The Gloomy House

My eyes feel a cool breeze as my best friend removes her moist, sticky hands from my face. I slowly open one eye, and as my top eyelashes are slowly separating from my bottom, I see what looks like an icy blue box. I quickly opened the other eye, and there lay the most beautiful box in the world. The box is so blue that it would become one with the Caribbean sea. On top of the box, there was a bow that was so silky and like milk, it was almost tempting to eat.

"Happy Birthday Maya," all of my friends say in unison.

Don’t open it on the bus. "Wait until you get home," my best friend Lisa says. I feel a warm liquid coming from my eyes but quickly wipe it away with my barren hands so my friends don’t see me. I look at all of my friends with so much joy while holding back my waterfall of tears from happiness. Each of them looks completely different from the others. All of their different skin tones combined look like a brochure from around the world, for each of them, represents a different culture, which is what attracted our friendships.

"Thank you guys so much. You don’t know how much this means to me. I will call you guys as soon as I get home. I love you guys, "I say as I walk over to my sweaty group of friends waiting to embrace me with open arms." I am embraced with warmth and the smell of the perfume every other girl in the seventh grade wore. I am pulling back because the smell of Vanilla Lace is so far up my nose that it is starting to burn. I am taking the icy blue box from my best friend Lisa, and I am making sure that I do not destroy the beautiful packaging by holding it sturdy with my sticky hands from lunch.

On the bus, I feel like a baby who is waiting for her mother's breast milk. I am sitting impatiently. It is a good thing that I am sitting next to no one. They don't have to deal with my excitingly shaking body, and I don't have to be squished in an unsanitary metal corner where everyone else has gotten their boogers.

It is finally my stop on the bus. I am rushing out of the school bus. I am leaving the cruel odor of a public school bus, and I am hit with the fresh smell of my birthday. The smell of the fall leaves almost cuts me as I zip home with my treasure in my hands. As the leaves on the jet-black cement ground whirl around me, my treasure is safe in my now-cold hands. I am now surrounded by the colors of a beautiful fall day. As I am getting closer to my house and cannot wait to open the precious treasure that my friends gave me, I am seeing something that is almost hard to believe. I am witnessing what looks like a nightmare on my thirteenth birthday. I am noticing what looks like the one thing that is going to change the whole trajectory of my life. Glossy red is all I can see. Instead of the fall leaves, the glossy red is what is now surrounding me. The bright lights are blinding every time I look at them going around and around. Fire trucks are surrounding my house. I am watching from afar, a tall man suited up and with what looks like a heavy water hose. The water hose is so heavy that the man looks like he is struggling to hold it up with his dirty gloves. His gloves look so dirty that they look black, have numerous holes in them, and no longer have the shape of a glove. I dropped my precious treasure. I dropped the most precious thing right now onto the cold hard ground. It takes seconds for the leaves to engulf it and make it disappear. My eyes are beginning to burn, not only from crying but also from the smoke that is choking me. I am blinking fast from the burning sensation. My vision is starting to get blurry. The fire trucks are becoming a pool of red. I am feeling the warmth of my tears again on my cheek. I am crying my eyes out for what seems like forever until the air is free from the cruel smoke.

I am so overwhelmed with the anxiety of what is going to happen to my toxic and abusive family. Will we blame each other, or will we be understanding of the situation? Will it add more stress to the family, or will it bring everyone together? Will it make living situations harder, or will I finally have the freedom to go back and live with my mom again? The moment that my cold, shaking, and now dry hands pull open the cold door knob, I am walking into blackness. I am staring at my family's faces all in one corner of the completely burned and destroyed kitchen, and all of my questions are answered.

From the look on my great aunt's face, she is exhausted but still emotional. I am looking at all of the wetness in her eyes running down her face. When the wetness finally reaches her chin, she is not wiping it off. She is just letting it fall onto the black floor, and let the process continue. Her blank expression is showing me that she is getting weaker, which means that I need to get strong. I am forcing myself to avoid all of the flashbacks of him putting his hands on her and hurting her physically and mentally in front of me because we need each other right now. I am squeezing my eyes so tight to avoid the flashbacks that my eyes feel numb and hard to open. I am reaching out my hands, like a game of Marco Polo, and I am searching for her body’s warmth. For the first time in my life, I am hugging my great aunt rather than her hugging me. I know what she is inferring from the situation about who set the fire. Her expression says it all. Her face is telling me who did this and why, without even speaking. I am dreading this new journey that I have to go through. I am dreading the new stress, sadness, and depression that I am going to face with this family. For the third time today, I am holding back my tears. I am starting to get used to the burning sensation in my eyes. I am so used to it now that the burns feel welcome. My throat is closing up like an elevator door, and I want to scream.

I am looking around at what used to be my old home. I am looking at the thick black wallpaper, hanging there, wanting to fall onto the ground. I am looking at the rusty burned wood coming through the kitchen wall. I am also looking at my toxic cousins staring at me. I am trying to block out their conversations because I know it is just family drama, and nothing important. As I am thinking of how this situation is going to further tear this family apart, the smell of the smoke tastes as if it is down my throat, and I want to cough it up. The stench is so overbearing that I sprint, and I trip over grainy black wood trying to get outside.

I am finally getting the courage to go back inside to get my stuff that is not burned. I am not looking forward to a crowded hotel with endless nights of arguing. As I am walking over the rusty rubble, trying to get to the stairs, I am looking at the rest of my family. I am seeing the troubles rising. I am seeing the anger growing in their chocolate brown eyes. I am seeing years of stress, and depression. I am seeing the sadness that is going to have to be a part of me for as long as I live with them. It is at this moment that I am making a decision. It is at this moment that I am making a decision that is going to shape me for my future self. I am making a decision to not be like them. I am making a decision to not be angry. I am making a decision to not be bitter, and I am making a decision to not let this situation ruin me, but to strengthen me into who I am meant to be. I am learning just from the past few hours that certain situations will bring out the worst in people. It is up to me to not let it affect my life, and it never did.