The Unknown Horrors of Teenage Apartments

November 3, 2008
The phone rang, and it could continue ringing. The light brunette thought to herself. The only person that was desired for communication at the moment was the young man lying next to her sleeping.
It was her parents calling, wondering, and worrying. It was kind of refreshing, actually, not to care. Not to be ashamed of what she was doing. “I love you.” She whispered it afraid that the moment would end, that the magic would disappear between her shaking fingers. Getting up and driving to the other house was not as desirable of an action as it would have seemed an hour ago when confidence, anger, and resentment flowed through her veins with a volcanic passion. The justice of her actions screamed at the last remaining shred of conscience that still defended them.
“It’s wrong, just plain wrong,” she tried desperately to find the resolve that had flown the coop like a traitorous bird, “Why would they do this to me? Making me feel alone, unwanted, unwelcome,” the muttering had started a year or so before. Unfortunately it stuck with her like so many bad habits. She walked into the bathroom, flicked the light carelessly on, and began examining herself in the mirror. She was pretty enough at nineteen with dark hazel eyes, which she wished desperately were more green, sat below shapely, if not in need of a good wax, eyebrows. She had a simple look she decided, her nose was slightly chipmunkish with just the hint of curving straightness that fit her eyes. It was odd how she thought that every part of her face, including the neat flush pink lips that could dazzle a room, or clear it, matched another part. Her eyes matched her nose and her nose her lips and her lips her eyes, but the total picture didn’t quite fit together right. On a whole she decided not a bad face the rest of her could use some work. Her eyes flicked to her stomach and to her legs and the small amount of excess weight that clung there and didn’t worry to about it enough to diet or exercise more, judging ruthlessly what she had put on, the black cotton t-shirt and loose fitting jeans that didn’t give her too flattering a shape. Good enough for the job at hand.
Two weeks before the real war had started; she brought it on and relished the challenge. Words were bombs, and her family an endless dance of tanks, to the thoughts and ideals that made up the soldiers. Yes, this battle was a vicious and as deadly as any war ever fought by countries. Except what was on the line, what was worth fighting for, was her right to live her own life.
They didn’t see it that way. “Child, you are just nineteen,” was all she heard as they listed the reasons why she must do this, that, or the other, anything their whims deemed proper was what they meant. It made sense to her, as with all of their arguments, what they said rang clear in her mind and was right to a degree. It would help if they new her better. If the shy, quiet person who wandered the halls was who she really was, the truth was that she was a little more tempered, a lot more out going, and has a sense of direction and purpose that everyone admired. It was common for friends to ask advice on a multitude of subjects that were as diverse as the strange and wondrous universe in which the populous at large lived. Her opinion mattered to everyone, her judgments ruled, and for the life of her, she didn’t know why. Her idea was that it had to do with the confidence in her beliefs, which were all over the place at the moment, and her ideals that rang with common sense and couldn’t really be argued with. Unless of course if you never took the time to listen to them.
All of this was thought as she drove through the city that slept, viewing the lights and colors of the concrete that flew beneath her, the constant pressure of the wind at her face. Driving was adventurous, calming, and entirely too exciting for its own good. The car was black and shielded her from the world as it gave her wings and allowed her imagination to give what ever fantasy she wanted flight.
The drive took only minutes, precisely twelve to be exact, an ambulance had disrupted the usual nine that it took to drive from her apartment, that she decided she was moving into just an hour previously, to her parents home. She wouldn’t be in either place long.
Pulling into the drive was like visiting an old grave. The house appeared empty, the cars that made up the family parking lot, which often took up most of the street, seemed to have been driven away. She loved the look of that house. It was rather shapely being unobtrusive beige stucco in color with a low hanging tree branching out over the dark brown roof. The entry way had a side garden, in front of the house off to the side, that her mother slaved endlessly on. At the early hours of the morning, you were surrounded and seduced by the smell of Jasmine that always clung to the walls, making entry hedges. In the corner is an old fashioned sprocket fountain with a rustic wooden bench seated beside it. Pushing back the urge to sit and relax, she pushed forward.
Walking in that house felt strange, almost as if her spirit, her soul, her memories were long gone from that place. The dark, familiar halls called to her. Wandering through the rooms, evoked emotions she knew were going to consume her.
The entry way consisted on light wood floors and a cabinet center casing a mirror. The reflection of the tear-stained cheeked girl stared out of the gold edged glass. Stopping to fix her makeup, she gazed again at her face. The shadows hidden in her eyes spoke of the pain torturing the mind behind them.
