What the girl said resonated through me like a bell. A horrible bell that wouldn't stop ringing. A note braided with melancholy and hope, light and dark. It rooted me to the spot, mystified at such a sound. I neither wanted to leave or stay, fall or fly. It confused me to such a degree that for the first time in years that cruel little voice in my head stopped. For just a moment.

|–––––|

Why does this torture never end?

I thought that when I went to middle school, George Jacobs wouldn't follow me. But, no. He and all of his posse were here and ready to humiliate me.

Seventh grade was not going to be fun.

And yes, four periods later my prediction rings true.

As I don't have any friends, I eat lunch alone in my own little corner. But guess who finds me?

Correct. George Jacobs himself.

"Having fun, four eyes?" he says (I finally got glasses, hoping that he would stop teasing my me and my mother about our financial status. I had never been so wrong). I just glared at him. I felt so small compared to him, cornered and on my own.

"Eat dirt, you alley rat." he said, disgusted at the sight of me. With that, he walked away, taking care to spill his chocolate milk on me.

I sighed, slightly relieved. At least he didn't humiliate me in front of everyone.

But he did just ruin your new pants.

They're fine.

Mom just bought those.

We can wash them.

And waste all that water? You know those things cause precious money you don't have.

Be quiet!

No.

Why do I have to go through this?

|–––––|

George Jacobs and his posse were relentless those first few weeks of school. But no one ever saw. George was careful to make it seem like we were having a pleasant conversation, when really, he was pushing me farther into the ground.

All hope of self confidence was gone.

I didn't tell anyone for fear that they wouldn't help. I kept to myself at lunch because I was afraid of what others would think of me. P.E. was a nightmare. I was never very fit, I wasn't a fast runner, and I didn't particularly like sports. And, on top of that, I got picked last for every team sport. Fun, right?

Not in the slightest.

I had hoped that after school, maybe things would be a little better when I got to my house, and away from the other kids.

But, the truth was, I was just as scared at my house as I was at school. I was scared of the outside because it held mad drunks, shooters, and ruthless people in the depths of it's darkness. But worst of all, he was still there. Not in the flesh, but in memory. He stormed the halls, his blood soaked hands staining the wood. His screams were always there, ringing constantly in my ears.

Those nights, the ones when all I could hear was him, yelling and tormenting, those were the nights I couldn't stand being by myself. Those were the nights when I slept in my mother's bedroom, desperate to know that someone was there, keeping me safe.

I used to think that I had nothing to live for, that I had no one. But I realized that I had her. My mother would never leave me. She was the one person in this world who I could bear to be with. The one person whom I loved.

And it got me thinking.

I felt safe with her, almost content. So, maybe, being with my mother was my...home.

After all, a home was supposed to be a place where you felt if not happy, but good. Where you didn't have to worry.

My home was wherever she was, and wherever she was was safe, sheltered, secure.

Home.

School didn't improve much, George Jacobs still continued his antics, P.E. got worse, and I didn't make any friends. But I had a home.

And because of that, I felt a little more like I belonged.

It still hurt when George Jacobs came to tease me, but, for once,

It felt good not to care.

|–––––|

Every once in awhile, I could get my mother to tell me something about her past. She was an amazing storyteller. She wove together tales of her favorite teacher, her friends, her home. I could listen to her for hours. But she didn't like to. I could tell that telling me things about her life were hard. So I didn't ask often. But I guess I was just feeling adventurous that day.

I asked about her sister.

My mother had mentioned a couple of times about her older sister, but had never described her for me. I used to be content with just knowing she was alive, but now...

I wanted to know who she was, how she was, why I had never met her before.

So I asked.

"Joshua, why do you want to know?" My mother seemed very exasperated.

"I need to know mom! I want to know all about her. It is killing me that I don't know and that-"

That I might have cousins, and an uncle, and maybe even grandparents. I wanted to know that I had a family. But I couldn't admit it. However, my mother understood what I meant by the yearning in my eyes.

"O.k."

"Really?"

"Yes." I grinned at her, and she began her story. "My sister, Olivia, was, first of all, one of the kindest women I have ever met. All throughout our childhood, she was always helping out our mother with dinner, cleaning, and other things. She never got in trouble at school, had quite the handful of friends, and never got into fights, verbal or physical.

