Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
That’s what this is.
It’s not a home. It’s temporary.
One day, I’ll be old enough to escape. To have my own place. Somewhere I’ll feel safe. When that day comes, I won’t walk away.
I’ll run.
Dad gives me a nod, and I don’t wait for any more words before rushing off.
I have no desire to hear anything else that woman has to say. It’s clear she owns this trailer park. She’s only said it at least ten times in the last two minutes. Now she’s rambling on about rules. The lady should save her breath.
He’ll break them, anyway.
Seems pointless to waste her breath when she’ll need to explain them another forty times before we’re on to the next temporary situation.
Once, a few years back, before everything went bad and Dad lost his steady job, we had a home. A real one.
Now, I’m happy to not be living in Dad’s car.
That was our situation right after we got evicted. Then he started gambling and had a short run of luck, which allowed us to hop around to places that at least had beds and heat.
The farther I move into the trailer, the colder and draftier it gets.
It’s not hard to figure out why. The windows have broken seals, which explains the chill. I’ll have to forge a note from Dad to that woman in the next week to figure something out about the window situation. We’re renting. Surely, that’s something she must do.
My head tilts as I take in the living space. It’s a tiny area, large enough for the single couch facing the tiny, gloomy yard. The taupe material is worn and barren, even from the back. As if someone spent a lot of time here, gazing out into the glum world beyond the wall of windows.
How depressing.
There isn’t much going on in here. We could probably fit a TV stand and maybe a recliner. It’ll be tight, but possible.
I take several steps toward the filmy window to check out the view through the milky white residue built up on the glass. Some trees and a patch of grass. That’s it.
Beggars can’t be choosers.
Some of my reservations fade as I continue my tour.
Just a few steps down a narrow hall is a door. A door that’s hopefully the key to my privacy. Somewhere that I can make my own. Somewhere I can attempt to make my safe space.
I throw it open and know instantly that I was correct. There’s a tiny twin bed pushed up against the singular window that provides a sliver of light to stream in.
It’s the same sad view from the living room.
It’s more like a prison than a safe space. The dash of hope is gone. Suddenly, I feel claustrophobic. Like the walls are closing in around me.
Before I can stop myself, I run from the room, rushing toward the door to freedom. When I make it down the steps, the breath bursts from my chest. Cold air hits my face, but it’s not enough. I need to get far away from here. Away from my dad. Away from that awful woman and her grimy trailer.
I need to get away from my life.
I look from left to right, trying to figure out where I can go.
My gaze locks on a trailer a few feet away, and an elderly woman catches my sight. She’s at least in her eighties with sparse white hair and a wrinkled face. She lifts her hand and waves, a large inviting smile welcoming me. At least there seems to be one nice neighbor. That can come in handy in the future.
I raise my own hand and wave back. Normally I’d say hi, but right now, I’m too emotional to talk to her.
Instead, I take off in the opposite direction.
Picking up my pace, I head toward the trees I saw from the window. That’ll be the sole reason our utilities will be astronomical. The cold air will have our heater working overtime, and still, I’ll likely freeze at night, considering my one and only blanket is also threadbare and pathetic.
My feet carry me without a destination. My mind doesn’t care where I go. A dense path materializes beyond the trees. Maybe it will pull me into an alternate world. One with centaurs, and cozy homes with windows that work, and a bed as soft as clouds.
I follow the path, daring to explore. Hoping that maybe I’ll find some semblance of solitude from a world determined to tear me down.
My feet stop. I pitch forward. My hands slap my knees as I suck in deep breaths, desperately trying to stave off the attack that threatens to pull me under.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I continue to focus on my breaths, pulling in a lungful of air until my heartbeat slows and the panic slowly retreats. A trick I learned from the social worker at school.