Tuesday.
I can smell the sweet scent of mother baking her famous chocolate chip cookies. The rich morsels melting so deliciously as the dough begins changing to a nice golden brown. I can hear my fathers voice as he returns home from his shift at work. He got louder as he explained to my mother and older brother how the mainframe at work unexpectedly shut down causing a severe delay in the workload. He told them how his boss was very upset and had given him a hard time at work. My brother tried to cheer up my father by telling him how he made the varsity rowing team and that the coach was thinking he would make a great coxswain because of his build. I can now hear my mother walking down the hallway towards the basement door where I was seated very quietly as to not make a sound. The top stair was narrow. So narrow that only my right butt cheek fit, so I shifted all my weight as to not make any noise as I sat perched with my ear turned to the door. As my mother walked back and forth from the kitchen to the living room where my father was now reading aloud the obituaries from this mornings Poughkeepsie Journal, I felt a spider crawl up my sock onto my bare leg. As the spider’s fangs penetrated my calf, I let out a low cry. As the warm tears ran down my cheek, I held my right hand firmly over my mouth so my mother wouldn’t hear me perched at the old basement door. As I rubbed the throbbing welt on my leg, I heard my mother inform my brother and father it was time to wash-up, as dinner was ready.
The occasional thump of the furnace kicking on and the drip of the old wash-basin were the only sounds that broke the silence. The light over the stairs flickered out 6 meals ago so I washed the old chipped plate from the leftovers my brother snuck down to me in the dark and quickly placed it in a box with the others so mother wouldn’t notice I had eaten. As bedtime soon approached, I try to refrain from thinking about the time or day of the week. Instead I thought about the last day I went to school. I came home from school late that day because I had lost my tiny gold heart bracelet that my mother’s sister had given me for my 11th birthday. My friends and I searched the entire school grounds for it with no luck. I remember how mad my mother was. She screamed at me the entire night. When my father found out how irresponsible I had been, he decided I should spend some time alone to think of what I had done. I knew I disappointed my parents. I seemed to, on frequent basis, but I didn’t realize exactly how upset they were until I heard the click of the lock on the basement door.
Wednesday.
The sunlight is teasing the corner of my eye as I wake. I can hear my mother and brother in the kitchen walking around. My father has already left for work so I think it must be around 7:30 or so. As the smell of eggs and bacon whiffs through the house I glance through an old photo album I found 3 meals ago while looking for a flashlight in the old boxes under the stairs. As I flip through the tattered book, the old musty smell of Polaroid pictures and dust overcome the smell of my brother’s breakfast and suddenly my stomach stops rumbling. As I glance at each page I see the snapshots of my parents trip to Florida last year. The endless photos of Disneyworld my parents had taken. I stared at the one of my mother and brother, standing in line at the Tower of Terror. My brother loved Halloween as a child and he and my parents would often watch scary movies together. Then there were a few of my father and brother at Sea World right in front of Shamu the killer whale. They had been splashed and if you flip through them you can see the water coming over the tank and eventually drenching my father. As I came across the photo of the three of them with their mouse ears on I felt the scar on my right forearm. I still remember how angry my father was when he saw me wearing my brothers’ Mickey ears hat. First he screamed at me. Then he grabbed my arm and lifted me so high in the air I grazed the ceiling fan with my shoelace. When the Dr. said my arm was broken, my mother screamed at him because I needed a cast. Then he screamed at me because my mother screamed at him. Now every time it rains or is cold out, I remember not to touch someone else’s belongings. Lesson Learned.
Thursday.
This afternoon my father came home early from work. I heard my parents talking in the living room but couldn’t make out the muffled conversation through the fancy berber carpet my mother had installed last year. I remember lying on that carpet watching television with my brother until my father was angry one day and ripped the cable wire from the wall. I never set foot in the living room again.
As I stood under the dining room I could now hear more of my parents conversation. It sounded like my father had bad news. I couldn’t really make out what he was saying over my mothers screaming so I looked into another box under the stairs. I found my mothers wedding dress. It looked so beautiful. I remember seeing the picture on the mantle of my parents on their wedding day. My father was so happy. My mother looked as elegant as ever with her long gown flowing down onto the floor. They were the happiest couple I had ever seen and often dreamed that one day I too would find someone and grow to be as happy. Next to the box with my mother’s gown was an old hat box with a heart and my fathers name on it. As I opened it I found countless letters, valentines and pictures of my father. As I read through the valentines one by one I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of my father being such a sap and couldn’t imagine my parents being so in love that my mother saved all of this stuff. At the bottom of the box I found a small cardboard red heart shaped box. Inside were several chocolates that appeared suddenly almost like a creamy cocoa oasis. As the sweet goodness went down my throat I thought to myself how angry my mother would be if she caught me eating her candies that she saved. Overwhelmed with guilt, fear and now a bit of a stomach ache, I tucked the box back under the stairs hoping no one will notice.
