It was one of those days. The hot dry summer ones that made you want to run inside with a popsicle in one hand and a cup of lemonade in the other.
I looked back, the hot sun blurring my vision. I could still make out the small white house in the distance if I squinted hard enough at it. I couldn't see the chipped paint covering the siding that was peeling off, or the window I had cracked when Dad got me a baseball and a bat. I couldn't see inside that cracked window, but I still knew what was inside of the small white house I called home. I could see the fringed brown carpet, the stains of cold grape soda from the gas station down the road that I never got out. The TV in front of the stubby yellow couch that I had spent many lonesome nights with, snacking on a bowl of strawberries. The small bedroom I used to share with my older sister was boring and grey. My Mother's room an ugly purple with a small bed, a desk covered in papers with a caseless laptop, and a cracked wall mirror reflecting a distorted reality on the wall next to the bed.
The tall yellow grass of the field rubbed up against my legs, and the dusty dry soil under my sneakers made my throat feel drier by the minute. I dashed through our massive field, towards the Tree House. Well, it wasn't really our field. It was more like Javier's field. But that didn't matter. It's not like he ever comes here to actually farm. At least, I've never seen him around here.
I unconfidently reached for the black tire shreds forming a ladder up the lonely oak tree, the sun making them almost unbearable to touch. I scrambled up the ladder, taking care not to expose my knees and arms to the practically burning tire ladder.
I hauled myself up into the shaded house in the branches of the tree, spaced boards going around it to make a vague border. The roof was made up of two short planks of wood and the green leaves of the tree. The cool shade provided my overheated body some comfort as I sat there, panting.
But my parched throat was screaming for water, so I walked on my knees to a little shelf made by branches. The shelf had a few of my "Emergency Resources". It wasn't really an "Emergency", but the situation was close enough for me. The blank-eyed dolls I never played with sat in a corner, watching me as I reached for a grape soda, pushing past the gas station bottled waters. Grape was my personal favorite. Surprisingly, the soda wasn't warm, but it wasn't as cold as I would've liked either. The excessive amounts of grape soda I have stored up here would blow your mind, and where I find the pocket money to buy it all, I can't say.
I stared out at the wheat field, the sun still high in the sky. Though I did my best to stop it, my mind kept on drifting to the reason I had run up here, and the reason this qualified as an "Emergency".
"Get down here NOW!" she screeched at me as I stumbled stupidly down the stairs.
I gave her a confused look, but Mother seemed to be in too much of a rage to notice.
"Did you do this?" she asked me, her deadly tone hinting I better answer truthfully or face the consequences.
She was pointing at her laptop computer, which was now laying on the floor in a heap, the screen was shattered and green and blue wires were splayed all over the floor. I could see the fire of utter hate crackling in her blue eyes while I considered how I would word my answer. I admit it was me who had smashed the computer, but nevertheless, I had my reasons for doing so.
I could cross off honesty, knowing that would bring about the end of my days. My mother was pretty much a lie detector, so there was no point in denying it was me. I suppose I could just bend the truth. Don't admit, don't deny. But that was the oldest trick in the book. I had been using it on her for years to get out of scrapes. Just sprinkle a few big words into a sentence that has little relevance to the topic, and BAM. She's under your spell. The last time I used it, my plan didn't turn out so well. So I guess I could check that off the list.
You see, getting in trouble with my Mother is like a multiple choice question on a quiz. You have a question like, "Did you let that raccoon into the house?" and you have to select the answer that won't get you killed.
The sun blared into my eyes through the blinds as she stared at me, waiting for an answer, her foot tapping impatiently and her red hair falling across her face.
"Well?" she gave me a look that said I better say something now, so I turned around and ran out the door, leaving it swinging behind me. I think that surprised her.
I ran as fast and as far as I could until I couldn't stand the heat and stopped. I looked back at the house. It was blurred in the distance, and rifled through my few warm memories of home, back when Dad was there.
