Chapter 1: Destruction Comes Easy
The book eats me.
Actually, it’s more like the book swallows me whole. This is how it always starts; I should be use to it. Yet something about being sucked in and sliding down a tube of pages and words still freaks me out a little. On the other side, I get to enjoy the story, first hand. Let's see where I land this time:
I'm floating down to a raft in the middle of the Mississippi River. The sun is shining, and as I drift I have nothing better to do than cast a line and hopefully catch some fish. My straw hat keeps the sun from blistering my head, while my overalls allow enough airing to prevent heat stroke.
Suddenly, without warning, I'm plucked up off the homemade boat, as if by a giant invisible hand. I'm being lifted through the clouds, and then finally through the tube I came in through. I'm tossed out of the story.
The book drops to the ground, and I crash next to it. I pick myself up and wipe any dirt off, which being a dream I doubt there is any dirt. I pick the book back up and slide into the shelf. A sharp pain shoots through my side where I landed.
I have just started to get the hang of it, placing myself into the book. Once in I can usually get through an entire tale. Most of my book adventures happen at night, while I'm sleeping. This is the first time I've been ejected from a story. Most of the time I just wake up after the story ends, I must of have done something to get myself out. I wish I knew what.
Standing there in the aisle wondering what to do next, I start to really look around. I've should have dreamt this place sooner. I'm glad I did. Ever since I've been visiting this place I have noticed I've been a lot calmer. Even my mom says she's notice a difference. It has brought me some ease to my to my situation.
My imagination, I have to say, does good work. This place looks like a combination of a college library and a Roman Catholic church. The majority of the space being filled with shelves, but there are small rooms on either side. They are separated by high, finely-carved marble archways. Above each of them are windows made from panes of stained glass, the colors creating a picture of my current favorite novel characters. Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever been in those smaller rooms. I guess that is why they are darkened out. Back to the main corridor, where I choose to spend most of my time, are finely carved wooden shelves. Each marked up with designs and pictures, looking like they were built for the Queen of England. These shelves are everywhere. They line the walls. They fill the room, lined up like dominoes. Not only is there so many of them, they go up as far as the eye can see, only to disappear into darkness. This place is so big, that same darkness covers the entire ceiling, for all I know it is the ceiling. I know what your thinking, how do I see. Well dropping through the black are small elegant chandeliers with crystals all the way around them. They line the rows between shelves and give enough light to allow me to read in the aisles, which by chance, are strategically placed bean bags. Well, maybe its not just luck, again, my mind does good work.
I almost forgot the best part. Filling the many wooden shelves are books, tons and tons of books. From what I can tell, from my many visits, they are in no particular order. I have nothing against the Dewey Decimal System, I guess I just didn't use it here. They seem to arrange themselves in order of what I'm wanting to read.
Some books I've found are classics like The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to newer novels such as Twighlight, and yes I did visit that story. Strangely James is actually a nice guy, that is, until he gets hungry. I can only wish all the books were entertainment, but I guess the boring part of my brain needed to put in it's two cents. There are text books on every subject, for every grade level. I can't complain too much, these have came in handy when I need to study for a test. I do have a non-fiction section, that I have occasionally visit. It has biographies on pretty much everyone famous. The ones I enjoy, when I do read them, are the biographies on all the presidents. My favorite is of Theodore Roosevelt. Did you know that he prefers to be called Teddy? And he's a really good cook. Then, finally, my favorite section, the comic books. Every episode on every super hero you can think of is here. They are fun. But I have to be careful, since they are make believe, I have to remember that normal rules don't apply, which opens doors for more possible dangers.
Another sharp pain shoots through my side, almost like it is reminding me; how did I remove myself from the story? Or better question why did I?
I can't put my finger on it, but something doesn't seem right about it. I mean on how it went down, so sudden. It is really starting to bother me. My eye begins to to twitch. I need to calm down. As I push on it to try and stop it, I see a glow.
Hmm, this is new.
Its coming from the end of the row. I'm curious.
