hands to the cold glass of the windows, leaving my fingerprints behind. I close the shutters, but then decide to open them again. Why should there be less light if I’m gone?
I stop at my door frame, almost afraid to go in. I place my hands on the frame, one on either side and take a deep breath. Finally, I step in. I take it in hungrily, as if seeing it for the first time. I run my fingertips over the walls, the bed, the mirror, the drawer, the window frame. I trace every paint splatter, every unevenness in the wall. I breathe in the stale smell of paint. I look at all the paintings on my walls. Every one of them is a memory. Very few are happy, but they are all part of me.
I wipe the dust off of the mirror and try to remember myself exactly like I am now. I run my fingers over my own face, as if it will change somehow. My cheekbones stand out and my eyes are sallow. My hair hangs limply down my shoulders and looks more ashen than blonde. And the sour half smile that constantly haunts my face hasn’t gone anywhere either.
Maybe this isn’t such a good way to be, but this is me. No matter whether I like it or not, this is who I am.
And now it’s time to change that.
I look at my reflection again.
“Rebel,” I whisper out loud to it.
Is that who I am? Am I ready to become that?
I guess we’ll just have to find out.
I’m ready to leave now. I look at the paintings hanging on the wall and wonder if I should take any, as a reminder of home, of whom I used to be. No, I decide. Let these parts of me stay here, in Hopetown, as a tribute who I was and who I will become.
I close the door to my room and to my parents’ room. It seems wrong to leave any door open. I close our front door for the last time, hearing it creak for the last time. I walk through Hopetown’s streets slowly.
For the last time.
I may hate it, but there is no denying that Hopetown is important to me.
I look back at our house and the word prison comes to mind. Deliberately, I walk back to the door and spit from the porch.
I might as well let out my spite on Hopetown one last time.
When I get back to Thirty One Centre Street, the crowd has dispersed. Only a few stragglers, including my parents. remain. When they see me, they start toward me. I try to explain properly, but I can’t find the words.
“Tell my boss I resign.”
“Molly, they’re...they’re taking you with them, aren’t they?”
“Yes, mom,” I answer with a sad smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then...I...we…” she says, the sound catching in her throat.
“We love you too,” my father finishes. “Now go, go and-”
“Go and change the world,” she whispers.
They didn’t even try to stop me. They really believed that this is the right thing for me, and didn’t stop me, their only child, from leaving to pursue my destiny. That, I think, is true love and true courage. It makes me smile. Just a little.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“Molly, wait, before you go, promise you...promise you’ll never forget us.”
“Of course not,” I say, and hug both of them. We hug tighter than we ever have before and none of us want to let go.
“And promise...promise you’ll...you can’t…” My mother whispers against my ear. She doesn’t finish, only whispers ,“so young,” but that is enough for me to understand.
“I promise. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Molly.” We let go and I can see that my mother is crying. I hug her one more time.
“Bye, Mom,” I whisper.
“Molly, wait. Before you leave. Take this. It’s my medical kit.” She pulls the small box out of the pocket of her doctor’s jacket and presses it into my hands. “It’s the last way that I’ll be able to keep you safe.”
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the gift from her. I hug them one last time. “Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad.”
I gather all my strength and walk over to the snowmobiles.
The four
I stop at my door frame, almost afraid to go in. I place my hands on the frame, one on either side and take a deep breath. Finally, I step in. I take it in hungrily, as if seeing it for the first time. I run my fingertips over the walls, the bed, the mirror, the drawer, the window frame. I trace every paint splatter, every unevenness in the wall. I breathe in the stale smell of paint. I look at all the paintings on my walls. Every one of them is a memory. Very few are happy, but they are all part of me.
I wipe the dust off of the mirror and try to remember myself exactly like I am now. I run my fingers over my own face, as if it will change somehow. My cheekbones stand out and my eyes are sallow. My hair hangs limply down my shoulders and looks more ashen than blonde. And the sour half smile that constantly haunts my face hasn’t gone anywhere either.
Maybe this isn’t such a good way to be, but this is me. No matter whether I like it or not, this is who I am.
And now it’s time to change that.
I look at my reflection again.
“Rebel,” I whisper out loud to it.
Is that who I am? Am I ready to become that?
I guess we’ll just have to find out.
I’m ready to leave now. I look at the paintings hanging on the wall and wonder if I should take any, as a reminder of home, of whom I used to be. No, I decide. Let these parts of me stay here, in Hopetown, as a tribute who I was and who I will become.
I close the door to my room and to my parents’ room. It seems wrong to leave any door open. I close our front door for the last time, hearing it creak for the last time. I walk through Hopetown’s streets slowly.
For the last time.
I may hate it, but there is no denying that Hopetown is important to me.
I look back at our house and the word prison comes to mind. Deliberately, I walk back to the door and spit from the porch.
I might as well let out my spite on Hopetown one last time.
When I get back to Thirty One Centre Street, the crowd has dispersed. Only a few stragglers, including my parents. remain. When they see me, they start toward me. I try to explain properly, but I can’t find the words.
“Tell my boss I resign.”
“Molly, they’re...they’re taking you with them, aren’t they?”
“Yes, mom,” I answer with a sad smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then...I...we…” she says, the sound catching in her throat.
“We love you too,” my father finishes. “Now go, go and-”
“Go and change the world,” she whispers.
They didn’t even try to stop me. They really believed that this is the right thing for me, and didn’t stop me, their only child, from leaving to pursue my destiny. That, I think, is true love and true courage. It makes me smile. Just a little.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
“Molly, wait, before you go, promise you...promise you’ll never forget us.”
“Of course not,” I say, and hug both of them. We hug tighter than we ever have before and none of us want to let go.
“And promise...promise you’ll...you can’t…” My mother whispers against my ear. She doesn’t finish, only whispers ,“so young,” but that is enough for me to understand.
“I promise. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Molly.” We let go and I can see that my mother is crying. I hug her one more time.
“Bye, Mom,” I whisper.
“Molly, wait. Before you leave. Take this. It’s my medical kit.” She pulls the small box out of the pocket of her doctor’s jacket and presses it into my hands. “It’s the last way that I’ll be able to keep you safe.”
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the gift from her. I hug them one last time. “Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad.”
I gather all my strength and walk over to the snowmobiles.
The four
Similar Books
