Alone with the Sun --Chapter 1 & 2

Alone with the Sun

1

I had never really been much of anything to anybody. I didn’t have any special talent that set me apart from the rest, or the type of personality that naturally drew people to me. All I had was a home. And a family, I guess, if you can even really consider it that. I had brothers here and sisters there, my father was run off somewhere and my mother was barely even a mother to me anymore. I was nothing more than a country girl lost in fields of dreams and hopes, staring longingly off at that sunset, wondering what it’d look like from the roof of a skyscraper or the deck of a ship. I could imagine it. If I closed my eyes real tight and tuned out the angry cries of my mother or the annoying whines of my siblings, I could nearly hear the lapping of waves just below my feet and see the sunlight glimmer against the ocean, or feel the wind against my face as the sun glittered off the windows of the buildings that surrounded me. That’s the only thing that ever kept me sane, I’m pretty sure. The only thing that kept me from running off into a field after that sunset until my feet bled and my legs buckled under me from exhaustion. My imagination.

I had always wanted more than I had; I suppose that makes me selfish. But I never thought of myself as being self-centered. Growing up in a household with seven children and one parent pretty much eliminates all possibility of selfishness. A couple of my older siblings would torment and tease me to my breaking point, and I had no choice but to go running to my mother. For a while she would stick up for me and save me from the wrath of my brothers and sisters, But eventually she stopped caring anymore. She’d stare lifelessly at the TV, drinking a bottle of beer, grumbling that we should all get along, finally glaring at me and telling me to deal with it as she snubbed her cigarette on the ashtray by her side. Eventually I stopped caring too. I guess that’s what happens with age.

My name is Beatrice Shernome. Yes, my initials spell B.S; I’ve had more than one immature wanna-be-teen chuckle at that fact. But I had never thought much of it myself. My name was my name, and it wasn’t until I was an adult and far off from my home in North Dakota that I slowly grew unhappy with it.

My story starts in Freedhem, a small town in North-Dakota-Nowhere. Out there we had no trees and we had no buildings, making it a land where the wind rolled free and furiously. The dry grass of the boundless pastures swirled continuously in the endless gales, and I swore that every time a tree tried to grow the wind would tear it down before it would even be as tall as my hip. We lived in what I liked to call no man’s land, a hellish place that no one should ever be forced to reside in. But yet we stayed. My mother loved the home even though it’s the place where nothing happens except death and abandonment. Everybody leaves before anything good can happen to their lives.

I had three brothers and three sisters, and when it came to my siblings we got quite the variety. Some turned out really well like Andy who became a business man in Boston, and some ran themselves into the ground like my brother Curt and my sister Miranda. They’re good people and I know it, but nobody else has any reason to guess that. Curt was the face of disgust. A tall, gangly man with pasty skin covered in black and blue tattoos and silver piercings, he could strike fear into the heart of anyone who didn’t know him. But if you did know him, like me and my family, then it just made you sad. I can’t even imagine what he started to look like after he left home, but before he even turned 18 he already started getting those bloodshot eyes, that zoned expression, and that scarred skin that screamed of a man throwing his life away. Drugs became his life and we became his past. Curt and I had never been very close, due to our five year age difference, but few things had ever hurt me more than losing Curt did. When he left I knew he was never coming back. And I had never been more right.

For years I have been sitting at my computer contemplating how to truly start this story I call my life, and for years I have pushed it off, not necessarily because I would rather not think about it, but primarily because it’s hard to come up with the words to describe it all. I have dreamed and dreamed of the perfect sentence to start it all off, and so far I have come up with this, several arbitrary paragraphs describing random parts of my life. So, after hours of deleting, retyping, screaming and crying, I’ve decided to start it off simply, back on August 19th, 2005.

Perhaps it had started off just as any other. Perhaps the sun had risen, the world had shifted, and I had sat by my window watching as it did so. But I do not remember. The day was nothing to be remembered until years later as the day my life began. I would not consider what lead up to that day to be much of a memorable life. I had floated through without a care in the world, drifting through school without any friends or any achievements. My mother didn’t care for me anymore, and neither did any of my siblings, except maybe Mary. But that day I had an epiphany, and that epiphany lead to the actions that lead to my rebirth.

It had been three days before my 18th birthday. My plans for adulthood were not yet cemented, but the yearning for freedom burned within my soul with enough force to render me speechless and motionless, plastering me by my window to do no more than watch the sun rise and set in anticipation for the day of my liberation.