I head towards it and turn the corner quickly. The glow is gone. Only proof it was there is the marks burnt in the wood of the shelves. A perfect circle with the letters "A" and "U", angled from each other. They are separated by a single slash. Probably not the smartest thing to do, but I reach up and touch the symbol. Even though the lines are smoldering, they are freezing cold. Another glow catches my eye, off in the distance.
Okay.
I guess I'm playing follow the random gleams of yellow light.
From where I stand it looks like a tiny flame on a candle's wick, dancing in the middle of the aisle. I'm sort of entranced by it, like a moth to light. I must catch it, but as I get closer, it shrinks. I hurry before it completely disappears. Before I can reach it, the glow is gone, again. My eye's twitching picks up.
Strange. I have this feeling of failure not being able to reach the light before it faded away. I really didn't even have a clue why I was chasing it. I finally stop to catch my breath. Only seeing the lights from the chandeliers above I see nothing left behind like it did before. No reason to keep looking. Maybe I can just get back to my story visits. I turn around. Before I can take a step back the way I came, a bursting blinding flash sends me falling forward.
I lay there wondering. Wondering if I my dream is going to be filled with more surprises. Wondering if I'm going to end up on the ground again. Wondering if I should even get back up and look. I have to say, dream or not, all of this crashing hurts. I guess my need to know is more than the misery I'm experiencing.
I get up and turn around. Standing before me is a ladder. It looks like the ones you'd see in a library, except this one is yellow and black. Not exactly the colors I'd choose, but I'd also wouldn't have chosen it to appear in an explosion either. It lays there, resting calmly against the shelves. Like it is waiting for me to climb it. So I guess I'll do just that. I approach the ladder. I see that each step carries a small symbol. The same one that has been burnt into the book shelf. That can't just be a coincidence. Could it? I've came this far, no reason to stop exploring now. I hope this ladder doesn't disappear the same way it showed up.
Here goes nothing.
I close my eyes and take the first step. Planting my feet solidly, my hands easily find the hand rails. It feels sturdy enough. So far so good. I get ready to take the next step, then the steps jerks. And not just a subtle shift, but the kind of jerk you get when you are sitting down in the cart of roller coaster ride as it gets ready to start. I quickly put my feet back down and tighten my grip. Unlike the roller coaster carts, I don't have a safety rail. The steps start rotating, lifting me upwards, sort of like an escalator. But as the steps move so does the entire ladder. Like it is climbing up the shelves. Thankfully slowly. I relax, figuring this is just going to be one those occasional strange dreams. Not sure exactly what is up, but might as well fill my time doing something. I look at the dusty unopened books on either side of me. Of Mice and Men. The Grapes of Wrath. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. The Graveyard Book. I recognize these titles and a few others, but as the ladder keeps climbing I start to not recognize any of them. Not so much because of books I haven't read or unfamiliar titles, but having no titles at all. The books are blank. They are also looking older, rarer. I try to reach out to grab one, but the ladder jerks again. Maybe I'm getting ready to stop. Nope. The ladder speeds up. I quickly find the rails again. The air grows cold around me, my eyes tear up at the rate I'm being lifted. I try to get a glance of what is around me, but everything is a blur. Then all light fades and I'm surrounded by dark.
Never really been a fan of the dark. Taking a chance I put my hand in front of my face; I might as well be invisible. I can't see anything. I don't even know if I'm on the ladder of if the ladders is still attached to the shelves. I guess I can add the dark to my list of growing fears. Right along with my other new addition of books and glows. Maybe I can wake up by pinching myself.
OUCH!
Well I still see absolutely nothing...and now my arms hurts. Wait. The air just got warmer. Then with an unnerving jolt causing my hands to slide and my body to lunge forward, I stop. My eyes take a few moments to adjust to the bright array of colors and warm glowing light around me. Of course. I'm on top of the shelves. By the line I just drew in the dust covering them, I'm guessing no one has been up here...ever. I look back down and I can see where the saying "night and day" comes from. There is a distinct line separating the dark from the light. I look out over the library. The shelves look like mountains poking out of a sea of black. Eventually fading out of view. I'm a bit shocked. I never knew this place is so big. Finally, I aim my gaze upward. My jaw drops. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
How is it I never knew all of this is up here?
