When Life Gives You Lemons

17. Acceptance Speech

'Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind', I'd heard that a lot when I was a little kid. It was mostly the therapists who said that when they'd tell my parents to lock me in an inescapable room. I hated it.

Nobody ever took one minute to consider how their control tactics would affect me. My childhood had been hell, all because some therapist – who wasn't married and had no kids – told my parents that they had to be cruel to be kind if they were going to help my condition.

As far as I knew, my parents weren't wolves, but they were gone. Gone but not forgotten.

Another quote; one used often by my grandmother whenever anyone lost anything or anyone. I missed grandma Smith; she passed away when I was twelve at the age of eighty-seven. She had lived a long, healthy life.

I sat in the driver's seat of Burnum's Ford Escape, impatiently waiting for the light to turn green. I got my G2 last week, so I could finally drive on my own. I needed to get out of the house and go back to what used to be my own.

It was my seventeenth birthday – my first birthday with the pack, but no one knew that it was today.

My house was out towards the airport, where it sat on a large lot, backing onto a forest. My mom had spent hours each spring replanting her garden with all sorts of colourful blossoms, but everything was dead now, bitten by the winter.

Mom was not there to redo it, and I didn't have the time or the money to spend.

The house looked the same as it did the last time I was there. Sure, there was snow on the driveway and steps that needed shoveled, but it was pretty much the same.

It was late in the spring: May ninth. I was happy to trade my heavy winter jacket and boots for a hoodie and my Converse.

Keys in hand, I left the truck and trudged through the slush up to the front door. The mailbox was full, and what the mailman couldn't fit in it, he simply through on the porch in front of the door.

I shoved it aside with my foot and opened the storm door to unlock the main one. Once I kicked the door open, I picked up all the mail and brought it in, dropping in on the kitchen counter.

My house had an eerie feeling to it now. It felt foreign and... well, empty. I didn't bother taking off my shoes; I'd clean the floors later.

I jogged up the stairs to my bedroom, which was the only one that remained the same since my parents left.

The pictures were still in frames where I had left them, showing memories I myself had long forgotten. My posters and magazine clippings still decorated the faded purple walls. My athletic trophies still stood in the trophy case my dad had built for me, declaring my achievements.

My bed was made and my blinds were closed as they usually were. I left before my tears could and walked into my parents bedroom.

They'd left nothing behind except for the comforter and curtains and the large pieces of furniture. I remembered thinking as a child why they'd chosen light olive green and earthy brown for their colour scheme instead of yellow and blue, but it looked simple and elegant to me now.

I laid down on their bed, burying my face in the sheets so I'd have a good idea of their scent for the future. Also, it felt like they were still here when I did that.

I wished desperately in that moment that they would walk through the door and call my name. But they didn't, and I doubted that I'd ever have the benefit of hearing their voices again. That was a sad thought, especially on my birthday.

I realized that I didn't want to be upset on my seventeenth and went downstairs to putter around the cold house. I checked the bathroom; it still held my soap and shampoo, along with my razor and favourite towel, but lacked a shower curtain and bath mat.