Free Spirit

TW: Talk of anxiety 

She set the book aside. The blue clock standing on her bedside table flashed 2:30 am, but to her it felt like it was just morning. She felt alive at night, almost as if the moon itself stretched out a nimble hand and fed her it’s pulsing, white energy. Switching off the torch she’d used to read and putting it on the bedside table as well, her eyes slid across her window. 

No. You pulled the blinds across for a reason. 

Heavy green linen was draped across it, her desperate attempts at blocking out any moonlight possible. Yet just as she was about to turn to the other side, she caught a glimpse of it: a small speckle of deep blue sky, almost black, decorated by a single star. She couldn’t help it. Duvet to the side, her pale feet slipped across the cold floor and over to the window. She paused for a second, debating whether to go ahead or not, but the temptation overtook her and she hauled the heavy cloth to the side, revealing the glowing blue-black. It never ceased to amaze her. The corners of her mouth twitched up as she regarded the outside admiringly. She pulled the window pane open, little crackles of dry paint rustling onto the floor. There seemed to be some invisible barrier between the opening to her room and the outside, for as soon as one hand reached out to feel the night, it was enveloped by cool air. She stuck her head out, small strands of brown hair carried off with the wind. There was something beautiful about night air; it tasted of something - rain that just settled on wet concrete pavement, grass speckled with sweet dew like honey, mist infused with the purity and grey dust of the moon. She wanted to taste it, to savour it, for it to settle on her tongue and swirl round in all the curves and curls of her brain. Barefoot, she stepped out onto the small roof landing under the window, and made her way up to the top, feet and hands automatically grabbing the jutting tiles. 

It was her own space. The night concealed her identity, and the soundlessly sleeping family would never know. Her house seemed to be some alien world, a dry, sultry planet with cold floors, weak white light and thick brick walls that trapped her inside. The outside was free. The air could go anywhere it wanted. It wasn't confined to a routine, to a route from house to school to bed, wasn’t bound by a set of rules and standards it was born to follow. In a sense, it was nothing, but really, it was the most living thing that existed. It didn’t need to choose, to argue or decide: it could just go. It had no family, no friends, no home, for everything was home, and comfort could be found in a dry autumn leaf or between the surging blue sea spray. It had no birth, no death, no limits. If the term ‘free spirit’ was made to describe something, it would be the night air. 

Once more her eyes lifted up towards the moon. It hung in the sky in front of her, expressionless and silent, and yet she didn’t feel alone. On the contrary, she felt welcome. She was an outsider here, not able to lift herself off the ground; matter, doomed by the sheer power of the earth to walk the lands of dry, wet and watery until her very death. And yet, she could cope with that. It was people that were difficult: with people, if they didn’t like you, if you had no one to sit or laugh with or go into town on Friday after school, then you had a problem. Maybe you liked being alone. Maybe you told yourself you would be happier and calmer that way - no drama, no worrying about keeping up with the group and calling each other enough. With the moon, it didn’t matter: it would be there anyway, every night, looking at you with it’s expressionless glance as you slept, and guiding the lone night bird and wolf across the moor. 

She glanced at the faint shadows being cast across the lawn - she wasn’t the only one out tonight. A small bird was hopping through the grass, dipping it’s beak in and out of the grass as it reached for any spare seeds dropped across. It seemed to find nothing, for a few seconds later it fluttered its wings together in a frustrated huff, spread them the width of it’s frail little body, and flew. It was a small bird, and she was rather surprised to see it out at this time of night. When on the lawn, it looked so innocent and helpless, blades thicker than it’s beak, the heavy dew that rested on them weighing down the delicate feathers. Yet when it flew, it had some unattainable power that she could only dream of. It’s flight slowed down in her eyes: wings beating against the night wind, pulsing through the dark and the shadow as it’s beak glistened in the moon’s light. It was soundless. It left just as quietly as it came, unnoticed. She searched for it’s fragile frame in the blue sky, but it had gone, possibly to chase more seedlings and swim through more sweet dew across another garden. Once more her eyes fell on the shadows. She had to sleep. She crawled back inside, curtaining the moon once more. 

