In a Heartbeat

Chapter 5 - Vulnerable

Chapter 5: Vulnerable

Days Clean, 1

Feeling hatred is a powerful thing. I cry for it. I cry for my hatred of all things new. Because after all, what's to stop from something new turning out to be something horrible?

Nothing, that's what. Nothing can stop it. I feel a fire igniting in my chest and it's difficult to explain...but that fire, that fire is what makes me do the things that I do.

 It makes me. But not this time.

No, this time I will extinguish that fire and I'll become the goddess of water.

. . .

I'm clutching a #2 pencil in my hand, and I feel a little lighter, as if a weight was lifted from my chest. This seems to work for me.

I realized I've talked an awful lot about my mother, but I feel like I haven't thought much about my father. 

Well, we had a special bond and I have a thing for movies. Not like I'm extremely lazy or anything, although that part is probably true as well, but because I like to try and get sucked into a world that has a whole other story of its own. It's sort of amazing to think that something can distract you from your own life, no matter how messed up it ends up to be.

My mom, caring about my well being of course, kind of thought my obsession with movies wasn't the healthiest way to spend all of my free time. So you can imagine why she wasn't so thrilled when she caught me in the middle of a chick flick marathon with my best friends.  But you have to keep this in my mind: my dad was a dreamer. And after all, I am my father's daughter. So he shared his love of movie and imagination to me through genetics, and every day I was constantly reminded of how much I was like him.

So as a result, everyday my father and I would get up early, every Saturday morning. We would dramatically dress in black and make a game out of sneaking away from the house. Creeping alongside the walls, ninja kicks, whispered codes, you name it....that's what we would do in order to reach the movie theaters. And that's when we would fill our aching hearts with another story to set our imaginations latching onto something.

It could be any movie, honestly. I really couldn't have cared as much about the movie as much as I cared about sitting next to my father.

 But now he's gone, and it's Saturday.

. . .

I'm carefully kneeling in front of my open closet, the white plastic chipping off the hangers from repetitive use. Too bad I don't dress up much these days, Haley and Lex would have a field day with all of that style in such a compressed space. No doubt that they would want to alter and dress me up like a life sized Barbie doll.

I reach a slightly shaking hand out to push aside the outfits. Half goes all the way to the left, and the other to the right. This creates an open space down the middle, which reveals my shoe rack.

I take in a deep breath, and struggle to fight the nostalgia flooding into my heart all at once. In the middle shelf is a worn box with "Ninja Clothes" scrawled onto it with my 8-year old, very kiddish, handwriting. Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes but I retaliate. My fingers brush against the cardboard box and I open it to find a black beanie, a pair of sunglasses, a black tee, and black jeans, along with a pair of converse.

My ninja clothes. In other words, my movie attire.

I'm smiling now because I realize that even though they died in pain, their actual lives were worth living for.  My hands place the hat snugly around my head, and I look at my reflection in the mirror. Just a sad looking girl.