I had never wanted to go to college, I had never wanted to get married, I had never wanted a family and I had never wanted a job. I didn’t want anything that everyone else seemed to be wanting. All I wanted was to see everything there was to see. I wanted to travel the world and do everything there was to do. Then, when I was old and incapable of doing any of the things I had left to do, I would sit down and write about everything that I had already done. Solitude and books was all I had ever known anyway, so spending the end of my life alone writing about my travels seemed like a dream to me.

But on that humid, August evening something different caught my eye as I stared out that window. For the first time the sunset faded into the background as simple, dim lighting, and upon the dry grass of late summer sat a glimmering object that shimmered like a star. Older than my eldest sister, my father’s truck sat like a gravestone by the side of the garage, acting as a solemn reminder that he had come and gone like the fleeting summer warmth. Its silver metal was rusted and its large side mirrors sat crooked and dented, one of its doors was dented inward from a rogue deer, and the tailgate was missing entirely, yet at that moment I was sure that I had never seen anything so beautiful. The fact that my mother, brother, sisters and I all shared the same car made the hope of escape nearly impossible, but seeing that truck brought that twinkle of possibility back. The fact that it hadn’t been started since my father had run off nearly 13 years prior had flown through my mind for a split second, but never did that even come close to impeding on my happiness. In that truck I saw my future and I saw my freedom. My mouth watered at the savory thought of liberation, and I clung to the window like a child watching a parent walk towards their home, gazing at that truck with dreams racing across my eyes.

“You know, you can stare out that window all you want and the most you’re ever gonna see is a rabbit running across the yard.”

The sound of Mary’s voice had always brought me comfort. Compared to the annoying groans of my younger siblings and the aggravated yells of my mother, her voice was nearly angelic. She always spoke with a calmness and sweetness that made me wonder whether or not I would ever miss home. Either way, I knew that I would always miss her.

“Then I guess I’m just waiting for that damn rabbit to come already.” I didn’t turn around to look at her, but I knew just what she looked like anyway. She leaned against the doorway of our bedroom, her brown hair brushing gently against her neck in the breeze sent from the window, and her hand rested on her hip. She stared at me with deep, brown eyes of pity. She knew I wanted better, but she also was sure that I’d never get it. Though she always told me that someday I’d get away from this god forsaken place and make a name for myself, I could see it just in the way she looked at me that she thought I would never leave and would be stuck here just like her for the rest of my life. But I wasn’t like her. I had always had more courage than she had.

“So, do you want a birthday party?”

I laughed at the question. “Even if I did, who would come?”

“Well, I’m sure I could get some people to come if I tried hard enough. We could invite some of your friends from school.”

“I don’t have any friends I’d want to invite,” I snapped. “And even If I loved everyone at my school that’s only 10 kids, which sure ain’t much of a party if you ask me.”

“Still,” Mary stated in her calm and simple voice. “It’s your 18th birthday, don’t you want something special?”

“You didn’t get anything special.” I still wouldn’t look at her. The truck had my attention like nothing else ever had. Even as I spoke with my sister dreams were born and reborn in my head, creating for me a life I had never before even been able to imagine. The skyscrapers felt real, and the pizza of Chicago felt warm and greasy on my tongue.

“And I wish I would have,” she argued. “You only turn 18 once, why not make a big deal out of it?”

“Why make a big deal out of it?” I argued. “It’s just a number. If people don’t have to make a big deal about turning 34 or 46, why should I have to make a big deal out of 18?” I could never tell anyone -not even Mary- how much I yearned to be 18. Fear of others impeding on my dreams haunted my every action, so I kept my happiness and excited anticipation always to myself.

“Okay, now you’re just being difficult. Beatrice, why don’t you just-”

“I don’t want a party,” I interrupted, turning around and looking her in the eyes. “I don’t want anyone over and I don’t want to do anything. Why is that so hard to understand?”

With that she replied with an aggravated sigh before she spun around and left the room, storming off into the kitchen. Mary had always been one to try too hard. She wanted to be the mother for me and my younger siblings that our real mother never was, but there comes a point in a child’s life where no other mother will do. And there comes a time in one’s life where simply no one will do.

I seemed to be forever stuck in that rut.

I spent the rest of that night staring out that window at the truck, and the entire next day too. Before I knew it the big day had finally arrived, the day where I would be able to escape the hell we all called Freedhem.

