Remember When, chapter 1
It was silent in her house, the kind of silence that has the ability to drive a person crazy. The kind of silence that hangs above your head and then quickly tilts to buzz in your ear, like an annoying mosquito that just won't take a hint. It's the kind of silence that practically drips with anticipation, with unknown threats that you can't help but to feel slightly suffocated by. And that's exactly what she felt on this particular night, suffocated.
Turning to her side, she watches in the darkness of her room as the cool wind blows her white curtains back from the windowsill. They billow and funnel in a haunting pattern, as if an invisible person was standing in front of them, grasping the hems and making them dance. She wished that thought, that notion, was enough to bring her comfort. But it didn't, and not much could.
She purposely tangled her legs through her plain bed sheet just to untangle them again, anxiety and restlessness all wrapped up into one giant knot in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't really decide what she was waiting for, what was gnawing at her aggravated senses. Tomorrow was the first day of summer vacation, her last day of eighth grade having come and gone; she should be the happiest kid in the world. But she couldn't muster up even a smile. Summer meant being home, it meant being trapped under this roof, suffocating day after day, night after night.
Headlights appear on her wall suddenly; a streak of uncoordinated dancing light that indicates that her Father is finally home from work. She tosses again, the gnawing increasing to almost an intolerable ache. Unsettled is a good word for this, she decides, listening to his car door slam and his shoes crunching up the gravel walkway. She finds herself praying that her Mom is already asleep, that Graham is tucked away under his Smurfs sheet, blonde hair brushed across his soft cheeks. She hopes against all odds that her Mother isn't standing in the kitchen again like a siren ready to sound; ready to wage a small war against her father's inability to keep decent work hours this week. After all, it was always something, if not his schedule it was his attitude or lack of enthusiasm towards spending time with the family. If she felt suffocated, her Father must be drowning.
A jangle of keys can be heard, followed by the front door being gently shut and securely locked. The house was a ranch-style home with a simple layout; everything could be heard reverberating through the first floor if it was quiet enough, strained whispers and heavy sighs included. She felt the tension level in her house steadily increase right before she saw a thin sliver of light staring back at her from under her door, scattering across her floor as it stopped just short of her bed. From behind her door, her precious barrier, she could almost feel her Mother's anger and she could almost see the looks of frustration on her Father's face.
Exhaling, she listened as the fight began. A simple string of interrogating questions led the disagreement at first, and then the harrowing accusations came, followed by pitiful apologies and empty promises. Her suffocation was justified it seemed, because in this house it was as though someone's hand was always on the trigger, ready to disintegrate any ounce of peace. She was tired of living like this; of watching her parents tear each other apart. She was sick of sitting at dinner, of eating in complete silence because there wasn't anything left to say, the room thick with tension and hostility.
She flinched as her Mom's voice rose louder than usual, panicking immediately at the thoughts of Graham waking up and hearing them. She hoped against all odds that a six-year-old who was tuckered out from a day of playing outside could sleep through anything, even the war outside his bedroom. She sat up in bed anyway; listening for any sounds of her brother padding down the hall. It had only happened once, Graham waking up unexpectedly and wandering innocently out into the kitchen. Her parents felt so guilty for this that they didn't fight for two weeks. No, they just ignored one another instead. At this point, she wasn't sure which scenario was worse.
Feeling desperate for air, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and gingerly set her toes on the smooth floorboards. She stood carefully, as if her floor was motion activated and would attract unnecessary attention. She straightened out her long nightgown, her hair falling into a ratty mess down her back as she crept over to her window. She froze there only briefly, listening as the fight reached its peak and then slowly began its decline, a staring competition probably taking place outside her room by now as she quietly unlocked her window. With practiced motions she eased the window up and slid a leg out, wincing a little as a splinter dug into her thigh. That wasn't going to stop her though, she was pretty sure nothing could at this point.
She hated the dark, but she hated the fighting even more. Her feet carried her through the dewy grass under the moonlight as she silently crossed the sloping lawn.
She saw his house in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief, quickening her pace and praying her room wouldn't be checked. No lights were on at the Livemore's house as she continued down the road, each step making the tightness in her chest a little more tolerable. Out here in the open, she could always breathe.
At his window she slid her hands under the chipped sill and yanked it upwards. Once it was open far enough she heaved herself up, careful not to make a lot of noise as she eased one leg in and then another. The mahogany of his floor felt cool under her feet as she stood in the light of the window, pulling it back down and listening for any sign of movement within the house. His house was quiet too, but it was a comfortable silence, one that posed no threat. The tightness in her chest had almost disappeared as she breathed in the familiar smells.