Several beautifully painted murals illuminate from the ceiling. Five to be exact. Each of them interweaved with one the other, fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. Ultimately creating a bigger picture. These are nothing like my normal stick figures and chicken scratch I do in class when I should be listening. These wonderous works of art have details looking like something stolen right out of the Sistine Chapel. Even if a dream, the time that went into these brings the ceiling to life. Seriously. The people painted in these murals are physically moving. And not like one of those cheap holographic type movements either, but walking and moving around as if in their own little art world.
Each person's outfit covers them completely. From head to toe, only leaving a slit for their eyes. Something about how they are split into four main groups reminds me of Scottish clans, each having their own colors and a clansman holding a flag: There are the clansmen wearing red and white garments, creating sprays of flames from their fingertips, I'm guessing they represent a fire clan; next to them are clansmen clothed in blue and silver, producing small spheres of water. I'm going to say they are a water clan. Above them are the green and beige clansmen, weaving and twining vines around pieces of rocks being pulled upward from the ground. Okay I get it, an earth clan. Just to their side are clansmen dressed in grey and gold. Wind spinning and clouds wrapping around them as they levitate in mid-air. Since I'm seeing a pattern of the elements here, I'm going to say an air clan.
Each clan co-existing with the other. I'm sort of feeling like a spectator watching a circus-renaissance faire combination. I catch myself smiling and letting out an occasional "ooh" and "aah". I'm guessing they liked my approval since they seem to be trying to out-do the others. However, something about all of this seems more a than just a part of a dream. I feel like I'm to know all of this, like it is trying to teach me something. Figures I would have a dream with some type of moral. I understand that each clan represents the elements and the needing the others, but why?
Then off to the side, almost hidden from view I see a fifth mural. Fifth mural? But there are only four elements?
It sticks out like a sore thumb, how could I have missed it. It is off in it's only little corner. Standing there is a single clansman. He is dressed in a yellow with a black trimmed outift. He sort of looks like a human bumble bee. It looks like he is looking back at me. I realize he's standing on a familiar looking ladder, facing a familiar looking bookshelf. With each of my movement the yellow man copied. What is this, the reflective part of the mural? Finally, he stops. He turns around. I wait, watching, wondering what type of ability I'm about to see. It has to be something pretty cool, with colors like that I expect lightning bolts to shoot out of it's eyes. Instead he reaches into the bookshelf and pulls out a thick book. Wait a minute...that's it. Book moving, that's the special power. So that one is a librarian. Forget this. I'm not wasting my time watching books be pushed around. I look back to the other picture, but they have all gone still. The only one animated is the yellow clansman. Ugh, so boring. He keeps removing and putting back the same book. After what seems like several minutes of this, he finally exaggerates pulling the book out. He leans forward towards me, the book gets bigger. I'm can read the book's title. He puts the book back.
Just when I thought we were getting somewhere, the bumble bee goes back to his old routine. I can't take watching this anymore, I look down from the ceiling. A knot grows in my stomach. Standing on the shelf in front of me is a single book. That's not what has me nervous. The book title reads DAYBOOK. The same on the book the yellow clansman was holding. I look back up. The bumble bee gives me a thumbs up, as if to tell me, "About time dummy", then he climbs down his ladder out of sight. The other clans begin to move again. The bumble bee doesn't return.
Before I can wonder where he went, a small shock hits my fingertips. Like a shock from dragging your feet across the carpet. The book on the shelf, it shocked me. A soft golden glow surrounds it. I move my hand close and small little sparks of electricity jump from the book to my fingers. I feel nothing. I pick it up. The thick, ancient looking, leather bound book is lighter than it looks. I wipe the cover off. A gold and black emblem shows itself. I quickly recognize it. It is the same from the ladder and bookshelf. I trace it. Uh-oh. I'm forced to grab it tightly as it starts to shake violently. The vibrations become harder, as if it were an overpowered Tickle-Me Elmo Doll. I hold on for dear life. It releases a high pitched squeal and the glow become a blinding light. I turn my head. When I look back the book as changed.
