by Hannah Haines
Chapter 1: Brick walls and iron gates
I gazed up at the old building towering above me. The green shutters glistened in the sticky air, outlining the windows. The edge of my slightly over-worn shoe caught the top of the first wooden step and stopped me dead in my tracks.
“Keep moving, pumpkin,” Mom yelled from the driveway. I looked back at her with her hands full - bags in one hand, boxes in the other. I didn’t catch her eye. So, I rolled mine, and kept on walking.
As I stepped through the door, I was greeted by the dank stench of dust and old. I coughed into my sleeve, loud enough so that Mom could hear. But she didn’t even notice.
The fans were on, whirring throughout the empty house. I could still feel the heat creeping in from outside, inescapable. I heard a loud thump, then, “Whewwww. First load’s in. Liv, dear, will you bring this upstairs?” I picked up a bag with my name on it and walked upstairs to claim my space.
The stairs looked like those ones from the movies where the girls and guys got dressed up to go to a dance, and they all stood lining the stairs to please their parents for one more photo. For a split second, I pictured myself on those stairs in a blue satin dress with a boy standing next to me. Maybe this year. Starting at a new school my junior year is not ideal. But I didn't have a choice. So, here I am. Standing in an unknown place, waiting for the next time my mom would call my name.
I picked the back room with the window facing the garden. It was cozy enough and had a lot less brick than the other rooms. I set my bag down on the scuffed up, dirty floor and lay beside it. The ceiling beams stared back at me. I took a deep breath, praying for a breeze to cut through the humid air.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” Mom must have snuck up behind me.
“I’m just resting. Driving in the back of our cramped van wasn’t too comfortable.”
“I know, but aren't you happy we’re here? The house is beautiful! I hope Grandma can teach us some things about it. Aren’t you excited to see her?”
“I just --”
“I know, dear. I know. But she loves you, and she needs us right now.”
“I know.”
“Is this the lucky room that is home to my favorite daughter?”
“I am your only daughter, Mom.”
She patted me on the head, giggled, then walked back down the winding staircase.
The grass in the backyard looked overgrown, but dead. The end of the yard was lined with trees, inviting me to explore. My shoes crunched the ground as I walked toward them, announcing my presence. Sweat dripped down my forehead and onto my nose. Drop. It hit the ground, watering the yellow grass.
It was never this hot back home. The air was always refreshing. Maine was host to the house I grew up in, my adventure partner and my Dad. My tire swing, my first kiss and the best movie theater in the world. Not sure what I miss most right now. It’s too hard to pick. Drop.
I knew Mom was probably worried where I was by now, so I ran back to the front of the house. She was facing the road fidgeting with her blonde hair under Dad’s baseball cap. She rarely took it off, apparently even in this heat. Boxes were piled next to her, cooking in the sun. I picked one up and started back into the house. In and out. Drop. Up and down.
Once the pile was gone, Mom lay on the stairs with her head against the big wooden door. The green paint was peeling back, crawling away from the house.
“Sweetie, go get the gate for me please, Momma needs to rest.”
I walked down the dirt driveway toward the road. Drop. I shuffled my feet in defiance and created brown clouds that quickly surrounded me. The clouds took over, dirt in my eyes, my mouth and up my nose. I swung my arms pushing the dirt away. As I swatted, probably looking like a lunatic, the gate surprised me. Its iron rungs stood before me, with the gate swung open toward the road.
I crossed the line at the end of the property, our property, and felt something shift in me. Something lifted and rose with the dirt into the sky. Nowhere to be seen. Drop. The gate was heavy. I pushed and pushed with all my strength, and finally, it creaked closed. Slowly. I watched the iron gates slam before me. Trapping me into my new life.
This writing is part of a collection featured in the 2020 Celebrate the Arts Writing Contest, an annual contest hosted by The Arts Council of Westerville, Westerville Public Library and the ThisWeek Westerville News & Public Opinion as one of many events organized by the Arts Council to mark April as “Celebrate the Arts” month in Westerville.
