When I was a girl

The snow crunched loudly beneath her boots as she carefully made her way up the wintry driveway. She adjusted her hat that had begun its decent down her forehead to cover her eyes. It was her Dads and far too big for any sensible purposes, but it was her favorite shade of blue and it smelled of his aftershave. The long driveway curved and opened up again to reveal an expansive brownstone house with gaping windows and a porch that jutted out from the back to overlook the frozen river and its protective rows of pine trees.

Upon arriving at the front door, she slipped her mitten off and rapped her knuckles against the hard oak—four times—to be sure it was heard. She stepped back and waited excitedly. The door opened and a girl her age stood on the inside with two mugs of steaming hot cocoa.

“Hey” Brianna greeted her and let her into the foyer onto a large floor rug spread wide over the shiny oak floor. She removed her boots and set them to the side where they could drip free of their snowy buildup. She slipped her feet into the extra pair of slippers Brianna always had sitting by the door for her.

“Here,” Brianna shoved the mug into her hands as soon as she entered the living room. “I put the tiny marshmallows in that you like so much.” She beamed at her friend, waiting for the approval she knew would come.

“Ooh—thanks!” She took a sip of the liquid and immediately spit it back into the mug, her face contorting in pain. “Hot” She said sheepishly, looking over the mug at Brianna. Both girls giggled and moved down the hallway toward Brianna’s bedroom. She watched Brianna’s long ponytail swishing against her back as she walked; the length almost to her waistline. Jealously, she reached up and felt her own fine blonde hair landing abruptly on her neck. She pulled her eyes from Brianna’s back and glanced around to admire the dark cavernous hallways. Her own house was filed with the natural daylight pouring in from their many windows, but Brianna’s house was one of intrigue and secrets held only in the dark. Brianna’s parents suffered from headaches and did not allow the heavy drapes covering the windows to be pulled back. The kitchen had one small window overlooking the river that remained uncovered; a single beam of sunshine lit up the center of the tiled floor. She would often choose this spot to stand in while they prepared snacks for their sleepovers and movies.

It was bizarre the jealousy she felt over the splendor and mystery of Brianna’s house and yet, in the moment when she had a chance to dwell in it-—she chose to stand in the one spot that reminded her of home.

**

Legs

All I can think about is shaving my legs. I stare at the tiny black hairs protruding from my calves in hatred and self-loathing; wishing them away.I have other things to be grateful for. Ugly legs should be insignificant really.

It is insignificant, I tell myself, though the thought is sticky and gooey in my brain; sliding slowly away as I strain to think of something of importance.

I move on.

I am developing a stomach ache. Can’t determine exactly the cause, but the sharp pains are coming in waves and distracting me from fully enjoying this lazy evening at home. I fear the alarming amounts of coffee I consume every day may be deteriorating my stomach lining. It could also be contributed to the alcohol from last night still bubbling nicely in my stomach.
Either way, the ache does not help the melancholy feeling of today, though it may explain the misplaced emotion.

I am relaxed and my time is available for anything of my choosing. I am wearing my favorite sweat pants, I have a glass of my favorite wine in front of me, and I do not have a single responsibility until tomorrow. Yet, there is an emptiness I can’t shake. I don’t feel fulfilled or even motivated to become fulfilled to find out what might possibly excite me.

It’s exhausting really.

I want to listen to music, but nothing in my entire library interests me, so I sit in silence; wishing I was listening to music. I want to read, but my attention span won’t allow it. I want to write something profound, but this garbage is the only thing that my fingers will type.

My sanity slips further away with each month the winter drags on.

Define me

There wasn’t always this fear of stagnancy plaguing me.

I wasn’t always this sort-of paranoid, overly analytical and emotional version of myself. I was absolutely content, naïve, and cheerfully leading a life of total ignorance.

The demise of our palace

They stared once more up to the friendly perch leaning oddly out above a normal enough sunny strip of homes. The four of them stood there, trying to soak up the memories like they were the warm afternoon heat. Finally they turned to get into the car, their last load of belongings strapped to the top.

There was a calm as the relief of leaving this place set in; all with the hope that their demons were to stay here as well. Unable to explain even to each other the sore ripping at the heart as they turned their back on their palace. Their palace that held with it such dark thoughts. It had been a haven to let out such things. No one was certain they were ready to give up that freedom, but there was no more time. This was the last of a chapter none of them wanted to end, but knew they wouldn’t want to repeat it.

The surroundings here are of nothing remarkable. The cracking walls and fraying armchairs would duplicate that belonging to most college bound kids—short on cash and easily content. Spacious, but cramped with clutter; this was a mother’s nightmare while a stoner’s dream.

Bare essentials are lost here amongst the collection of artwork scraps placed proudly on each exposed wall and surface, evidence of nights passed found in unhealthy addictions; obviously and unashamedly strewn about.

The arched doorways or brightly colored walls may catch your attention. The quaint balcony overlooking the neighborhood might give you reason to remember this apartment as different than most.

But that’s not why you will remember.

This was a home for these residents—these kids—not an apartment. This was a habitat for firsts. For learning. For experience. For love. For hate. For trying each wave of thought on those present. There was no censoring here. No false pretenses. No impressing. No deceiving.

It just was.

And so were they.

Never would a house, even one day a home, feel quite like the time spent here. The experience would not be repeated with its perfect timing of personalities lost in the midst of self-discovery. Some learning. Some teaching. Some observing.

We were free to explore without explanation or excuse, or any reason at all. We existed, testing coping mechanisms as we went—neither accepting nor rejecting the others' choices. A group of heads to fill with your endless questions and ideas that would never tire. A group of arms to hold you when everything else failed. Accepting eyes set into loving faces that never faltered, no matter your change of character.

I was taught that the love Jesus Christ provides is something like this. Maybe Heaven really can be on Earth. Maybe it was all bullshit and I just discovered why.*