In my hands is a thin, yellow spiral college ruled notebook. I look around seeing if I dropped the encyclopedia thick volume I was just holding. I see the emblem. It is the same. Except instead of being of shiny colors, it is black Sharpie. Next to the spiral wire bounding the notebook together is the words: Latha-Leabhar. I touch it, and as soon as I become in contact with the letters, they flip spelling out the word DAYBOOK. If that is not strange enough, I watch as other hand-drawn sketches come and go all over the cover, moving like the painting above my head.
There are celtic looking symbols and picture coming and going all around the main emblem in the middle and the title to the side. Then I feel my thumb slipping off. I notice a Sharpie drawn stick figure working hard to push my finger off the notebook. I move my thumb and watch it crash down to the ground. I laugh. The figure gets up and walks over to a vertical straight line. With it's large round stick figure head, it begins hitting it's head against it.
"Stop that" I say.
Did I really just do that, talk to a drawing? I must have scared it. It looks around and accidentally runs into the same straight line. Small stars circles it's head.
"Not too bright are you?" I ask.
The stick figure gets up, looks over to me with it's two little dots for eyes, and opens up a door, which suddenly appears and slams it behind him.
I think this dream has taken a dive off the deep end. This has to be the strangest dream I have ever had. Climbing ladders, interactive paintings, shape changing magic notebook, what else could happen?
Wait.
Is this book what is making everything so weird around here? And what threw me out of the story I was in? A school notebook?
I don't know why, but I expected more. Or hoping that there is something bigger, not just to find a stupid used notebook. That is really, really annoying. A waste of a perfectly good dream. Ugh! I throw the notebook down. I watch it disappear. Good riddance.
I lift my head back up and there it is. The yellow notebook, back where I found it. So be it, I'll just leave it there and try to wake up from this quickly becoming nightmare. My feet don't budge, like someone, or something glued them to the ladder.
"Okay, I get your point" I say giving the notebook an glare.
I reluctantly grab the notebook. Now I just want to tear it up, but before I can act, the cover flies open. Pages are being flipped. If I get sucked in I'll...well..I'll be sucked in, but I know I won't be happy about it. I prepare myself for my entrance in. Then the pages stop. All I see are two normal blank pages.
Now what? I wait. The silence around me echoes.
"Um...notebook? Latha...Daybook...why..." I say, but stop myself. Why do I even think it can hear me.
I look around, wondering if anything is to happen. I look back up and the ceiling mural is perfectly still. I can feel my ADHD impatience kicking in. My eye starts twitching, again. Is it possible to fall asleep in a dream? If nothing happens, I guess I'll find out. As I close my eyes, I hear sounds of writing. I quickly look down. A reddish-brown calligraphy slowly runs across the center of the page. They only last for seconds before evaporating off the paper.
Cuir furan air og neah-coimhid
I don't recognize the language. The words keep repeating. Over and over. Finally, it stops. Rough, jagged, scratchy kid type scribbles thrash the page. This lasts only a few moments and the page grows blank once more. Hmm, was that the written form of a tempertantrum? Then more words appear:
If given the truth, they can be depended upon to meet any crisis
Well, I can read them at least. But I still don't understand what they mean. I repeat them out loud. Something about them sound familiar, like I've read them somewhere. My mom says I've blossomed early than most kids my age when it comes to reading. I like pretty much all books, so I'm always reading. I'll read the same book several times. I guess that would be the reason for my lack of friends, hard to make them when you fill your time reading. This is going to drive me crazy, trying to remember those words. But, what are they supposed to mean?
More words appear:
Be sure to put your feet in the right place, then stand firm
Again I know I've read them somewhere, like its on the tip of tongue. I need to calm down before...too late...more eye twitching. I need water, my throat is so dry. The ringing in my ears is back. I rub them hoping to get rid of that annoying low pitch noise. I glance down to see more words fill and fade from the page:
The things I want to know are in books; my best friend is the person who'll get me a book I ain't read
The notebook slams shut. The cover dwelling stick figure is back. He's pacing back and forth, tapping is stick figure hand to his circular head. My mind is jumble mess too, I know how this two dimensional figure feels.
