Page 4 of The Moment Promised

2

TEN YEARS AGO

Iquietly shut the door to my bedroom behind me, and lock myself in. My stomach sinks, and tears blur my vision. Is it normal to cry this much? I can’t relate to the girls at school. All they worry about is who has the most impressive pencil collection.

It just seems so insignificant compared to everything else. When my mom picked me up from school today, she wouldn’t look at me. She wore big chunky sunglasses. When I tried to talk to her, she just turned the radio volume up. I even noticed a tear roll down her cheek.

There weren’t any chairs at the table for me to do my homework when we got home.

They were justgone.

Sometimes things in our home go missing.

We never talk about it, but we all know it’s because my dad, Jason, broke them in a fit of rage. When I think or talk about my dad when he isn’t around, I call him Jason. I don’t like to think of him as my dad. It makes my stomach hurt.

I didn’t even have the chance to ask my mom to sign my field trip form for the zoo trip tomorrow because she disappeared to her bedroom.

I just sit on my bed, clutching my backpack to my chest. At first, it was quiet down the hall behind their bedroom door, but now it’s soloud.

I wonder if the girls at school fear someone’s voice.

The walls vibrate, and even my chest feels the bass in my father’s shouting. I can’t move. Something thuds against the wall. I close my eyes and hum to myself.

My tears taste salty when they silently drip down my face into my mouth. My shaky hands struggle to empty my backpack. Folders and a few dull pencils roll across my floor. In their place, I stuff a sweater and fresh outfit. I pack away my favorite stuffed giraffe. There are only a few sips left in my water bottle, but I put it in my bag for safe measure.

I can’t stay here anymore. I’ll live somewhere else.

I have the perfect new home for me. It’s got swings and slides, and the only screaming at the playground is of excitement.

I peer out of my bedroom window. The ground is so far away. There’s a tree branch a few feet down. If I can jump onto it, I’ll be able to climb the rest of the way down.

I lift my rusty window, it squeaks and whines, and I close my eyes and hope his shouting drowns out the sound. I throw my backpack out the window first.

I clutch onto the edge of my window with wet hands as waves of something make me spasm from head to toe. I’m going to throw up or pass out. Or both.

I can’t do this?—

“Fuck you!”

His voice goes right through my chest, moving me into action. I lift myself over the window, quickly bringing the tips of my toes to the tree branch.

Another loud bang comes from my parents’ room, and my hands slip.

I fall.

My feet land on something wobbly. I slowly open one eye, realizing I made it onto the branch.

I maneuver my body and climb down the tree, jumping the last few feet.

A rush of excitement ping pongs throughout my belly. That wasfun.

I pick up my backpack and run down the street as fast as I can, heading for the playground my dad never lets me use. I need to get out of sight in case my dad sees me out his window. I don’t stop running until I feel the spongy mulch of the playground beneath my feet.

The swing is hot and burns the back of my legs, but I kick, and I swing and—I can’t escape the sadness that wraps its arms around me. So tight. So strong. It squeezes my chest, and I can’t breathe.

I can’t.

I can’t.