Finding Home | Finders Keepers #1✔️

Three - Walk of Shame

reconstructed and published: 03-31-18

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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THREE – WALK

The thing about having nightmares is that either it's just your memories reliving you of it or it's the desires you aspire to get in life. When it comes to me, having dreams is like being forced to watch a scary movie that just keeps on going repeat. It's almost like you're stuck to your chair and your eyelids are forced to be open; like the man in clockwork orange who had things inside his eyes to make sure he won't close them.

My eyes move to the alarm clock beside the bed, seeing how it's already midnight. I have about seven hours before they come over the motel and take my things. I insisted in taking my own stuff but they wanted to help me getting my stuff to their house.

Something about having family time by helping me carry my things – I don't know, I wasn't exactly listening to them.

I walk to the cupboard and take out the cocoa powder than mom taught me how to make. It was a drink to help me sleep when I was a kid, and to this day, it still does. I would wake up when there were nightmares but it became necessary for me to drink one every night because it keeps my nightmares minor. If I don't drink cocoa, then I'll be having a restless sleep or none at all.

I take a look at the jar, seeing that there's only enough for one mug. And I always drink three mugs of it.

I sigh. Okay, it's better to have one than have none at all.

And for the rest of the night, the nightmares were even scarier than they were.

The want to sleep wore off when the clock reached three in the morning so I do what I always do when that happens – I wear a sweater under my pajamas, got the keys for the motel, and went out, starting to walk around the city, carefully remembering how to go back to the motel.

It's a tradition every one night in a week, mom, dad, and I take a stroll outside of the house. It's our family's way to be together, almost like eating together with your family.

Even if we agreed that we were all transparent about things to each other, I never really told them the things that bothered me because I didn't want them to worry about their kid. The best thing was, they never push me to tell them anything. They always just say, "honey, we love you. Whatever it is that you're keeping from us, we'll be here to listen when you're ready."

They were the cool parents. A little strict, yes, but every kid needs that kind of teaching in their life.

Mom told me one night that when she and dad were just teenagers, dad would get bad nightmares too whenever she was away. And when he did, he and mom would walk out the door and just walk and talk about anything besides the nightmare. Somehow, that became our own thing.

I remember mom telling me stories about dad, completely humiliating him to me.

"I remember when we were kids and I used to see him sucking on his thumb." Mom laughs, not even minding that dad was glaring at her. "He was always getting scolded at by his parents and then one time, we were playing in the park and our parents left us alone for about ten minutes, and then that became the bullies' cue to come up to your father and tell him that he was such a baby for sucking his thumb."

"It wasn't a baby!" I remember dad protesting to her. "It was... yeah, a baby."

Mom rolls her eyes at her husband and then turns to me. "Anyway, I went up to them to talk them out of hurting him but as I was going, your dad pulled out his thumb out of his mouth and sucker punched the kid in front of his face! And when the others were wanting revenge, he grabbed my hand and we ran for our lives."