Open Windows

(Note: This story alludes to physical abuse and alcohol addiction)

You can’t leave. You know that, right?

Aubrey closed her bedroom door, a loud creak of protest sounding from its rusty hinges. She stood with her back against the wood, her eyes staring ahead at the baby blue paint peeling off the walls, comprehending nothing. The beer bottle had shattered next to her right ear and a ringing still lingered there. “It's ok,” she whispered, placing a trembling hand over her rattling heart, “just breathe.” Beyond the door, she could hear her father’s heavy footsteps returning to the living room. A single drop of blood fell to the floor. She moved to the cracked mirror above the sink in her bathroom nook. Large, fearful eyes stared back at her from the warped silver as the cut along her cheek wept slowly. A wet wipe and a Winnie the Pooh band aid almost made it appear as if nothing violent had happened. Almost.

There’s no getting out of this place.

Aubrey took off her shoes and lay down on her bed. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her hands slowly over the lavender bedspread, breathing in time to the repetitive motion. When her heart returned to a more leisurely cadence, she opened her eyes, staring up at the popcorn-paint texture of the ceiling. Many sleepless nights had been spent finding patterns, making creatures, faces, and maps throughout the off-white expanse as her parents’ voices shook the walls. She had devised an elaborate escape route as well; out the window, onto the roof, down the oak tree, and into the forest. It would have been easier when she was younger; she had been braver then. “Why don’t I just leave now?” she whispered.

You won't survive out there.

Her eyes moved down to the old crayon and pencil drawings on the walls. She had insisted her mother help tack them up when she was seven. That was ten years ago. Even now, she didn’t have the heart to take them down. She could still see her mother putting them up, her blonde hair clipped back, the warm scent of vanilla perfume on her skin, the brightest of smiles. Maybe that’s why she stayed; if she left, would anything of her mother remain? She heard a curse from the living room as her father tripped over a beer can. “Take care of your dad,” her mother had requested. And so Aubrey stayed, trying to make the house a happy one like her mother had done. But her efforts were in vain. The house was devoid of any joys, and there were only empty beer bottles in its place.

Even if you left, where would you go?

Aubrey’s phone chirped, startling her. It was Jess. “Hey,” the text read, “want to come over for dinner? Mom made spaghetti.” Jess, confident, fiery Jess. Aubrey knew she would cross the oceans for her if she asked. A friend like that was one that you held onto for life. Sometimes, Aubrey held onto her like she was the only thing keeping her from drowning completely. She wanted to go, she really did, but she could see the conversation play out. Why was she leaving? She wasn’t going to make him dinner? Clean the trash on the floor? The laundry? Make his house livable while he drank himself into oblivion? She had already felt his rage thrice that day, and that was all her fragile frame could take.

“I can’t tonight, sorry,” she texted back.

“Ok,” Jess replied. One of the most miniscule of words, backed by more feelings than either of them could articulate. “You know you can always come over, right? Anytime.” Aubrey stared at the words. Jess and her family would help her, she knew that. But at what cost? What storm would be waiting for her when she returned? If she returned.

Maybe…maybe there is a way out.

What if she didn’t return? Aubrey sat up, her stomach somersaulting with the very thought. If she left that room, right then and there, Aubrey knew she would never return. There was both fear and peace in that decision. She looked around her, taking in her childhood room. The old paint, ancient hardwood floors, and walls smelling of mildew, all of it a husk of a happy past that would never return. Staying wouldn't keep her mother’s memories alive, she knew that. They were within her heart and mind, and that could be enough. As for her father…she had tried, she had really tried, but she couldn't do it anymore. Aubrey made up her mind. “Sorry, Mom.” She jumped lightly off the bed and walked to the closet. Opening the slatted, folding door, she took out her duffel bag and began to fill it. She only grabbed what was truly needed, truly wanted. Her mom’s picture from her bed stand. The stuffed zebra she got at the zoo when she was two. Old letters from friends. Her favorite pieces of jewelry. Necessary clothes, shoes, and toiletries. Everything else could be replaced. She was ready.

Doors can always be opened.

Slinging the duffel bag over her shoulder, she looked back longingly at her childhood bedroom one last time. “Goodbye, and…thank you for everything,” she said quietly. Aubrey put her hand on the doorknob. She froze. The old floorboards gave her father away; he was standing down the hall from her bedroom. Aubrey’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, both bodies were still. With a huff, she finally heard him turn around and walk to the kitchen. Why had he been standing there? Part of her wondered if maybe he’d been coming to apologize. She wanted that more than anything else; she wanted her dad back. She tightened her grip on the duffel bag. Hope was a strange thing, and Aubrey refused to let it go. It hadn’t changed her decision though. Regardless, she wouldn’t be able to leave through the front door.

If not a door, then a window.

Aubrey walked over to the window and threw open the curtains. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the yellowed glass, turning the dust motes into a swirl of glittering stars. Slowly, she eased the window upwards, expertly moving over every squeaky section with practiced finesse. Once open, she carefully stepped out onto the roof of the back porch. Aubrey closed the window behind her just as silently as she had opened it. She stood, then stooped over to gaze into her room one last time. From outside, it almost appeared to be a painting, framed by the curtains, depicting the still-life of a child’s room once filled with joy. She turned, following her old escape plan across the roof, and down the oak tree. Instead of running off into the woods, Aubrey turned towards Jess’ house, a haven from the storm she knew would come with her leaving. That maelstrom would come, but not tonight. For now, as she walked, Aubrey let her heart look forward, watching the clouds travel across the cerulean sky. There was a life to be lived outside of that room, that house, and she would find it.

There is always a way out, a choice to make. You know that, don’t you?