Hey! That has a ring to it. Something to call this animated drawing. I have a feeling I'm going to be seeing him a lot.
"So do you know what those words mean 2-D?"
He just shakes his head. It was worth a try. I can picture the words in my head, fading in and out like they did on the page. I'm getting the sense this is the bigger picture I've been wanting. I should have expected it would be in some type of puzzle. I place the notebook down.
My head is starting to hurt from all of this. I turn around and lean up against the shelves. As I repeat the words in my mind, every book I've read comes rushing back, if any can help solve this puzzle. 2-D, a good name for the stick figure, catches my attention by waving his little stick arms back and forth. He's point upward. I try to figure out where, then off in the distance, very heavy and extremely dark clouds are forming.
They don't look like normal storm clouds. They look like someone has kneaded together ash, soot, and crushed coal, into a cloudy dough ball. A breeze swirls around and chills run down my spine. Something is not right about these clouds. Call it a hunch. The elemental clans come back to life in their painting and quickly create a sort of barrier to block the oncoming storm. Right now the clouds are small and only making a swirling motion. They seem don't look threatening, well, besides the feeling they are giving. Knowing my luck they will be one of those small storm clouds you see in cartoons that hovers overhead and rains only on one person. A crackling boom echoes through the library, rattling the shelves. I brace myself. The cartoon cloud thought is replaced with fear. The clouds have doubled in size. They are letting of purplish lightning flashes. I'm not liking this. I want to wake up now. A face forms in the clouds and stares right at me. Where the eyes and mouth are is a evil purplish glow. Another thunderous crash races around, books are falling of their resting place. A flash of darkness shoots out at lightning speeds. Before I can react, it hits me square in the chest. I'm lifted up and come crashing on top of the bookshelf. The instant I hit, my stomach begins to ache.
I grab my stomach tightly.
It is starting to happen.
No.
Not here.
Both my eyes spasm uncontrollably. My throat is dry, causing me to gasp for air. My mind is taken off that with the deafening ringing in my ears. Like they are about to explode. I cup them trying to get them to stop. Then my gut feels like it is being stabbed by a million sharp needles. A sharp freeze shoots through my veins. I can physically feel my body temperature drop; causing me to see my breath with each of my painful grunt. I can't stop it now. My sight fades to white, leaving everything around me in yellow outlines. I take one last gasp of air and scream.
A release of energy, shooting from entire body. Going in every direction, creating a complete white-out.
* * *
I jerk awake looking around. Oh good, I'm still in the very back of our family minivan. My headphones are still in my ears blocking out my mom's oldies.
These dreams are getting so real, but that is the first time I have ever thrown one of my fits inside of one. I can't have another fit, not so soon after my last one. Especially after the last one. I took out a majority of the school's library...and almost disintegrate the principal's son. Even if he was a bully, that would have pretty much destroyed any future I have, as well as my parents. It wouldn't have been good. If I'm lucky my records won't be sent over to the new school. It is summer, so I really shouldn't be worrying about that yet. Besides the fit was only in my dream.
A single drop of sweat rolls down my forehead, past my eye and over my cheek. I reach up to wipe it off and I notice my hair is completely damp. I look at my fingertips. They are glowing. As if they were hot steel. Then I see it. On the back of the seat in front of me. The frayed remains of a once used to be a checkered pattern seat cover.
Oh no.
I wonder if my mom saw this happen. I look up and she is watching me through the review mirror. She's quiet, but I can't telI if its because I had just tried to blow up the car, or if she is just doing her normal motherly worry. Either way, one thing I know about my mom is that her quiet is not something I want right now.
Do I acknowledge that I see her watching me or just play it off as it being to hot? She reaches down to turn up the air conditioner.
"Thank you mom" I say.
Some of her stress melts away. That in itself lets me know that I made the right choice. It's best she not know about this. Hopefully they won't see the marks I left. I go back to stare out the window and ignore that they are even there.