The living room, classy and simple, was opening her heart to the life she was about to leave behind her. In the sea green walls accented by the thick ocean of light beige colored carpet, she saw her childhood. Sitting at the country looking table, with the cream paint with a light oak top, her feet rested on the slight curve of the prongs folding out of the single leg. The days she had spent there flashing through her mind as she sat there alone in the cold, dark house.
Yes, she could of turned on the lights, could have turned on the heater, relaxed and curled up with a book on the fall colored, leaf themed couch. But that would make her comfortable, make it feel like a home, and give the place she had lived for almost eleven years a facade that she couldn’t afford.
She thought that it would be hard, hard to leave the past, with the piano played by her father sounding through her memories. Moving from the memories to the task at hand, she went into her bedroom. With its high ceiling that gave it the illusion that it was larger than in actuality. Painted a comforting light sunflower yellow, the queen-sized bed took up the majority of it. Sweeping the shelves cluttered with her collection of glass, touching the smiling teddy bear that she had been given when she was seven with the affection of touching an old friend, with her eyes, she settled on the books that had given her hours of reprieve from the dull and the drab existence that crept up on her life.
It was true; her life hadn’t been that bad. Her parents had their own way of loving, mainly through their wallets; she had never wanted anything necessary. In all actuality she was quite blessed. Before the last four years, she had been quite happy. One of the happiest daughters probably, but the death of a young man she considered a brother had started the depression. From there she spiraled into a pitch black hole that, with just her fingernails, had climbed out of, she knew the value of pain, and more importantly of determination. The problem was what was lacking, the heart. The love her parents felt was reciprocated but rarely felt. Even though it hurt, this was the time to leave.
She gathered the rest of her clothes, hand flying from the nerves. Her parents couldn’t get home right now, not now, she would lose her nerve. They could have talked her out of it that night, instead they were out to dinner, and the knowledge that they were dinning and not concerned stung a little. Her heart hardened at the pain. “It’s their own fault, obviously they have no clue what I am capable of. I am stronger than they realize. I won’t bend or buckle or cave, not this time. It’s my turn to call the shots.” Courage flooded her system, it was an empty feeling but it did the job and got her moving again. Consumed now with the stubborn will power that was a characteristic of her entire family. It amazed her at times how anything ever got done, with so many wills fighting each other.
With the bags packed and the boxes ready, she walked back to the table. The one where nights of homework had been spent, tears had flowed, arguments raged, and joyful evenings occurred. Staring at the ceiling, which was easily twelve feet tall, she reached for the pad of paper and the pen she had carried with her. This was the hard part, “How do I not hurt them?” The thoughts came easily enough, as the tears hit her eyes.
Mom and Dad,
You have no idea how much this hurts me, but it must be done. I have to leave for me for you for us all. I know this is going to upset you but it’s the only option I have left. Leave for myself and hurt you or be miserable where I am. I hope you understand that I need to start looking after my own well being. I will be coming to work in the morning. Love you both very much and through tears I write this with my heart caving under the pressure to stay sane.
Your Daughter,
Lizzy
That ought to do it, short sweet to the point. At least they know it hurts me to do this.
With one last look around, she spotted the one thing that could keep her living there. The creature looked up at her with the eyes of emerald, with all the love in the world pouring from those two orbs of understanding. “Did you think that I forgot you, silly?” Walking back to the table, she started to stroke the soft speckled fur of the Bengal cat that now was the centerpiece. She looked at that fur, the soft texture like velvet, the coloration of a brown and tan strips and spots. Laughing she gazed at him through the tears, “See baby, I always said that stripes could marry spots.” The old expression annoyed her greatly; the idea that there was a specific order to the universe offended the beliefs that pushed her to leave.
“I will be back for you; I can’t leave you, everything else I can run from, but not you.” He was her baby; he was her star, her Prince. The perfect cat, a gorgeous specimen, and in her estimation if she hadn’t fixed him, she would have bred him considering he didn’t have a single flaw. Awed as always by his beautiful perfection, she balled him into her arms, held him there, and began stroking the dapple blanket that engulfed his entire body. “There now look what you made me do,” the tears had started messing with her eyeliner. Setting him down to swim for himself, kissed him on the top of the head.
With his purrs, a sound of heaven, echoing in the background, she picked up her bags and boxes. After walking resolutely out the door, not for the last time, the changes caved around her as the door slammed itself behind her.