The walls were bare and my drawers mostly empty, a lonely room. My bed wasn’t made, just the way I left it when I packed my bags, the sheets were in disarray, and you could see the where my head would lay head on the pillow. In the morning light I could see much clearer what the room had come to. I had no interest in exploring my past, though, so I pulled on baggy sweatpants and wandered out into the hallway.

My mother wasn’t the first person I saw when I moved into the marble tiled kitchen. Looking in the white cabinets was a dark-haired man with olive skin. He grabbed a clear glass and turned around to face me, jumping a little as he saw me. He had bright green eyes that almost matched the color of the walls behind him. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I directly told him.

“I’m your mother’s...uh...friend,” he looked at the ground and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

I sighed and turned away towards the couch and television. Looked like my mother had never changed after all. She was passed out on the couch in a tight black dress and her purse was on the floor with credit cards hanging out of it. She snored. I shook her shoulder a little bit until her eyes opened and she groaned. 

“I’m here,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, me too,” I said in her ear.

He eyes shot open. The whites in her eyes gray, all from nights of partying and little sleep. 

“My baby! I’ve missed you so much! We have so much to talk about, so much happened while you were at school. Let’s see, the maid dropped by and made lunch for us all, so we can all sit out on the balcony and catch up. What do you think, darling?”

“Including this one?” I motioned with my thumb to the green-eyed man drinking his water while he watched us. 

“Of course! That’s my friend, Burton! Isn’t he a cutie? He’s been taking such good care of me while your father was gone. Where is he?” 

“New York.”

“Oh,” she pouted. She slowly got up and walked to the kitchen. On her way there Burton pulled her by the waist and kissed her passionately.

"You told him not to come, Natalie. Don't you remember when you had your lawyer send that lovely letter? The one that said you had the right to see your daughter once in a while? The first one in five years? Don't you remember?"

She looked at me now, her eyes wide. Probably more sober than she had been in the past five months, her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide. I could see the tears forming at the edges and gathering in her eyelashes, but I didn't stay to see them fall. 

I was out the door before she could even reply. The first store I came to I went in and bought a pair of sunglasses, they were Ray-Ban Wayfarer's, more than I could have paid for but my mother had generously left her credit card out on the kitchen counter as I left. Walking down an unfamiliar road, I looked about at the passing people until I decided to sit down on a rock over-looking Swamis Beach.  

It seemed like everybody was blonde in this city. All tan and blonde, in their bikinis carrying their surfboards. There I was, in sweatpants and a half-shirt, looking at all those tan surfers who were living their lives to the fullest. All while I watched my life waste away before me.

In New York, I thought my life was perfect. I thought that my life was set out for me. As I sat there, though, I thought about how imperfect it really was. My father always tried to shelter me from the rest of society to do what's best for me, when really it hurt me the most. My friends all had their little suburban, white-picket fence houses, with their picture-perfect families and they never really understood my family. I even started questioning whether I really loved my boyfriend, Spencer. He was the perfect prep boy, and I knew I couldn't love anyone more than him. 

He was THE guy. Sometimes I thought we were going to get married. I was celibate, and he did his best to honor that though I had suspicions that I wasn't always the girl he looked up and down at. His name was Preston; the quarterback of the football team, a brunette with hazel eyes, part of the "popular" group. He tried to get his friends to like me, but I had the vibe that none of them really wanted me there. I wasn't the most popular person in New York, I was more of the let's get through high school so I can start a career sort of girl. Not many people really had the chance to know me, I didn't socialize often. Preston knew I was badass though.

I had the guts to try everything, and I had tried mostly everything. Parties were my forte though I usually went out of town to the college parties rather than stick at the high school parties. I practically took after my mother. I wouldn't switch from guy to guy like her though. 

With my mother being the unstable way she was, I would never be like her. I would never take the shape of the monster that used to look back at me with a disgusted look in her eye. I could still see it as clear as water, and I hated the way it stared back at me.