As she approached his twin-sized bed she saw his left arm hanging over the side, his fingertips barely touching the floor as he snored quietly. Her eyes scanned his upper body, a blue sheet making it impossible to see anything below his belly button. She gingerly touched the end of his bed, carefully pressing her knee into the mattress and crawling upwards towards his sleeping form. He moved a little, his arm retracting from over the side of the bed as he rolled over.
"Marin?" His voice was sleepy. She nods in confirmation, afraid at first of breaking the precious reverie inside the house, something she cherished. Then he presses, "You okay?"
And then somehow, a second later as he's still staring through cloudy eyes, she finds her words. "Yeah Tre."
He nods a little, not needing any more reassurance as he grabs a fistful of sheet, clumsily pulling it back. "Get in."
She wordlessly accepts his offer, crawling up towards the pillows before maneuvering her legs under the sheet. As she settles down next to him he pulls the material back down and rolls away again to get comfortable again. She can feel his motions as he squirms and then sighs, something he always did when his body found a particularly comfortable spot.
"What were they fighting about this time?" He asks casually.
Marin's eyes glaze over a little as her damp feet brush against the dry bedding, she had almost forgotten, the night air blocking it all out. "Dad came home late from work," She mumbled. "Mom got mad, started yelling."
"You wanna talk about it?"
Smiling, she shakes her head. "No...but thanks for asking." He always asked and he was always met with the same answer, but she still appreciated his concern.
"Okay. Night."
"Night."
Tre fell back asleep almost immediately, something that eased her guilt about waking him up in the middle of the night. He always insisted anyway that it never bothered him, and she was pretty sure his parents knew she snuck over most nights, but sometimes she wished she had never started this in the first place because now this was something she depended on. She wished she just would have learned to be strong enough, to have buried her head in her pillow and slept, not run away when this all started months ago.
Finally closing her eyes, she too rolls to her side. In the light of day they never spoke of her home life, Tre's either. Although, there wasn't anything wrong with his, which apparently made it unworthy to speak of. She listened to his ragged breathing for a bit, finally letting the calm invade her insides, letting the knots untwist and recede away again.
She had been hoping this summer would be different, that changes would have been made. She couldn't believe her parents had let it get so bad lately, but from the looks of it, she would be spending most of her summer break with Tre. He would help distract her, to keep her mind off of things. He would help her get to a place where there was a quiet inside her head. And at this point, that's about all that she was counting on to get her through.
Turning to her side, she watches in the darkness of her room as the cool wind blows her white curtains back from the windowsill. They billow and funnel in a haunting pattern, as if an invisible person was standing in front of them, grasping the hems and making them dance. She wished that thought, that notion, was enough to bring her comfort. But it didn't, and not much could.
She purposely tangled her legs through her plain bed sheet just to untangle them again, anxiety and restlessness all wrapped up into one giant knot in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't really decide what she was waiting for, what was gnawing at her aggravated senses. Tomorrow was the first day of summer vacation, her last day of eighth grade having come and gone; she should be the happiest kid in the world. But she couldn't muster up even a smile. Summer meant being home, it meant being trapped under this roof, suffocating day after day, night after night.
Headlights appear on her wall suddenly; a streak of uncoordinated dancing light that indicates that her Father is finally home from work. She tosses again, the gnawing increasing to almost an intolerable ache. Unsettled is a good word for this, she decides, listening to his car door slam and his shoes crunching up the gravel walkway. She finds herself praying that her Mom is already asleep, that Graham is tucked away under his Smurfs sheet, blonde hair brushed across his soft cheeks. She hopes against all odds that her Mother isn't standing in the kitchen again like a siren ready to sound; ready to wage a small war against her father's inability to keep decent work hours this week. After all, it was always something, if not his schedule it was his attitude or lack of enthusiasm towards spending time with the family. If she felt suffocated, her Father must be drowning.
A jangle of keys can be heard, followed by the front door being gently shut and securely locked. The house was a ranch-style home with a simple layout; everything could be heard reverberating through the first floor if it was quiet enough, strained whispers and heavy sighs included. She felt the tension level in her house steadily increase right before she saw a thin sliver of light staring back at her from under her door, scattering across her floor as it stopped just short of her bed. From behind her door, her precious barrier, she could almost feel her Mother's anger and she could almost see the looks of frustration on her Father's face.
