Looking at my palm, a shiver ran through my body. Instinctively, I clenched making a fist. The teeth, if that’s what they’re even called, of the key bit into my hand. Closing my eyes, I took a deep shaky breath.
“That’s so not a word,” Kristen’s high pitched voice carried to the top of the stairs. Her laugh soon followed, bringing a warmth to my chest I couldn’t place. Her protests quickly quieted, but the familiar laugh lingered. Madison. Her parrot. I’d never known someone with a pet bird, but Kris was unique.
Opening my hand, I looked at the key. It was silver. New. Mine. Although, it unlocked only a room, it was my room. Over the past six months, this odd community I’d stumbled into—a Vietnam Vet, an environmental lawyer, a self-described Silicon Valley “drop out”, yoga instructor, a chef who looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place her, retired Episcopal Priest, a minor league baseball player, Kris and Tom married teachers--- had collectively built this house. I’d entered late in the process, but that didn’t seem to bother anyone but me.
We celebrated three days ago when the inspector declared the house a home. Saliva flooded my mouth remembering the vile liquid they passed around, sipping from a glass Mason jar. Jana, the lawyer, had contributed the moonshine. An elderly man with little to offer had insisted she take it as payment for drawing up his will. Wills weren’t Jana’s norm, but trust in the hills bought her many cases she never expected.
Finally, I stuck the key into the lock, an audible click opened the door. I stepped into the room, letting the door softly close. Dropping my knapsack on the floor, I felt dizzy. A disconnect made familiar surroundings, walls I’d painted with my own hands seem foreign. The smell. Paint fumes always did this. It made me remember the day a lifetime ago walking into that other brand new house. My mother had opened that door with a brass key, her hands shaking, cheeks wet. I startled as my key fell to the floor.
Crossing the room, I leaned over the bed to open the window. Fresh, crisp air helped. Still, the heat in my body remained. I sat with it. Greg, the Vet, talked open about PTSD. He’d been in a war, though. Knowing I carried those same four letters made me feel unworthy. He’d saved soldiers, strangers even. Two purple hearts.
I wasn’t sure I even had the heart that beat in my chest. It had been a long time since I’d felt anything. For a year I’d felt pain, I swore I’d never endure again. When it stopped, real suffering filled it’s place. I’d left the house with the brass key in the middle of the night. Just started walking. No matter the miles I put between myself and that lot my sister’s screams never faded. Four months ago, I just stopped walking. Yun, the Silicon Valley guru, had begun a conversation with me in the library. He was normal, even though I knew he saw my arm. It’s thick pink and purple cords were impossible to hide.
So, here we were. Here I am. Here I am.
jacobvanloon
2087
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