Friday.
This morning I awoke to a loud slam. I heard no voices, hardly a footstep, and only one last slam of the front door. I patiently waited for the smell of bacon and eggs. Maybe I over slept and missed my parents’ morning chats? Perhaps my brother had already left for school and my mother was out running errands? As I wait on that loose rickety top step with my ear firmly placed against the door, I hear silence. The occasional thump of the furnace even stopped. I rush over towards the warmth of the sunlight beaming in through the slight crack in the plywood covering the lone window. For hours it seems I pace between the top step and the area under the kitchen, holding my breath as to be ever so silent. I focus on listening so hard that I can now hear my heartbeat in my ears. As I wait anxiously for my family to return, I didn’t notice the sun go down. Now I wait in the dark without even the sound of the furnace to keep me awake.
Saturday.
This morning I woke with my head leaning against the basement door. As I heard the footsteps come closer I rushed down the old stairs and hid behind the boxes in the far corner next to the cold furnace. I hear the latch click and with a creak I now see light flooding the basement from the open door. With my head tucked between my knees, I sit shaking behind my cover praying my mother doesn’t notice I went through her belongings. I try to remember if I put the boxes back in the exact spot or if I left a photo out in plain sight. As the footsteps got louder I heard a strange voice. Suddenly a flashlight was aimed right at my face and blinded me with white stars. As I tried to understand what was happening all I could hear was the man saying oh my god over and over. He helped me to my feet and then carried me up stairs. As he rushed me through the living room and out to his truck I could see the furniture was gone. The walls that were once decorated with endless photos, now stood naked with only a slight outline of where the old frames hung. As the man called the police from his phone, I heard him say that he was from a realty company and the owner left in the middle of the night. He then kept repeating that he just found a girl locked in the basement of the empty house. I remember only thinking how the air smelled so much different outside. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw the sunshine so bright and how although it was cold enough to see my breath and I sit only in a t-shirt and socks, how warm I felt inside this stranger’s truck. The thought of my parents leaving me made me upset and extremely relieved at the same time. I felt abandoned, as I had been most of my childhood. The gross realization that my parents could actually leave me didn’t sting as bad as my worrying about my brother. We had always been close and I knew he was terrified that if he spoke up to my parents he would be treated as awful as I was. As I watch the police and ambulance pull around the corner towards my parent’s house, I start to cry. I cover my mouth, afraid to make a sound.
I can smell the sweet scent of mother baking her famous chocolate chip cookies. The rich morsels melting so deliciously as the dough begins changing to a nice golden brown. I can hear my fathers voice as he returns home from his shift at work. He got louder as he explained to my mother and older brother how the mainframe at work unexpectedly shut down causing a severe delay in the workload. He told them how his boss was very upset and had given him a hard time at work. My brother tried to cheer up my father by telling him how he made the varsity rowing team and that the coach was thinking he would make a great coxswain because of his build. I can now hear my mother walking down the hallway towards the basement door where I was seated very quietly as to not make a sound. The top stair was narrow. So narrow that only my right butt cheek fit, so I shifted all my weight as to not make any noise as I sat perched with my ear turned to the door. As my mother walked back and forth from the kitchen to the living room where my father was now reading aloud the obituaries from this mornings Poughkeepsie Journal, I felt a spider crawl up my sock onto my bare leg. As the spider’s fangs penetrated my calf, I let out a low cry. As the warm tears ran down my cheek, I held my right hand firmly over my mouth so my mother wouldn’t hear me perched at the old basement door. As I rubbed the throbbing welt on my leg, I heard my mother inform my brother and father it was time to wash-up, as dinner was ready.
The occasional thump of the furnace kicking on and the drip of the old wash-basin were the only sounds that broke the silence. The light over the stairs flickered out 6 meals ago so I washed the old chipped plate from the leftovers my brother snuck down to me in the dark and quickly placed it in a box with the others so mother wouldn’t notice I had eaten. As bedtime soon approached, I try to refrain from thinking about the time or day of the week. Instead I thought about the last day I went to school. I came home from school late that day because I had lost my tiny gold heart bracelet that my mother’s sister had given me for my 11th birthday. My friends and I searched the entire school grounds for it with no luck. I remember how mad my mother was. She screamed at me the entire night. When my father found out how irresponsible I had been, he decided I should spend some time alone to think of what I had done. I knew I disappointed my parents. I seemed to, on frequent basis, but I didn’t realize exactly how upset they were until I heard the click of the lock on the basement door.
Wednesday.