Exhaling, she listened as the fight began. A simple string of interrogating questions led the disagreement at first, and then the harrowing accusations came, followed by pitiful apologies and empty promises. Her suffocation was justified it seemed, because in this house it was as though someone's hand was always on the trigger, ready to disintegrate any ounce of peace. She was tired of living like this; of watching her parents tear each other apart. She was sick of sitting at dinner, of eating in complete silence because there wasn't anything left to say, the room thick with tension and hostility.
She flinched as her Mom's voice rose louder than usual, panicking immediately at the thoughts of Graham waking up and hearing them. She hoped against all odds that a six-year-old who was tuckered out from a day of playing outside could sleep through anything, even the war outside his bedroom. She sat up in bed anyway; listening for any sounds of her brother padding down the hall. It had only happened once, Graham waking up unexpectedly and wandering innocently out into the kitchen. Her parents felt so guilty for this that they didn't fight for two weeks. No, they just ignored one another instead. At this point, she wasn't sure which scenario was worse.
Feeling desperate for air, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and gingerly set her toes on the smooth floorboards. She stood carefully, as if her floor was motion activated and would attract unnecessary attention. She straightened out her long nightgown, her hair falling into a ratty mess down her back as she crept over to her window. She froze there only briefly, listening as the fight reached its peak and then slowly began its decline, a staring competition probably taking place outside her room by now as she quietly unlocked her window. With practiced motions she eased the window up and slid a leg out, wincing a little as a splinter dug into her thigh. That wasn't going to stop her though, she was pretty sure nothing could at this point.
She hated the dark, but she hated the fighting even more. Her feet carried her through the dewy grass under the moonlight as she silently crossed the sloping lawn.
She saw his house in the distance and breathed a sigh of relief, quickening her pace and praying her room wouldn't be checked. No lights were on at the Livemore's house as she continued down the road, each step making the tightness in her chest a little more tolerable. Out here in the open, she could always breathe.
At his window she slid her hands under the chipped sill and yanked it upwards. Once it was open far enough she heaved herself up, careful not to make a lot of noise as she eased one leg in and then another. The mahogany of his floor felt cool under her feet as she stood in the light of the window, pulling it back down and listening for any sign of movement within the house. His house was quiet too, but it was a comfortable silence, one that posed no threat. The tightness in her chest had almost disappeared as she breathed in the familiar smells.
As she approached his twin-sized bed she saw his left arm hanging over the side, his fingertips barely touching the floor as he snored quietly. Her eyes scanned his upper body, a blue sheet making it impossible to see anything below his belly button. She gingerly touched the end of his bed, carefully pressing her knee into the mattress and crawling upwards towards his sleeping form. He moved a little, his arm retracting from over the side of the bed as he rolled over.
"Marin?" His voice was sleepy. She nods in confirmation, afraid at first of breaking the precious reverie inside the house, something she cherished. Then he presses, "You okay?"
And then somehow, a second later as he's still staring through cloudy eyes, she finds her words. "Yeah Tre."
He nods a little, not needing any more reassurance as he grabs a fistful of sheet, clumsily pulling it back. "Get in."
She wordlessly accepts his offer, crawling up towards the pillows before maneuvering her legs under the sheet. As she settles down next to him he pulls the material back down and rolls away again to get comfortable again. She can feel his motions as he squirms and then sighs, something he always did when his body found a particularly comfortable spot.
"What were they fighting about this time?" He asks casually.
Marin's eyes glaze over a little as her damp feet brush against the dry bedding, she had almost forgotten, the night air blocking it all out. "Dad came home late from work," She mumbled. "Mom got mad, started yelling."
"You wanna talk about it?"
Smiling, she shakes her head. "No...but thanks for asking." He always asked and he was always met with the same answer, but she still appreciated his concern.
"Okay. Night."
"Night."
Tre fell back asleep almost immediately, something that eased her guilt about waking him up in the middle of the night. He always insisted anyway that it never bothered him, and she was pretty sure his parents knew she snuck over most nights, but sometimes she wished she had never started this in the first place because now this was something she depended on. She wished she just would have learned to be strong enough, to have buried her head in her pillow and slept, not run away when this all started months ago.
Finally closing her eyes, she too rolls to her side. In the light of day they never spoke of her home life, Tre's either. Although, there wasn't anything wrong with his, which apparently made it unworthy to speak of. She listened to his ragged breathing for a bit, finally letting the calm invade her insides, letting the knots untwist and recede away again.
She had been hoping this summer would be different, that changes would have been made. She couldn't believe her parents had let it get so bad lately, but from the looks of it, she would be spending most of her summer break with Tre. He would help distract her, to keep her mind off of things. He would help her get to a place where there was a quiet inside her head. And at this point, that's about all that she was counting on to get her through.
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