"But sometimes, she and I would sneak around the house at night, eating ice cream past midnight and gorging ourselves with sweets. Our parents caught us at it sometimes, scolding us for our childish behavior.

"But we never fell apart. We were closer than the best of friends, even through the three year age difference. Even though she was popular, and I was not, even though she had straight A's and a 4.3 GPA.

"I always felt like I had to live up to the legacy she left behind, and it killed me that I didn't get as good of grades as she did. I was intimidated that I hadn't had a single thought about colleges I wanted to attend, when she had had her life planned out in freshman year. I didn't even know what I wanted to do.

"As soon as I entered high school, the weight of academic expectations were pressed hard on me. And before I knew it, I started to secretly resent my sister for what she indirectly made me feel.

"I began to write about it, journaling, story writing, whenever I had time. In between classes I was writing. At lunch, I was in the library, writing. I would write about young girls with heavy expectations because of their older siblings. I would write about me, and how I no longer loved my sister anymore. I poured every emotion I had onto the page, but I never showed those stories to anyone.

"But once Olivia had gone off to college, I felt suddenly lonely. I didn't know what to do. I was happy that she was gone, but, empty. I started remembering all the fun times we had together as kids and I started wishing for those days again. I realized that it wasn't her fault that I wasn't good enough, it was mine.

"I forgave my sister and started blaming myself. I wasn't smart enough, I wasn't prepared, I couldn't make my way in the world. I put those stories away, stowed deep in the recesses of my closet.

"During the summer of my junior year, she came back to visit. I didn't know she was coming, I came home from my new summer job expecting to get a nice long nap. I walked down the hall to my room and opened my door to see Olivia on the floor in my room, reading from a box of papers. As soon as I entered she looked up, tears in her eyes. I glanced at the paper she was reading and I realized that it was a journal of mine from the year before.

"And before I knew it, I was mad at her again for daring to glance at my heart, because that's what those stories were to me. She was reading me when she picked up those old writings.

"I ran from my room and she called after me, but I pretended not to hear. I needed to leave."

My mother paused, her eyes full of sadness, like they always were when she told me about her days as a youth. She usually never said so much, but this time, maybe my mother realized how desperately I wanted some piece of a family to hold on to in the hopes that I won't be alone. My mother took a breath, and continued.

"I ran to an old oak tree in from of our house. It's limbs were knotted with age and strength. I had climbed this tree so much as a youth that I knew exactly where to put my hands and feet to get up to the top. Olivia had never climbed the tree. She prefered to stay on the ground, she was scared of hights.

"But that day, she climbed up after me. I paused halfway up to marvel at her. She hated heights, she never wanted to be in the branches of a tree because her feet weren't on solid ground.

"Seeing her do something she hated to get to me, I had to stop. So I did, I perched on the lowest branch and she clambered up after me. She apologized over and over again, but I don't think it was for reading my works without her permission.

"Then, I started crying and she started crying and it was like it had started raining. And all bitter feelings I had towards her vanished."

"But why have I never seen her before?" I asked, as my mother finished her story.

"That, Joshua, is a tale for another time."

And that was that.

|–––––|

The world was dark, starless, but quiet. The night had fallen, bringing with it a sense of peace. Ever since I had realized that everything would be okay, the night didn't scare me as much anymore. I was at ease.

I woke up, at around one o'clock, weary, but restless. I looked out my window and saw that the night wasn't starless. There was a galaxy of whirling lights, the sky was peppered with thousands of tiny, shimmering flecks, shining with the light of a thousand years, persisting through the city glow.

I stared, awestruck at the sight before me, amazed that it was there, in awe of its ability to shine, even though the city was so bright. It was beautiful and fascinating and alluring, and I marveled at the sight of it. How could one not?

I sat, in the quiet dark, in awe of the magnificent display before me. I wanted to lie there forever, drenched in starlight. I smiled.

And I watched as each star went out.

One

By

One,

They disappeared.

And someone knocked on the front door.

~

Hi!!!

I know this chapter is pretty long, sorry about that...

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