wheels.

chapter 2

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                                     chapter 2

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After what seemed like forever, I was finally able to check out, and so with my medication, ‘get well soon’ presents and wheelchair packed in the boot of the car, we made our way towards the three-story building which we used to call ‘home.’ The silence was deafening and not one word was spoken.

Pulling into the drive, dad cut off the engine and I couldn’t help noticing his whole body deflate; it was obvious that the recent events were heavily taking their toll on this once optimistic man. Not once did he look me in the eyes or even make an attempt to smile, as he grabbed my wheelchair and hesitantly lifted me into it.

Opening the elegant oak front door, and making my way inside, the interior was almost unrecognisable. The same could also be said for the frail woman occupying the sofa, with a near empty bottle of wine in hand and several discarded bottles scattered across the room. Her dull, unattended hair tangled down her back in knots, revealing her sunken features and the bloodshot vacant eyes which never leaved the same spot on the opposite wall.

Exploring the house further, I soon realised that the whole place was trashed. The kitchen floor was completely covered in smashed plates and broken utensils, the bedrooms were turned upside down, and smashed mirrors left sharp debris scattered near the frame.

I returned to the living room, only now noticing the box of family photos sitting next to my mother, half of the contents lying on the coffee table in shreds. On nearing closer, it became clear that she was cutting out my face from each photo and placing them on one side, whilst on the other side lay a pile of the rest of each photo, everyone’s smiling faces aimed towards the camera, simply reflecting the warmth and love we held for each other. It seemed like nothing could break that family bond which was so rare to find these days.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

As my eyes panned across each cut out of me, a thick, black marker pen had graffitied my face and as my eyes flicked towards the burning log fire, they stopped upon the sight of individual photos of me - from every year of my life - shrivelling and melting to ash from the bitter heat emanating from those flames.

My mouth fell open in misunderstanding, my mind not being able to comprehend the rejection and blame which my so-called mother obviously felt. I turned my tear felt gaze towards her, and only when a heart-wrenching sob escaped my mouth did she even realise our presence. Her unwelcoming eyes snapped towards mine, and in a drunken state she whispered,

‘get out of my sight.’

 Nothing registered in my brain, and after seeing that I hadn’t moved at all, or even blinked, she screamed,

‘GO AWAY, YOU LITTLE BITCH!’

I wheeled myself away from her as fast as I could, not before noticing my father still hunched in the doorway looking dishevelled and broken, which was fairly normal now. Fortunately, my bedroom had always been on the ground floor at the back of the house - and has a second door leading out into the open air, through the patio and our garden, and out into the hills of the valley - so I wouldn't have too much of a struggle in getting there, thankfully.

The Valley..

Me and my best friend, Kate would play there when we were younger, hide and seek being our favourite game of all time. When we grew out of that, we would go for walks and sing songs, or have a ‘bogies’ contest seeing as nobody could hear us. Or anything for that matter. Reaching our teen years, this turned into our favourite spot to hangout, listen to music and have heart-to-hearts over a summer picnic.