The Memory Shop

Chapter 2

“Mum! Dad! Look at what I found!” I heard Alex say as he ran down the stairs and into the living room where mum and dad were watching the telly. I came out of the kitchen and stared at what he had in his hand through the railings of the stairs. It was my journal. I inched closer, hoping mum and dad would tell him he was breaking my privacy, but they did nothing. Alex cleared his throat. “Dear diary,” he read in a ridiculous falsetto, “I don’t know why mum and dad won’t let me go to that writing workshop at school.” My heart was beating out of my chest. “We don’t have to pay anything and even Mr. Roche said that I should do it. I hate them sometimes! Why can’t they just face the fact that I’m not good at math or science? I like writing? Is that a bad thing? Why don’t they try to understand? I wish I could—”

My feet sprinted under me, and I pushed Alex to the floor with every ounce of force I had. I pinned him down beneath me as I tried to grab the journal. “Give it back, Alex! It’s not yours.”

“Stop this now!” Dad’s voice boomed in our ears. I slowly got off Alex and stood up, shamefully looking at my feet. “Is this true? You hate us for not letting go to a workshop, Cassandra?”

At that moment, I was smaller than a thimble. “I just don’t understand.” I whispered softly.

“We want you to do something practical with your life. Living in fantasy has no use to the real world.”

“But I’m a good writer.” I told him, and raised my eyes to meet his. They stared down at me with such feverish disappointment. “What’s not practical about being a writer?”

“It’s not practical, Cassie,” mum said, “because no one would read what you write. Who would read your dreams and concoctions? They have absolutely no value to society.”

Dad’s eyes softened a bit. “We just want you to be safe.” I just nodded, but I didn’t agree. “Go to your room.”

*  *  *

I had slipped out of my bedroom window and climbed down the tree that stood conveniently beside it. I only had a small backpack with a change of clothes and my favorite book. I did not think to bring food or money or anything of real importance. I was not very smart. But as I walked down the dimly lit sidewalk of Cheney Street, all I could think about was how much I hated my family. I only thought about how different I was, and how I never seemed to fit in. I wasn’t like Alex, who wanted to be a doctor, or either of my engineer parents. I wanted to tell the world my stories. I wanted to write them down and have them read by thousands of people. I was not the type of person who wanted to be stuck in a lab or an office for the rest of my life.

I thought of how my brother always said I was stupid for writing everything down. He told me that my stories were awful and that no one would ever read what I had to say. Why would they? Who would listen to me? My parents agreed with him and told me that I should focus on my schoolwork. They told me to do something more useful with my life.

I’ll show them! I thought angrily as I turned onto Bridle Road. The light was better here, do the road being bigger and not surrounded by as many trees. If they can’t accept me for who I am, they’ll just have to live without me. I wiped the tears away from my eyes as I thought of all the reasons I had to run away. When I could not think of enough bad things, the good things about my family started spreading through my head.

I loved them. Even if they didn’t believe in my abilities. I would always love them. I was about to turn back when I saw the sign again. It was right next to the Tudor Lodge Hotel across the street. At first I thought I was dreaming, but when I looked again it was still there. The words that I had seen in my dreams so many times over. They were the same color that I remembered them being; the same dingy cream. The display window was still grimy and covered with a thick layer of brown dust.