Between her dreamy daze of half-sleep half-awakedness, she thought of the evening that tomorrow would bring. High school was finished, graduation day was today, and tomorrow a girl in her year was holding a graduation after party. Everyone was going, even the quietest ones that shielded their faces behind rows of chairs and stacks of books on the desk. She felt obliged to come. It was her last day dedicated to high school after all, the place where she’d spent the last 4 years of her life and an endless amount of hours learning, studying, and bashing her head against walls in frustration. It would be wrong not to commemorate it somehow. So she’d decided to go. She knew very well that there would be people there, and lot’s of them - about 160 to be exact, counting herself. She didn’t know how that girl was planning to fit all those people onto a single piece of property, but she hoped that her parents had been graced with the ability to purchase a large house. She’d have to remember to breathe, not drink anything that someone else gave her, and repeat to herself why she decided to go there in the first place. Eventually, she drifted off, her brain not being able to cope with the nervous thoughts that pulsed through it. 

The next day came, morning and afternoon went. She stood in front of the tall mirror, her hand holding onto the brass carvings embellishing the sides as she glanced up and down herself. It was okay. Nothing extravagant, but she’d put in some effort. Her favourite pair of jeans with the slight flares, a top with some finicky sleeves and her hair pulled up in a bun. She would manage. Or at least she hoped she would. 

By the time she’d set off towards the girl’s house, night was beginning to dawn upon the sky. The air had cooled from the sweet-flower summer haze, and now there was just the chatter of people in their gardens, salty smoke drifting off dying barbecues, and a dusty pink sky around her. The walk would be a fairly long one, but she didn’t want to use the bus - who knows how many people used it at this time of day. Obviously she didn’t want her parents to drive her there, she’d seen enough movies and heard enough talk to know what state houses were in during a ‘house party’. After about 30 minutes, she could hear it. Music. Screams. Music and screams combined, the sound bombarding off fences and walls until they came plummeting towards her as she stood still helplessly on the walkway. Her heart had suddenly begun to beat twice as fast as before, and her skin was singed by a sudden scorch of hot sweat whilst the tips of her fingers numbed. She rubbed her clammy palms together, trying to rid that awful feeling of sweat that you couldn’t shake off even if you stood under an ice cold shower. But she was determined - her last memory of high school, and she wanted it to be memorable. She forced her feet one in front of their other, almost pulling them forwards with her hands as they seemed to have been frozen over with an early winter frost. The entire time she’d spent at high school, she was alone. She came in with high hopes, having already planned out how she would try and make friends with some of the new kids, get a fresh start friendship-wise with someone who she could try a new version of herself with. She tended to do this - whenever she met someone new, she would alter her behaviour ever so slightly, just so that she would seem more likable, more friendly, more funny and outgoing. Others had always criticized her for being too quiet, mumbling out her answers in class and saying ‘bye’ to anyone she saw in a dry, hoarse whisper. It hadn’t worked though. Friends did not come. 

She’d been so tied up in thought, that it was only the sudden bang as of a song that made her realize: she’d made it. Before her, stood the house. People were pressed against the windows and glass doors, the front door wide open and the host standing and screaming excitedly at every new person who came. The front lawn was already trashed, the grass either brawling with stray cups or being strangled by deflated balloons and beer caps. 

Of course there’d be beer, thought to herself. 

Screams, laughter and off-key karaoke erupted, forcing themselves out of the open door. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t want to. Her heart was beating so fast that she could barely tell when each beat began. She was about to dash and make a run for it, but the host in the door noticed her. She sprinted towards her, and a cold sweat slicked all over her, she was stuck. Her hand was grabbed, and feet pulled against their will. She couldn’t tell what she was doing or where she was going, as all the green, pink and brown around her seemed to blur into one. A sudden smell of warm beer, smoke and sweat hit her, and she realised that she was inside. 

There were purple lights throbbing above her head, making the room seem like a painting created by some demented artist. People pressed against stairs, walls, tables, either dancing or bobbing their heads to the song; the talking, screaming, everyone everywhere shouting down each other’s ears. And the people, there were so many. There was no empty gap that she could make her way through without being shoved against another person. They’d melded into one large mass of loud purple matter. Her throat dried instantly. She’d drunk a hefty cup of water before she left the house, but now it was like nothing had trickled down her throat for days. She needed to get outside - the girl at the door wouldn’t let her leave so quickly, so her only hope was to find a secluded corner in the garden and wait out the worst of it. She moved forwards in sudden movements, jolting forth whenever she saw a decent sized gap. Then there was a loud ‘pop!’ and a rush towards what she thought was the kitchen. A cry of ‘Champagne!’ made her freeze up before she realised that this was her chance. 

