A Page Anew

Separation

The worn mud boxes piled up as the day went on. The stretching and pulling of tape in rhythm; its own song. These were the sounds of my childhood. Every few months the dreaded time would come. I had grown used to it; I didn't need anyone to tell me what I could and couldn't take. I already knew. I was expected to. No flashbacks. No pretty pink plush bears; not like they would help anyway.

The darkness grew as the sun began to set. The darker shades pushing aside the lighter, softer ones. By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Used up. I could feel the heavy boxes every inch down my cramping back. My shirt clung to every curve as my forehead glistened in the meager light.

I never questioned why we left. I didn't have to. I have grown up knowing what I needed in their voices and faces. The hushed whispers growing of my parents growing as the day came closer. The line of their mouths, the angle of their jawline, and the spreading shadows. They told me everything I needed to know; yet again. Why they came home with pale faces; why I only heard the opening and closing of doors but not them. The outsiders told me "speak your mind," but I never needed to. All I had to do was take one glance at their tired faces, our broken beds and the story was told. I knew I had to remain a shadow, the least of their worries. Something that could be forgotten.

I stepped out onto the balcony and glanced up, the sky now was the darkest shade of blue. Almost black, but not quit. It let no light seep through. Though it told so many stories as it watched and carried our burdens in the streaks of fluff. Light, and floating but burdened nonetheless. It was like my mind - the one that never let the old memories seep into the new ones and hurt. Hurt. There was no place for that. There was already enough of it anyway. I was their spotlight that distracted them from their pains. I knew it better than the sky I grew up admiring, that I couldn't take that away.

I went through the motions of praying, and turning off the light ever so gently, excited and giddy to go under my covers where my real world began. I don't know when I fell in love with the rough textures of the papers or the contrasting flow of words. But once I read one, I couldn't stop. It was the one thing that was mine; not just for show but mine because no one else knew to take them away. My books. Hidden stash upon stash. Ones I would take everywhere, no matter what we threw away. They were my friends; the ones that told me my bedtime stories. The ones that taught me to be well...me. I could change and imagine them as anything I wanted, yet they never protested once. They didn't control me, I controlled them. I pulled out the newest one I had gotten from under my cold pillow. I stared mesmerized at the of each color. I savored each detail as the flashlight moved across the cover. The letters popped out in perfect font. To others it was just paper, to me they were my everything. They were better than any teddy bear or dolls I could have ever gotten.

And as I opened the front cover to the first page the outside world slowly faded away. Distant. The flashlight turned into the sun as I felt the warmth all the way to my heart, immediately loosening up. I entered another world of sunny beaches and sands, of laughter and sandcastles. I forgot it all. Everything I would leave behind with the first ray of sunshine.