* * *
I hate moving. I think this is our third time this year alone. As for last year, I lost count. The reasons are all the same. It is something in our family we don't really about anymore.
Did I say I hate moving?
I see ahead of us my dad in his pickup, dragging a faded, worn down U-Haul. He turns into a gravel driveway and quickly turns again. We pull up behind him. Standing ahead of us is an old, two-story, house. It's yellow paint faded in most spots, with the rest peeling away. At least it is a house for a change, we mostly end up in an apartment. My dad says it is easier to pick up and move living in them. Leave without any attachments. I guess I've always figured our first house would be in better shape.
As I get out of the van, I catch a glimpse of a giant bird on the roof. It is actually hard to miss, much bigger than any black bird I have ever seen. It also seems to be staring at me. As if to be staring into my soul. That is an uneasy feeling. I tr ignore it and walk inside using the red door downstairs door. Figures, its locked.
I look around to see if any of my parents are around and can open it up. I'm not really wanting to do the alternative, which I turn around and see my dad doing exactly that. Walking up a set of maroon stain stairs. Who would chose this color? It reminds me of something a great aunt would wear on her lips and leave on your cheek on her yearly visist. I get ready to speak up, but he is looking somewhat grumpy, I guess I'll follow him, besides, he seems to know where he's going. I notice the steps have a well worn trail, straight down the middle. Probably years of these exact up and down trips, because the downstairs door is locked. Just in case the stairs are too worn, I lean on the nearby rail, in the same color. I hope it is as sturdy as it looks. There is a creek and I watch my dad walk through a screen door. Or what is left of one. He holds it open as I walk through.
As I pass the threshold, I am in a giant, open room. I look around trying to figure where I entered. Everything blends together, not sure what to call this combination of a dining room, family room and kitchen rolled into one. Which appears to have some bonuses. One room to cook, to eat, and to sit. I should have guessed it would look like this just by the outside. I hear my dad clear his throat behind me, I take a step forward and crashing down, tripping over a rogue box. I land loud and hard. My dad simply walks around me in my torqued position and my mom yells from somewhere,
"Scotterick Findlay, stop making all that ruckus and take your boxes downstairs?"
Insulted, I bark "I'm ok, thanks for asking"
"Don't sass me and please do what I ask"
I pick myself up grudgingly and head towards her voice.
Geez, what did I pack?
Rocks?
I start to hear both of my parents voices from a room just past the kitchen area. As I get close I make sure my feet get heavier and provide enough frustrated sighs to try get some notification and sympathy. Instead, I end up eavesdropping on them. They were what I like to call "silenting" - a style of arguing with each other very quietly trying to make sure I don't hear them. Which I usually do.
"Robert, he didn't mean to and you know it" my mom says.
"I do know it, but it's so frustrating - all of this packing and moving," responds my dad, "I mean, I don't even know what are in these boxes anymore."
I didn't want to hear the rest. I quietly shuffled my way down a spiral staircase that is close by.
At the bottom I survey the downstairs. To one side is what appears to be a bathroom. Or at least a room with a toilet in it. Next to that is open area, with a panel running half the height of the wall. Something stands out to me on the paneling, like someone took a black marker and outlined a section of the wall. I'm not surprised. Again, it adds to the run down look of this house. Next to the amateur wall art is a room, one that is actually separated by walls and has a doorway. I almost missed it, but I keep looking on. Pass it is another open area, which looks like a kid's room or family room, but I can also see it holds the "locked" downstairs door. Then lastly, sort of blended into the wall, is another doorway. I'm guessing it leads into another room.
Only one way to find out, I first walk over to the first doorway I saw and glance in. Yup, as small as it looks. The walls are a boring white color and bare, but for the most part clean. It almost looks like it was just finished. Even the carpet still looks new. I'm wondering if this room was ever actually used. I put my box down in it's doorway and take a look through the other doorway. Just pass the trimming hang several lines of multi-colored beads. As still as can be, creating a colorful curtain. I push them aside and right into any boy's worse nightmare. I just entered Girlyville. It figures the bigger of the two rooms would look like a rainbow threw up all over. Pink and purple spill all across the walls. It even hands pink chandeliers hanging from the pink ceiling.