As my eyes slowly opened to the glorious rays of sunlight that filtered through the grime on our window, my heart began to beat just a little bit faster, and my feet hit the floor from my bed on the top bunk with enough force to awaken both of my sisters.

Without even changing out of my pajamas I ran out into the summer morning and breathed in the heavy air. I swung my head back to look back at the bright blue sky, my long hair hitting my back as I spun around and around like a child.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

I stopped in my spot and tilted my head to see my brother staring at me with raised eyebrows from the side of the garage, holding a wrench and a hammer in either hand. “It’s my birthday, Cody,” I snapped. “I have a right to be happy.”

Cody just chuckled with wide eyes as he continued on his way into the garage. Confused, I followed him to the hood of the family van, watching as he lifted the hood and started working his mechanical magic.

“What’s wrong with it this time?” I asked, amazed by how the face of a childish 16-year-old boy could turn into the aged face of his father’s in only a matter of a few seconds of pure concentration.

“That’s my question exactly,” he replied, reaching in elbow deep to grab something. “I went to get it running this morning and it wouldn’t even start. I’m gonna be late for work again and I betchya this time he’s gonna fire me. There’s no way they’re gonna put up with this shit of mine any longer.”

“They’ll understand,” I assured him. “We’ve known those people for years. They know we don’t have the money to go buying brand-new cars.”

Letting out a groan as he pulled at something, sticking out the tip of his tongue and looking at the ceiling, Cody winced as his fingers fumbled throughout the motor. “It doesn’t matter whether they understand or not, this God damned car has done this to me three times in the last two weeks, and it’s made me late for work every damn time! If I were them I’d fire me and get someone who’ll at least show up on time.”

“Well, I don’t think they’re quite that harsh.”

Moments after I spoke Cody let out a sigh of relief and dug his hand out from the bowels of the car, revealing his blackened hand and wiping it on his ripped jeans. “Finally,” he grumbled, walking past me and climbing into the driver’s side door. “I’m headed out. See ya tonight.” He started the motor and began pulling out of the garage. But before he left, he rolled down the window, stuck out his head and smiled. “Happy birthday.”

I grinned back and rolled my eyes, waving him off as I exited the garage into the backyard. I watched solemnly as the dirty van raced off down our dirt road, leaving behind no more than a cloud of dust in remembrance. Pretty soon I was staring at nothing, gazing blankly towards the deserted road, lost entirely in a world of my own.

That was the first day that Cody had ever really struck me as a man. Ever since I was a kid he had always been my younger brother, and nothing more. He had ran around the neighborhood with his country-boy friends, wreaking havoc and causing trouble, coming home only to make our mother mad and sleep. But at that very instant he seemed to have matured 20 years, shedding the life of childhood and embracing that of an adult. I yearned for what he had, for I still felt as though that new life was far out of my grasp.

Eventually I had left the warm embrace of the morning sun and went inside, finding my mother awake and sitting on the couch, watching Good Morning America as she drank her spiked coffee. At the stove was Mary, making pancakes and bacon while trying to make small talk with the practically dead woman watching the TV, and at the table sat my youngest sister, Mabel, reading a book while she drank a glass of milk.

As the back door slammed Mary’s head turned as she greeted me with a big smile and a “happy birthday!”

It was moments like that that made me hate my older sister. It was moments like that that changed the stagnant and silent atmosphere of the shernome household into an awkward one where some felt obligated to act like friendly relatives. The head of my mother turned to look at me with those lifeless and uncaring grey eyes, and Mabel smiled up at me her small and innocent grin.

“Happy birthday, Beatrice,” the 14-year-old girl squeaked. “How does it feel to be an adult?”

“Yeah,” my mother cut in, her voice washing over me in a nauseating slur as she began to sit up from the couch. “How does it feel now that you’re a big adult?”

I tried to ignore the middle aged woman staggering to her feet, instead walking to the kitchen to stand by Mary as she cooked.

“Need any help with anything?” I asked.

Mary had no more opened her mouth to answer before my mother cut in in her booming voice.

“I asked you a question, girl,” she shouted, slamming her cup of coffee down on the table near Mabel, a couple droplets of it threatening to stain the pages of the girl’s book. “Don’t ignore me when I talk to you.”

“It feels good,” I replied quietly, refusing to even face my mother as I did so. I grabbed a tongs and started frying the bacon for my sister, watching from the corner of my eye as she flipped the pancakes and got plates ready. “It’s been a good day so far.”

