Adrift Alone

Chrissie closed the back door gently and was satisfied that no one had heard her leave.  With her parent’s battle just begun, it could be hours before they would miss her; if they miss me at all, Chrissie thought miserably.  This fight had started earlier than normal, with Chrissie wakening to faint hushed strained voices that escalated into the screaming  match that she was escaping from now.     

Clutching Bandit to her thin chest, and dragging her small bed-quilt, Chrissie made her way down toward her safe place.  It was not quite dawn and the heavy cloud-cover dipped down to meet the lake’s edge giving an eerie surreal feeling to the landscape.  But Chrissie was not afraid and continued down the sloping yard, leaving a trail through the dew on the unkempt lawn.  The bottom of her nightgown had become damp, and although she had flung on her bathrobe and slippers, she now wished she had waited to put on some proper clothes and shoes. 

The lawn gave way to patchy dirt and weeds, until she finally stepped onto the wooden pier.  Chrissie tip-toed over the worn grey planks, then stopped and gingerly lowered herself into the small rowboat near the end of the dock. 

Chrissie laid the quilt at the bottom of the boat, then hunkered down and made herself invisible by wrapping her robe around Bandit and herself.  By pressing her eyes shut, Chrissie could almost squeeze out the sounds of her parents yells that still reverberated through her small frame.  The lapping of the water against the boat-side and the gentle rocking helped to ease the ache and she gradually felt the tension begin to fade. 

Taking Bandit from under her robe, Chrissie sat up and pressed her back against the boat seat, bringing her knees up to create a slalom with her robe between her knees and chin.   Chrissie placed him against her thighs and moved her hands over his face and head, whispering to reassure him.  Her Dad had won him at a state fair a few years back when things had been much better and they were still truly a family.  Determined to knock down the milk bottles, her Dad must have spent three times as much as what he would have paid in a store.  But Bandit had been hanging up on the tent, and Chrissie had been sure he was looking just at her; that he belonged with her.  When the act was finally completed, and the milk bottles lay scattered on the dirt floor, Chrissie’s Mom had wrapped her arms around her Dad and kissed him long and deep, then laughed and hugged him again.  Chrissie had pretended not to notice, but buried her face deep into the raccoon’s fur and giggled.  Those were wonderful times.   

Chrissie carefully placed Bandit in the crook of her arm then curled up on her side with her knees up almost to her chin.  She snuggled her face into the soft fur of her constant companion and said the prayer she repeated every night:  Please God, make Mommy and Daddy love each other again.  Make them stop fighting.  I promise to help out around the house and not get in anyone’s way.  I will be a real good girl.  Help them to love me again.  Amen.  Chrissie’s eyelids fell and clutching Bandit even tighter, she gave in to sleep.

The gentle rocking of the boat gave way to a soft bump and a rubbing noise.  Chrissie’s subconscious nudged her awake, alerting her to the change.  She opened her eyes and looked up at the sky; the sun was almost above her, why hadn’t she heard her mother call?  The scraping continued, and Chrissie sleepily peeked her head up above the side of the boat.  The sound that had wakened her was that of the boat being pushed up against the pebbly shore by the lake’s tide. 

Chrissie stared at the view in front of her.  A large white house with tall windows and a multi-leveled roof loomed above a steep cliff.  On each side of the house small towers reached up and were topped with rounded crowns.  On the right, a screened-in porch started toward the front of the house and stopped where it met a full terrace.  This terrace was covered only by a wooden white lattice that stretched across the back of the house and continued around to the other side.  A white fence sloped down the hill from the back of the house, stopping just short of the lake, enclosing a beautiful garden.  The flowers were of various hues of blues, yellows, reds and purples with foliage encompassing all different colors of greens.  The garden was planted in tiers.  Chrissie smiled to herself. She was pleased that she remembered this word.  Her Dad had taken her to a baseball game once and that’s how he described the seating.  She wondered if she was still dreaming, the house could be a castle …