I decide the blah room would be fine, small or not. It would prevent any future teasing...from anyone.
Having my fill of bright colors, I turn to leave when I'm strangely stopped in my tracks. I don't know why, but I turn and look towards the corner. My eye catches sparkling and glittering. I walk over. Lying there is a ripped piece of paper. It looks like it is the corner piece of something much larger. Glued to it is one of those Bedazzled gems, shimmering as the what little light from the windows catches it. I hold up the torn paper, trying to get a close look at it. I see writing on it, but I can't quite make it out, the writing is too faded. It looks like numbers, but they are very shaky, and part of them are cut off.
"Scotty?!" my mom bellows my name from upstairs.
I stuff the piece of paper into my pocket and hurry out.
* * *
The day seems to be fading fast, especially when your making several trips up and down stairs. Finally I take the last of my boxes down to my room. I'm about to walk in when I notice my dad walking through the down stairs door, rolling my dresser in. I look back up stairs and than over to him. He finally realizes I'm staring at him.
"What?" he asks rolling pass me.
I keep my glare tight and narrow.
"What do you mean what? I just spent the last few hours walking up and down these stairs with boxes that you brought in."
"And?" he says
"AND it would have much easier taking them from the truck to my room, using THAT door." I use my only free body part, my head, to point at the door he just walked through.
My dad turns around and looks at the door and then back at me. I can see him mentally retrace his steps, then truth finally sinks in. He realizes he could have saved himself a few trips up the stairs as well.
"So...your right...I could have, but nothing we can do about it now" he heads back out, "let's not dwell on this and get this truck unloaded." He says before the door shuts.
I'm surrounded by boxes. I swear I seem to have more and more with each move. Most of them are filled with just books I've managed to collect over the years. I should of wised up and got rid of some of them, but I guess that's my problem, I can't seem to let any of them go. They carry memories. Each reminding me of where I've been, where I could go, and most carry some type of story with it. As I start putting my belongings away, I let me mind wander, trying to get my mind off that dream in the van. Before I know it, I pull out the last item, my trophy - my only trophy. I smile, this probably has the most meaning to me. The race is still fresh in my mind. Two years ago, in Arizona, I took first place in Encanto Grade School's annual sack race. That was a great day, probably the last one I can remember. I still had my fits, but they were no where as uncontrollable as they are now.
I polish the plastic gold statue up a little, and place it on my dresser, next to my bed.
Reflecting off the statue I catch a glimpse of something moving in the window behind me. I turn and sure enough, I see a face is pressed up against the glass, flat nose and all. In a scared reflex, I throw the closest thing I could grab. Flying through the air is my only trophy.
CRASH!
The glass pane of the window shatters as the sack race reminder crashes through, head first on it's kamikazi trip.
Oh no.
I cringe as the realization of my lack of thought process kicks in. 3...2...1...
"What happened?!" my parents as in unison, racing in.
Before I can muster up the answer my dad sees the shards of glass on the floor and the hole in my window. Like a cartoon, I can see his face turn red and the small vein in his neck show itself, which it only seems to do when he is really, really mad. He clenches his jaw, I can physically see him fighting back his anger. He turns and looks at me.
"How..." he pauses, shaking is head, "why did you break your window?" he asks. His voice is low and deep. I don't think I have every heard him this stern, or I just don't remember.
My mom quickly walks up beside him and softly touches his arm.
"I'm sorry dad I didn't mean to..." I try to answer, but not really sure what to say.
"What do you mean you didn't mean to?!" he interrupts a bit louder.
My mom squeezes her his arm, he lowers his voice.
"Dad, I swear there was someone out there staring in, it scared me and I reacted. I'm-I'm sorry."
I see his shoulders lower. I think he believes me. Without saying another word he races out of the room and I hear the door open and slam shut. My mom walks over and starts to pick up the pieces of broken glass. I rush to her side to help.