Just as she was running, a group of people in the corner of her eye made her stop: they were leaning against the side of the stairs, laughing maniacally and passing round little white rolls of paper. She felt a smell of sickly dry grass burn her nose and tongue, and began to pray that they wouldn’t notice her. 

Please don’t look, please don’t look, please don’t look just keep smoking and let me mind my business, please don’t look, please don’t look, please do- 

“Oh look, it’s the scared little mousling!” 

She froze. One of them had seen her. Her prayers had been ignored. She felt a large, firm hand grasp her shoulder and spin her round. Her eyes quivered upwards to meet the dilated pupils of a girl. She’d seen her around after school, smoking near the park with the rest of her group, pointing and calling after any other student who passed them by. 

“Little mousling decided to join the party.” 

Another one of them came over. 

“Huh, she looks scared shitless. Scared, huh?”  They bent down and stared her dead in the eyes. She stood, not speaking, only staring right back at them. 

“Well then, how about we give little mousling a real reason to be scared?” 

They grabbed her shoulder, nails digging into her skin through the thin top as they hauled her forwards towards the others. 

She had to run, she couldn’t take it anymore. The grip was tight, one on either side, but she was desperate. Suddenly she squatted  to the ground and they let go of her in surprise. She fell to the ground but scrambled up and made a sprint for the garden door. 

“Hey! Get back here! Get her.” She heard the harsh voice of one of the guys behind her. 

People, purple, music. The purple lights blazed yellow for a second and she clasped her eyes shut with her hand. Fumbling desperately forwards, she could see the shielded outline of the door. 

Run run run. 

She pushed through people standing in her way, her breaths quick, heavy, but useless. Her throat was tightening, lungs refusing to suck in the foul stench of sweat and beer. Then suddenly, she’d made it; her legs gave up and she fell onto the damp, dirty grass outside. She tried to breathe, but her attempts were halted by the shouts behind her. They were still running, not going to let her leave now. The garden was mostly empty due to the free champagne being passed around in the kitchen, so she clambered to her feet and decided she would try and climb over the fence. It was just the street behind it, and from there, it didn’t look too high. She prayed the years of climbing up the shackled tiles of her roof were enough to help her now, and she ran. A wooden bench standing a little distance away from it, she could just jump off it onto the wall and swing herself behind it. She could hear them speeding up, having realised her plans.

 A few metres, two metres, a metre, bench foot, push, grasp.  

Her hand clamped onto a hard piece of wood jutting out of the fence, foot pushing off the top of the bench and then she swung the other over the top of the fence. Long legs sure came in handy.

Last hand, foot down, and jump. 

Feet hit the hard gravel on the other side, and she almost toppled over from the surprise. Once she’d taken a second to look back and realised that she was on the safe side, she ran. She ran on and on and on, dashing through the streets, under trees and between houses until the noise was a thing of the evening that she did not care to remember. 

She came late. No one was home, all probably gone out to a restaurant to eat. She didn’t stop until her clammy palms slammed against the cold glass of the window, and she flung it open and crawled out onto the jagged brown tiles. Her legs were weak, her hands slipping underneath the coarse surface, but she finally hauled herself onto the top of the roof. She lay on the flat top, and gasped for air. It came to her, streaming through her nose, into her mouth, down her throat and filling the soft pink tissue of her lungs at last. Hot water streamed down flushed cheeks and she began to cry and gasp and quietly to herself, hands flung to the side as she stared at the sky and let the liquid flow. The hot water was soon joined by the delicate little speckles of rain, the smell of wet leaf, mushroom and concrete mixing in the air. She began to laugh all of a sudden, realising how the sky seemed to be crying with her, and she wiped the tears from her face and smiled up at the sky. The moon was there, managing to peer a corner of it’s face through the soft blue and grey cloud. Expressionless, the dents and craters on it’s dusty surface revealing no emotion or thought, but simply looking down upon her. The soft glow soothed her, the warm air consoled her, the rustle of leaf and patter of rain whispered a quiet lullaby. Then she heard a quiet flutter and her head tilted to the side slowly. A little bird had settled on the other side of the roof, the same one that she’d seen in the garden yesterday. A free spirit. It hopped a few steps forwards, cocking its head to the side, before making another small advance and stopping a small distance in front of her. Her mouth twitched up into a smile, and she slowly extended her fingers towards it. It cocked it’s head to the side once more, and uttered a short chirp of quiet, pitched notes that cut through the quiet around her. 

“Robin,” She said, smiling. “Just like me.”