Now it is completely pouring. I walk home, which is a little more than three miles away. I am soaked in the first three minutes. It is quite cold but I am good. Not even a rapist would want to be out in this weather. I wish Agnes had come. She even has a car. It's her mom's old car and she doesn't like it much, but it would be dry. Dryer than this. I wish my mother would pick me up from places sometimes when it was raining. I think most parents do things like that, for their kids. Not my mom. Not my dad. Someone offers me a ride but I only shake my head.
I'm kind of sad to be walking by myself in the rain. It's raining even harder now and it's difficult to see in front of me. I feel kind of cold. This shouldn't be happening to me! It shouldn't happen to anyone! But I don't know anybody's phone number and my phone is dead in my pocket anyway. (I guess I should charge it every once in a while.) Noah's foster parents would probably not be interested in going out in the rain and letting someone this wet and disgusting into their nice new car--especially if it was only on the behalf of their foster son. I don't have his number anyway. My mother already told me she wouldn't pick me up tonight. I think she had plans. I don't want to think about her anyway. And then who else is there to call? But I couldn't call anyone anyway.
My body shivers intensely. I can feel so much cold water in my shoes that I may as well not even wear them. I may as well not wear anything at all. Oh, crap, here's a huge puddle for me to walk into. I can't really help myself, so I start to cry. This makes breathing much more difficult. I don't want to walk through this puddle. It's true that I can't be any more wet than I already am, but there's going to be so much mud down there. I just want to be home.
There's a large dark shape next to me. It's a big tree. I look more closely and see that it's that one tree that was in front of the house I used to live in. That was back when our family had three people. My father bought it because he expected to fill it up with children (who would follow the light of the lord.) There were five bedrooms. I think he meant to have four of us at least. But after me, my mother finally told him he wouldn't be getting any more from her. (She hadn't wanted me to begin with. She felt conned into having me.) He moved out into a different state. Then we moved out, into a smaller house a few blocks away.
But I'm still standing here in this puddle looking at this tree. I remember when I was little, climbing up into it and cradling myself into the branches, especially when my mother was mad at me or drunk. She would lose interest and leave me alone if she couldn't reach me. I knew I'd be safe in those branches. Sometimes I'd fall asleep in it and I always had good dreams, and I never fell out of it either. The leaves would whisper to me as the wind trickled through them and I whispered back to them. I talked to that tree more than I talked to any person. I'm sure the tree recognized me. It used to love me, far more than even my mother did. I could feel it calling to me. It knew I needed help. Maybe if I climbed up into that tree again, and cradled myself in its branches, I could feel safe again. Safe from this wind and this rain. Safe from a mother who would let me walk home in a storm like this. Safe from a father who would let me grow up by myself. It would be me and the tree again, like before. It loved me, and I loved it. I waded through the puddle, and reached out, and touched it. And I thought I could feel the energy of the tree deep in my heart but at the same time a large bolt of lightning filled the sky and thunder resounded around me. My tree had not been struck by lightning. Then I understood that the tree was asking me for help. It was afraid of the storm. It wanted me high in its branches to brave the storm with it. I slipped and stumbled out of the puddle and ran most of the way home, slipping and falling in the mud, and splitting open my knees and elbows.
no subject
I'm kind of sad to be walking by myself in the rain. It's raining even harder now and it's difficult to see in front of me. I feel kind of cold. This shouldn't be happening to me! It shouldn't happen to anyone! But I don't know anybody's phone number and my phone is dead in my pocket anyway. (I guess I should charge it every once in a while.) Noah's foster parents would probably not be interested in going out in the rain and letting someone this wet and disgusting into their nice new car--especially if it was only on the behalf of their foster son. I don't have his number anyway. My mother already told me she wouldn't pick me up tonight. I think she had plans. I don't want to think about her anyway. And then who else is there to call? But I couldn't call anyone anyway.
My body shivers intensely. I can feel so much cold water in my shoes that I may as well not even wear them. I may as well not wear anything at all. Oh, crap, here's a huge puddle for me to walk into. I can't really help myself, so I start to cry. This makes breathing much more difficult. I don't want to walk through this puddle. It's true that I can't be any more wet than I already am, but there's going to be so much mud down there. I just want to be home.
There's a large dark shape next to me. It's a big tree. I look more closely and see that it's that one tree that was in front of the house I used to live in. That was back when our family had three people. My father bought it because he expected to fill it up with children (who would follow the light of the lord.) There were five bedrooms. I think he meant to have four of us at least. But after me, my mother finally told him he wouldn't be getting any more from her. (She hadn't wanted me to begin with. She felt conned into having me.) He moved out into a different state. Then we moved out, into a smaller house a few blocks away.
But I'm still standing here in this puddle looking at this tree. I remember when I was little, climbing up into it and cradling myself into the branches, especially when my mother was mad at me or drunk. She would lose interest and leave me alone if she couldn't reach me. I knew I'd be safe in those branches. Sometimes I'd fall asleep in it and I always had good dreams, and I never fell out of it either. The leaves would whisper to me as the wind trickled through them and I whispered back to them. I talked to that tree more than I talked to any person.
I'm sure the tree recognized me. It used to love me, far more than even my mother did. I could feel it calling to me. It knew I needed help. Maybe if I climbed up into that tree again, and cradled myself in its branches, I could feel safe again. Safe from this wind and this rain. Safe from a mother who would let me walk home in a storm like this. Safe from a father who would let me grow up by myself. It would be me and the tree again, like before. It loved me, and I loved it. I waded through the puddle, and reached out, and touched it. And I thought I could feel the energy of the tree deep in my heart but at the same time a large bolt of lightning filled the sky and thunder resounded around me. My tree had not been struck by lightning. Then I understood that the tree was asking me for help. It was afraid of the storm. It wanted me high in its branches to brave the storm with it. I slipped and stumbled out of the puddle and ran most of the way home, slipping and falling in the mud, and splitting open my knees and elbows.