To The Moon

Part 1; Chapter 8

Author's Note;

So, I had trouble organizing my thoughts on this chapter. There were a lot of things that I needed to cover and I finally realized I was going to split the events into two separate chapters. This chapter is short, I know, but please continue to leave comments and vote for To The Moon for the Watty Awards!

Love, Kathryn

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As I walked into the driveway, I looked into an upstairs window. There was a single light on in a window to the left of the house. It wasn't covered by a shade and I could see the taped pictures. There was a shadowed figure pacing back and forth, sort of hunched over, looking down into something. It was Isabel. She had her hair up in a high ponytail and kept bringing her hand up to her face. She was crying. Yet, as I walked into the driveway, looking up into that upstairs window, I no longer felt a furious anger, I felt a melancholy heartache - an ache for the past.

Something during that run had released a lot of anger. Anger that had been built up for five years straight, anger that had caused me to do stupid things and trust stupid people. It was anger that had wondered why things were the way they were and why it couldn't have been different. During that run I had finally realized the answer.

I didn't work for things to be different.

For one-thousand, eight-hundred, twenty-six days I sat on my ass waiting for things to change. I didn't do a damn thing to change the way my life was. I didn't try and contact my mother, I didn't try to find new friends, I didn't try and stay connected with the people who loved me in San Diego, and it was all because I had been convinced that I didn't deserve anything better. My father told me that my mother was awful, Preston told me that the people I knew were the only ones who would like me in New York, the one person I said goodbye to told me not to try and come back with her hollow eyes. I had been morphed by the people around me for the past five years. 

I had wandered around confused and broken for the past five years. 

San Diego was slowly taping me back together though. It was telling me to focus on the present, and that's what I needed. 

I walked in the front door and past the kitchen. Burton was nowhere in sight, he seemed to know when people needed to be alone and when they needed company. I walked past the living room and I slid on the wood with my socks toward the closet door which stood slightly ajar. 

I could hear heavy whimpers and sighs from inside. In Isabel's hands was the taupe colored album. At this point she was on the floor, leaning against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chin. I slowly made my way over and slid down the wall next to her. My head flopped the one side and I rested it on her shoulder. It was the closest we'd been in five years. I could feel a tear slide down the side of my face and land on her shoulder, only a single tear and then it was over. 

Looking down I studied the picture on the open page. It was a picture of me, when I was approximately three. I was on the beach, blowing bubbles towards the camera. My hair fell to my shoulders in golden ringlets. 

Isabel's shoulders lifted then fell as she prepared to speak. 

"Your father took it. It's the one memory I have of you as a baby. My baby girl," she wiped her eyes. "Scarlett, you can't rewrite the past. You can only shape your future. I never imagined I'd be the woman I am today. I was you. I was this baby girl."

I waited in silence as I sat speechless. 

"After you have this abortion, promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't be me."