The one thing in life that I have learned is never talk about how bad your life is because someone's is always worse then yours. But these are the times in my life when I wonder could it really get any worse than this? Every single night I come home wondering if there will be anything left. Like my house and so called family would just disappear and leave me here all alone, stranded. But then again I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing.
My mom left when I was twelve. She was the invisible thread that held us together, keeping us safe and out of trouble. One day she was there happy and shinning, making us shine. Then she left leaving us in the dust, without a trace or footprint of where the hell she could have gone.
My older brother Charlie is never home, ever. Once my mom left us, he would sneak out every night and not come back until real late. I am always constantly worried if he will come home. I never ask what he does when he goes out, all I know is that it involves a lot of alcohol. He usually comes home wasted, and I always have to cover for him. We used to be tight and hang out and do brother, sister stuff. But now I don’t want to go out and do anything with him. Charlie would get us into a shit load of trouble.
Sometimes when he comes home, I hear him and my dad fighting. When it gets really loud, I sneak out the back window and sit under the maple tree. The one place I can relax and unwind. Feeling the breeze in my hair as I climb the limbs of the old maple, I lean my head against its bark, and breathe in the syrupy smell. The cool feeling of the tree to my skin. Its almost like the tree is communicating with me and reassuring me that I can be strong.
My dad is a drug addict. Once my mom left he gave up. Gave up on us, gave up on himself, and worst of all gave up on life. He comes home every night completely out of it. He stumbles through the door and wobbles to the kitchen. Grabs another beer and passes out. First he puts the bottle to his lips and chugs it, who knows it could be his fifth drink of the night or it could be the twentieth. By now I have learned never to cross my dads path when he gets home.
Today the fighting was exceptionally worse. So I unlatched my window and crawled out. Hopping from the roof to the porch in one easy motion. The air was thick, warm, and smelling of lilacs. I walked off into the grass, leaving the screaming behind me. Once it got so bad that my neighbors called the police. I crawled under the maple letting its leaves rustle over my head soothing me. I leaned my back against its sturdy old bark and let myself close my eyes. The feeling from sitting under the tree is like no other. A wave of relief washes over me and I feel comforted. When I close my eyes I let myself unwind to this tree and I let out all I have kept in me for the past three months. The wind blows my caramel hair on my face and brushes it against my cheek like the wind is welcoming me home. The tree listens to my thoughts and lets me be me for once. On this particular night I can almost hear a soft whisper coming from deep inside the trees soul. The old voice whispers to me you're not alone.
Grabs 