“Good,” my mother replied gruffly, pulling a dining chair out as she sat down. “I’m glad.”

“Mother, do you want syrup on your pancakes?” Mary asked, holding up a plate of food in one hand a bottle of maple syrup in the other.

“I just want bacon.” Those words were followed by a few moments of silence as Mary set the plate down dejectedly. As I placed four slices of bacon on a new plate that she had held out for me, I looked over at my mother and couldn’t have been filled with any more pity than I had been. The frail 43-year-old sat hunched over her cup of coffee like it was her saving grace, her mousy hair covering her forlorn face and her thin, feeble hands shaking as they held onto the cup. Through the gaps in her ratty, morning hair you could see her empty eyes staring off into nothingness, filled with nothing more than alcohol and despair, and her lips moving without uttering a word, mouthing words of no meaning to herself to eradicate the silence that filled her head. I hadn’t known it when I was a child, but my mother was a lonely and lost woman. The world she lived in then, with her children and her home, was hardly her world at all. I’ll never know where, but she was always somewhere else, drifting into lands near and far where at least some of her dreams where still real. Being forever stuck in our world as I was, I would never understand her ability to just escape, for my dreams were still alive, and I never wanted to be like her.

“Whatever you want,” Mary replied, bringing over a plate with just bacon and placing it in front of our mother who simply stared at it, motionless. We had known for years that our mother’s unwillingness to eat any normal amount of food while she continued to guzzle down beer by the gallon was inevitably a funeral waiting to happen, but we also know that a simple nudge would fling her off the edge, and if we said anything to try and encourage her to eat more she’d come yelling at us, telling us to mind our own business and stop trying to control the woman who’s supposed to control us.

That morning passed by in an awkward uneasiness, consisting of little more than meaningless chitchat between the four of us women as we sat around the table eating our breakfast, trying to pretend that everything was still alright. Like it always had been alright. And it was that day that, as I looked from the sincere eyes of my older sister, to the innocently bright eyes of my younger one, to the vacant ones of my mother, that I knew my freedom couldn’t come any sooner. For, behind the façade of happiness that each of them wore like a cheap mask laid a hatred that I had come to know far too well. It was a hatred for not only the place we had called home, not only a hatred for our situation and our family members, but ultimately a hatred of all that we called our very own. A hatred for our clothes, our jobs, our feelings, our thoughts, and even ourselves. Only once have I lapsed back into the state of self-loathing that I had grown so accustomed to in my childhood, and I pray that never again will I have to face those fiendish demons of despair that dwell within my soul. As a child those shadows of hopelessness that nearly swallowed me up, and threatened to pull me into the pool of lost dreams that had ultimately drowned my sister and my mother, and probably would end up killing my younger brother as well. Luckily, I had escaped. But everything comes with a price.

Mary had grabbed me by the arm that afternoon as I walked towards my bedroom, intending to stare out the window for hours on end once more, finally cementing my plans of escape. She looked at me in a way I had no way of interpreting, giving me no choice but to obey as she led me out of the house and into the back yard. For the first time in 18 years I was scared of what Mary had to say to me. Her words had always been calm and placid, but the look on her face gave me reason to expect otherwise. Her brown eyes wide and bloodshot, and her pale face twitched as she bit her lip.

She walked with me out into one of the surrounding fields, walking carefully in between the rows of soybeans, staring up at the midday sun like a goddess awaiting her decent back to heaven.

“Mary, what are-”

“Sh,” she interrupted, holding up her hand but refusing to stop or look at me. “Not yet. Don’t speak. Not yet.”

I cannot explain to you in words how truly confused and scared I was at the behavior of my older sister. I’ll never be able to show you my sister and explain in the truest of truths the way that she had always acted before, her usual mannerisms, or her way of being, but I can rightfully assure you that mysterious avoidance was not it. She had never been one to run off into the fields, whispering and murmuring secrets to people that she deemed far too important to speak of anywhere near the presence of others. She had never been one to make a big deal of even the hugest of things. My sister had a way of letting drama or uprising die, and bringing everyone back together again. And never before had she scared me like that.

Eventually she brought us to a stop, placing her cold fingers on my forearm and spinning around to face me, her eyes watery and her lip half under her upper teeth. Her appearance nearly brought me to my knees, ready to beg her not to cry. I’d have done anything to keep Mary from crying; she never wept, and if a single tear fell from her eyes it would only be logical that the entire universe would fall of our place with it. Her ability to keep her cool constantly and through thick and thin ensured the world’s ability to maintain order and humanity.