"Mom, I'm really sorry...I swear there was someone there and..." I stop, it feels like I'm just making excuses.
"Scotty, it's ok, "she calmly says, dropping her head a little, "We all have been under a lot of stress," she looks up at me, "how about you go get me the vacuum cleaner? I don't want you cutting your feet on this." Her voice always seem to give me hope, especially in these situations.
I quickly go searching for the vacuum cleaner. I turn to ask my mom where she put it, but pause and watch the rays of the setting sun land on her. A halo glow appears on top of her blondish brown hair, which is pulled back into a ponytail. Her pink tank top with khaki capri pants are what keeps her looking human, even if she, in my opinion, an angel. A feeling of regret upsets my stomach. Even though she never talks about it, I sense she has had to put up with a lot in her life, and most of it from me. Yet, even during the trying of times, like now, she still manages to carry a uplifting smile on her face. The kind that is contagious, making the worse and stressful of situations appear as easy as taking a deep breath. I wish I could feel that way now.
I snap myself back on task. Vacuum cleaner, need to find the vacuum cleaner. Finally, I see it up against the wall, right before the wall art. I walk over to grab it, but accidentally hit the wall behind. A hollow thud echoes as a piece of the wall pops open.
AH! I panic.
I just broke my window and have yet to be punished for, now I bust the wall; oh, this is just not my day. First thought is to push it back in and pray it stays. Some glue or a piece of gum would come in really handy right about now.
Then from behind, my dad says, scaring me, "What you doing Scotty?"
I jump hitting him in the chin. He backs up grabbing his face.
Really? I had to hit my dad? Now?
"I was...err...um...just feeling the texture of the wall. Are you okay? I'm sorry!" I finally answer back, leaning up against the wall, hoping that I didn't make him angrier.
He drops his hands, his eyes are all teared up, but he seems calm, he shakes it off and asks, "Scotty do you remember what you saw?"
"Saw? I didn't see anything?" I answer, hoping he's not talking about the wall.
I hear him let out an annoyed grunt, "The face in the window? Can you describe it?"
"Oh", whew, not talking about the wall, "No I don't...why?"
"Well I searched all around out there and couldn't find anyone" he says, then he holds up a shiny gold and silver bracelet, "but I did find this, it fell off a huge a...err...I mean a very big bird. I think it was a raven, or it could have been a crow."
I reach up and touch it. A rush of energy races through my hand and throughout my body. Suddenly I become really hungry, and not for anything in particular, but just for everything. I also feel light, like I could just leap in the air and...fly?
"Really? It's cool looking" I say, the bracelet taking my attention.
"Yup!" my dad says with a sort of proud tone, "and the stupid bird attacked me. I have never had that happened before, very strange. Oh well, why don't you hold on to it for now."
"Really?!"
He shakes his head and drops it into my hand, then heads upstairs.
As soon as the bracelet lands, a giant surge shoots throughout my body. A weird feeling comes over me. It feels sort of good, like a boost of energy. I'm instantly antsy and restless, well, more than normal, and need to go do something. I'm startled by a loud grumbling sound.
What was that? I look around.
I hear it again. I look down, I feel my stomache rumble. How did I get so hungry so fast? Thoughts of food flood my mind, including meals have already eaten, how much of it we ate, and where we threw it away.
Um...gross?
Soon I realize it, I catch myself slowly starting to wander towards the stairs. A sound of running vacuum cleaner fills my ears. Ugh! I totally forgot - another one of many skills that comes with my ADHD. I hurry back into the room.
"I'm sorry mom."
"It's ok Scotty" she says with her trademark smile.
Before I can start helping again, she has all the glass picked up. She hands over the garbage bag, and with a wink, asks if I could actually take it out. The thought of protesting did cross my mind, but I figure it is the least I can do. I head towards the door, garbage in hand, and for some strange reason, I look over to where the wall popped open. It stayed in place, but I can't help but think on how it came down. It sort of popped open instead of fall down, as if to be on hinges. Can't get myself sidetracked, again, I'll get rid of this trash then come back to examine it closer, and hopefully without any interruptions.