The sunlight is teasing the corner of my eye as I wake. I can hear my mother and brother in the kitchen walking around. My father has already left for work so I think it must be around 7:30 or so. As the smell of eggs and bacon whiffs through the house I glance through an old photo album I found 3 meals ago while looking for a flashlight in the old boxes under the stairs. As I flip through the tattered book, the old musty smell of Polaroid pictures and dust overcome the smell of my brother’s breakfast and suddenly my stomach stops rumbling. As I glance at each page I see the snapshots of my parents trip to Florida last year. The endless photos of Disneyworld my parents had taken. I stared at the one of my mother and brother, standing in line at the Tower of Terror. My brother loved Halloween as a child and he and my parents would often watch scary movies together. Then there were a few of my father and brother at Sea World right in front of Shamu the killer whale. They had been splashed and if you flip through them you can see the water coming over the tank and eventually drenching my father. As I came across the photo of the three of them with their mouse ears on I felt the scar on my right forearm. I still remember how angry my father was when he saw me wearing my brothers’ Mickey ears hat. First he screamed at me. Then he grabbed my arm and lifted me so high in the air I grazed the ceiling fan with my shoelace. When the Dr. said my arm was broken, my mother screamed at him because I needed a cast. Then he screamed at me because my mother screamed at him. Now every time it rains or is cold out, I remember not to touch someone else’s belongings. Lesson Learned.
Thursday.
This afternoon my father came home early from work. I heard my parents talking in the living room but couldn’t make out the muffled conversation through the fancy berber carpet my mother had installed last year. I remember lying on that carpet watching television with my brother until my father was angry one day and ripped the cable wire from the wall. I never set foot in the living room again.
As I stood under the dining room I could now hear more of my parents conversation. It sounded like my father had bad news. I couldn’t really make out what he was saying over my mothers screaming so I looked into another box under the stairs. I found my mothers wedding dress. It looked so beautiful. I remember seeing the picture on the mantle of my parents on their wedding day. My father was so happy. My mother looked as elegant as ever with her long gown flowing down onto the floor. They were the happiest couple I had ever seen and often dreamed that one day I too would find someone and grow to be as happy. Next to the box with my mother’s gown was an old hat box with a heart and my fathers name on it. As I opened it I found countless letters, valentines and pictures of my father. As I read through the valentines one by one I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of my father being such a sap and couldn’t imagine my parents being so in love that my mother saved all of this stuff. At the bottom of the box I found a small cardboard red heart shaped box. Inside were several chocolates that appeared suddenly almost like a creamy cocoa oasis. As the sweet goodness went down my throat I thought to myself how angry my mother would be if she caught me eating her candies that she saved. Overwhelmed with guilt, fear and now a bit of a stomach ache, I tucked the box back under the stairs hoping no one will notice.
Friday.
This morning I awoke to a loud slam. I heard no voices, hardly a footstep, and only one last slam of the front door. I patiently waited for the smell of bacon and eggs. Maybe I over slept and missed my parents’ morning chats? Perhaps my brother had already left for school and my mother was out running errands? As I wait on that loose rickety top step with my ear firmly placed against the door, I hear silence. The occasional thump of the furnace even stopped. I rush over towards the warmth of the sunlight beaming in through the slight crack in the plywood covering the lone window. For hours it seems I pace between the top step and the area under the kitchen, holding my breath as to be ever so silent. I focus on listening so hard that I can now hear my heartbeat in my ears. As I wait anxiously for my family to return, I didn’t notice the sun go down. Now I wait in the dark without even the sound of the furnace to keep me awake.
Saturday.
This morning I woke with my head leaning against the basement door. As I heard the footsteps come closer I rushed down the old stairs and hid behind the boxes in the far corner next to the cold furnace. I hear the latch click and with a creak I now see light flooding the basement from the open door. With my head tucked between my knees, I sit shaking behind my cover praying my mother doesn’t notice I went through her belongings. I try to remember if I put the boxes back in the exact spot or if I left a photo out in plain sight. As the footsteps got louder I heard a strange voice. Suddenly a flashlight was aimed right at my face and blinded me with white stars. As I tried to understand what was happening all I could hear was the man saying oh my god over and over. He helped me to my feet and then carried me up stairs. As he rushed me through the living room and out to his truck I could see the furniture was gone. The walls that were once decorated with endless photos, now stood naked with only a slight outline of where the old frames hung. As the man called the police from his phone, I heard him say that he was from a realty company and the owner left in the middle of the night. He then kept repeating that he just found a girl locked in the basement of the empty house. I remember only thinking how the air smelled so much different outside. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw the sunshine so bright and how although it was cold enough to see my breath and I sit only in a t-shirt and socks, how warm I felt inside this stranger’s truck. The thought of my parents leaving me made me upset and extremely relieved at the same time. I felt abandoned, as I had been most of my childhood. The gross realization that my parents could actually leave me didn’t sting as bad as my worrying about my brother. We had always been close and I knew he was terrified that if he spoke up to my parents he would be treated as awful as I was. As I watch the police and ambulance pull around the corner towards my parent’s house, I start to cry. I cover my mouth, afraid to make a sound.