“I know what you’re going to do,” she muttered after taking in several long, shaky breaths.

I had been entirely transfixed by her gaze, unable to look away as she fought with herself to keep the tears reigned in. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re going to leave. I’m not stupid, Beatrice. I’ve seen you staring out that window these last several days like there’s never been anything like it. I know you’ve wanted to leave ever since you could walk, and I know that being here any longer would kill you. I don’t know where to, but I know you’re going to run off somewhere, and I know it’s going to be tonight.”

For a split second my world nearly came crashing down. I could see that silver truck racing down our dirt road without me in the driver’s door, and my mother slamming the door behind her as she locked me in my bedroom. My dreams of seeing the world turned into seeing the country, into seeing the region, into seeing the rest of the state, into simply seeing my backyard, and pretty soon my reservoir of air was lost and I officially died in that pool of lost dreams, lying like a dead man next to my sister and mother.

I opened my mouth to reply, but I couldn’t think of what to say. I simply stared back at Mary with a pleading that only she could understand, praying that she wouldn’t tear away from me the only thing I’ve ever had.

But before I could even cave in and beg her not to ruin the rest of my life, I found myself enveloped in her arms, being embraced as she sobbed quietly into my shoulder, her soft, brunette hair smelling like pine trees. Those few seconds seemed to last forever. To this day I wish I could have seen it from an outsider’s point of view. Two young women clad in raggedy t-shirts and jeans, their hair uncombed and uncared for, wrapped loving in each other’s embrace. Surrounded by nothing but endless fields of soybeans encompassed by the impeccable sky and owned by the godly sun, they cried for no more than a minute. Their pain and love could be felt and seen for miles, felt as quiet sobs echoing throughout the naked hills, bringing the relentless crickets and birds to their silence, and causing the world to stand still. I may have denied it my entire life, but I finally realized that I loved my sister more than life itself. And with that realization came nothing less than rivers of tears.

“Just remember me, remember us,” she murmured, letting go of me and holding me at arm’s length, her hands gripping my shoulders firmly. “Remember that the sun sets differently in all places across the earth, and to see it like you see it here you need to be here. Do you understand me?”

I hadn’t really at the time, but I nodded anyway, pressing my lips down firmly together to keep me from making a fool of myself.

Mary smiled at me as she took a slender finger and wiped at her eyes, flicking her tears away into the dark soil at our feet. “You were never meant to stay here, and I really do mean it when I say that you would die if you did. You’ll do great things someday, but you need to do those things far away from here. I don’t want to hold you back; I don’t want you to be stuck like I am. I regret everything I’ve done with my adulthood, and I won’t let you make the same mistakes I did.”

“Come with me,” I blurted out suddenly, reaching up and grabbing her by the elbows so we stood with our arms entwined. My dreams of solitary travel transformed into futures with company, making it a land where instead of living alone in a world of possibilities, I traveled hand in hand with another, taking on life’s challenges with a friend. It felt strange to imagine me going through life in a way other than alone, but it didn’t deter me at all. “We can run off together and see the world. You don’t have to stay here any longer if you don’t want to.”

For a moment Mary seemed to consider, but she quickly shook her head and broke our embrace, looking to the ground. “No, I can’t. If I leave then no one will be here for Cody and Mabel. You know mother can’t take care of them, and Cody’s job sure doesn’t pay enough to take care of all three of them. Without me they would die, and I can’t do that to them. I’ll stay until Mabel graduates, then I’ll consider leaving. But until then this will be my home.”

“We can send them money if that’s the problem,” I pleaded. “We don’t have to hang them out to dry, we can support them and discover life at the same time. It’s possible, you know.”

Mary looked up at me slowly with her bloodshot eyes and tear streaked face, shaking her head solemnly as she did so. “No, it’s not. In order to truly leave this place you need to break from it entirely, otherwise this will continue to be your home, and everywhere will only be North Dakota to you. To leave your past you need to break from your past, and you can’t do that if you continue to feed it. I’m fine with staying here, really, just as long as your promise to go out and make the most of life while you’re still young. If I find out you’ve ended up giving everything up and throwing your life away like Miranda or Curt, I… Well, I don’t know what I’d do. But I promise you it wouldn’t be good. You have the most potential of anyone in this family, and if you disregard that fact then you’re throwing a world of possibilities out the window.”

I smiled at her and chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry, I promise.”

