When I Go

The alarm clock wakes me up once more, but today is different. Today is the day I go.

I pack up my things one by one- My books, my drawings, some food, and the special locket that Mom gave me. I remember her saying that she'll wear it every day, so that when it's my turn to go, I’d be able to find her. I'm looking at it right now, A beautiful silver heart locket with “I love you” engraved on the front, with a picture of her inside, so I don't forget. I haven't seen her in a while, I'm slightly nervous and excited all the same, because today is the day I go.

My room looks all tattered and messy. It really doesn't matter anymore. I'm thinking about all the new adventures I'll have. Much better than staying I suppose, On my desk lie the drawings I made — soft colors fading, stories of places I’ll never see again and the colored pencil drawings I made of the things I'd see out my window, One drawing shows the meadow beyond the old fence, grass swaying in strokes of vibrant green, the sun bleeding gold through the clouds. I remember pressing my face to the window, trying to feel the warmth through the glass. The colors have faded now, the sky almost white, like it forgot how to be blue. My food has nearly run out, I'm taking the rest with me. I don't know if I'll need it, but Dad told me it's better to be safe than sorry. “Can't think on an empty stomach!” he’d say happily. He’d always cook the most delicious food; just thinking about it brings a smile. I look over, my favorite book lies on the rickety bed, face open. The pretty pictures are now so faded that they're almost unrecognizable. It was once beautiful with watercolor drawings on every page. I would read that book anytime it was raining outside, curled up protectively inside a warm blanket by the fireplace. The storms outside used to scare me so much. The pages are a bit chalky and ripped now. I even read it yesterday, I suppose to make myself feel better before I go.

Everything is so dusty here. My brother would hate it. When Mom and I used to bake cinnamon rolls, he always disliked it when I would clutter up the kitchen. Once I even spilled flour everywhere! The room reeked of Clorox wipes for days- It was such a mess! I’d never seen my brother more upset, though I did try my best to help clean things up. I wonder where he is going today- Maybe the same way I am? It's been quiet since Mom and Dad’s footsteps faded. I miss them, and it’ll be nice to see them again, I hope. Since today is the day I go.

Finally almost packed up. This small, cramped room isn't big enough for me anymore. I've had it ever since I was little. The toys are stringed around my tiny room. Oh! I should probably bring one with me. I know Mom told me I'm a bit too old for toys now, but it can't hurt, right? My wooden duck is too heavy for me. My ball won't fit, so I brought my stuffed animal. It's a bunny, we used to see them outside of my room hopping about. Mom would tell me facts about bunnies and rabbits from time to time; she was always so knowledgeable.

I'm the youngest person in my family to go, but I think I'm ready now. Nobody has been with me in a long while. I used to think that these walls would keep me safe forever. Now I know they were only borrowing the sound of our laughter. The purple bunny stares back at me with its black bead eyes. Brother made him for me when Mom told him I was coming into the world. He was very excited to meet me. The dust has settled thick on everything — the kind that only time can make. I can still see the marks on the wall where our height used to be measured, now hidden beneath years of quiet.

I take a last glance at my room. A last chance for me to decide to stay. Even still, I don't want to, no matter how I cling. Eventually, you have to let go. Today is a big day for me, and I wouldn't want to miss it. Everyone is waiting for me of course. I look at the lonely CD that sits on my desk. I used to play it before bed with Dad. He’d tuck me in, and we’d sit there and listen to it until I fell asleep. I should pack it. He might like me to bring it where I'm going. Before I do, I play it for the final time. A sweet, old lullaby paints the room, its melody sweeping the wooden, rotten walls, the gentle symphony etching itself in its final refrain. I don't know why, but hearing it makes me sad. The lullaby drifts through the air, and my hands tremble on the CD. My chest feels tight, and the room seems emptier than before. In less than a couple of minutes, I'll be by his side, along with brother and Mom- so why do I feel this way? It must be the dust in the air. This place was special; it stored joy, laughter, tears, anger- all of it. I used to feel trapped in here. Or safe. Or completely alone. There were times that I wanted to go away and never return, and never return to the world either. And yet, somehow, this home of ours would be small. It could be big. Sometimes it wasn't much, even so the place remained itself. And itself forever.

But everybody else has grown up and moved on. It's time.

The door awaits me at the front. A crooked old timber door with a golden rusted knob. My hand clutches onto it with a solemn goodbye. This place holds memories, good and bad. Though there's a lingering promise of new ones. I open the door, and a shining light fills the now-empty room. The light is warm — familiar, like Mom’s voice calling me in for dinner. Yet it hums too, softly, like it’s waiting for me.

I think I am ready to go now.