Mary grinned and pulled me in for one last, long embrace. The wind blew gently against us, whipping up our hair and scaring off the summer heat. There wasn’t a sound to be heard except for the chiming of the grass as the breeze rolled over it, and the humming of the crickets that surrounded us. The moment was absolutely surreal, and I found myself lost in North-Dakota-nowhere, feeling a tinge of regret at the thought that I would be leaving the endless fields and the furious gales.

“How will you do it?” My sister asked suddenly, breaking the quiet trance and our embrace.

“I’m gonna take dad’s old truck.”

She stared back at me for a couple of moments, incredulous. “How will you have any money to pay for gas?”

“I’ve saved up money for years from working. I have nearly five grand.”

“Where are you going to go?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ll figure that out whenever I get where I’m supposed to be.”

There was a short pause before Mary smiled and patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Yes, you’ll be alright.”

“I know.”

“No, I know you know, but I don’t.” Mary let out a deep breath and started walking with me back to the house. “I’ll just need to keep reminding myself that… You’ll be alright.”

And she kept reminding herself for the rest of that long day. Every time I passed her in the hallways of our small house, I could see the lost look in her eyes that stared back at me with an uncertainty. All I could do was smile back, trying to assure her that she didn’t need to worry. Of course, I never would know whether she needed to worry or not. At that time I didn’t know whether I would live past day two of the age 18, but I knew that I was going to try.

2

My birthday feast consisted of cold ham and soggy bread. Mary made some gravy to soak all of it in to try and make it better somehow. Despite the fact that the goopy mess that I stared at couldn’t have possibly looked less appetizing to me, I scarfed it down anyway, hoping simply to make Mary feel that her cooking wasn’t a complete disaster that night.

As always my family sat around the dinner table in silence. Cody ate his meal vigorously, as he would any edible substance that was placed before him, while my sisters and mother were more tentative, taking small bites and looking at each other sporadically. Mary tried to make conversation, asking us all questions that we answered with one sentence responses before we ignored her and went back to our food. Our silence was our way of life, and we had never questioned it.

That night was the last time I watched the sunset across that field in my beloved and hated North-Dakota-nowhere. The minutes rolled by like hours, the rays of sunlight clinging to the earth for dear life, slowly and agonizingly losing the seemingly everlasting battle to the cold, dark grips of night. I sat by my window with my bag at my feet, my eyes wandering away from the shifting rays of orange and purple only to look at the silver truck sitting by the garage. My fingers drummed against the sill, and my leg bobbed up and down continuously in anticipation. I wanted everyone to be asleep so that no one would have time to run out and stop me. I wanted to be gone before they even knew I was leaving.

Mabel had wandered into the bedroom somewhere near 9, putting on her pajamas and crawling into bed. Taking no notice of me sitting by the window, since it had been nothing out of the ordinary, she did, however, notice the bag sitting at my feet.

“What’s in the bag?” She had asked, pulling the covers up to her neck and snuggling close to her pillow.

“Stuff,” I murmured back, my attention entirely averted.

She didn’t seem to question it, for she didn’t reply at all. Soon I could hear the soft, measured breaths of my sleeping sister mixing in with the rhythmic chirping of the crickets outside.

When Mary came in to the bedroom and gave me a long hug I knew it was time. After saying goodbye without saying a word, I headed out to leave the house, grabbing the keys to the truck from a jewelry box on a shelf in the kitchen before I did so. For a moment I stood by the front door, admiring the silence and placidity of the place I had always taken for granted. The floorboards creaked with the late evening wind, and the eerie silence that surrounded me was almost too much to bear.

With my bag in one hand and the keys in the other I set off, jumping in the driver’s seat of the truck and starting the engine which roared like a rocket when I turned the key. The garish sound that erupted from the motor horrified me, and I could see several lights in the house flicker on.

I’ll never know whether or not my mother cried the night I left. I’ll never know if she hopped in the van and started after me, hoping to catch up and convince me to come home. Nor will I ever know if she just shrugged her shoulders at my departure and went back to bed. All I know is that I left without even a glance in the review mirror, and for the next several years I never even thought of looking back.

The dirt washed up alongside my truck like waves, beating its rusty side as if it were a drum. The roads that I took where deserted and endless, leading me off into fields, fields, and more fields. After an hour of driving off into the darkness my body finally relaxed and I leaned back in my seat, letting out a long breath before allowing a smile.

My freedom had come.