White House

TW: mention of gun violence

The sunlight bled through the windows as I awoke. Laying in a large white bed with white sheets and pillows I felt a light breeze travel in from the window that had been open just so. Although I had no idea what season it was, I could tell that there was a change in the air that filled the room. The smell of when seasons change and click; that's the familiar smell I recalled. There was a calmness in the air that felt familiar, all of this felt familiar— strange though as I had no idea where and who I was. 

The room was bare. Besides the bed was a small table that had a glass of water on it. There was also a desk and chair across from me but nothing else around it. In the hopes of finding something to give me a clue, I pulled the drawer open on the desk— empty. The wastebasket underneath also empty. 

I moved through the room, quietly— unable to piece together where and who I was. In hopes that the sound of someone or something behind these walls would give me a clue to any of my questions, I opened the door.

Silence. 

Should I stay? Should I go? There was nothing in here that was going to help me find any answers. But what if there was something or someone outside of this space that could harm me? I need to go. I need to find out. 

I followed the white hallway down. The walls were barren, clean, untextured— they were freshly painted. They must have been. They belonged to this home I was in— that was clear. But where did I belong? Was it here?

As I reached the end of the hallway, two more rooms appeared. Nothing strange, no one strange, not a thing out of place. It was just as the bedroom had been-- white and minimal. To the right, was the kitchen. Filled with the usual appliances. Cupboards filled with the usual items: cups, plates, bowls, mugs. Drawers filled with spoons, forks, knives. There were pots and pans, a tea kettle and an empty white porcelain vase. Everything lived where it was supposed to. The entirety of the house felt purposeful, intentional-- all of this was here as a necessity, space unfilled with needlessness. I opened the pantry and fridge and found the same in both-- nothing. 

If there's no food how will I eat? How have I eaten for however long I've been here? Is this a clue? Have I only been here for a short period of time? Did I just move in? Did someone just move me in?

I started to feel the panic setting in. I knew that I had no answers in the bedroom, but how could it be possible that there were no answers in the kitchen as well. I admitted to myself that there would probably be no hope in the living room; but I moved forward-- hoping that I was wrong. Praying that I was wrong. As I had expected, the living room felt much of the same, with bare walls, and just a large white couch and two armchairs of the same material and color. There was a coffee table as well, but that seemed to just be there as a marker place of things that were supposed to be. 

The entirety of the home smelled new, and windows were prominent in every corner of each space, but it still held a familiarity to me that I couldn’t pinpoint.

Finally, I saw an opportunity-- a door that led to somewhere. I walked quickly to it; anticipating the disappointment of a locked door that would keep me questioning and guessing for an eternity. As I turned the knob, I felt the click of the lock and the beauty and vastness of the outside opened up to me. 

The plush green grass laid at my feet and around every available corner that I could see. I pushed the door open and let myself out. As I felt the grass under my feet, I felt a sense that all of this was newly done. Freshly manicured and tended to, the grass seemed perfectly cut recently. Unsure of what else to do but to walk-- I walked. I walked further and further away from the house and saw that the sky was clear and blue. There were no clouds or birds in the sky. Only silence and green fields surrounded me. I marched through the blades of grass and hoped to see anything or anyone the further I walked; but was met with more of the same. Endless green grass and blue sky. I turned to look back at how far I traveled, and realized that I had lost vision of the white house. I raised my hands above my head to get a better view and there in the distance of where I had walked, I could make out a small dot of what I had left behind. 

I had only one choice at that moment, whether to continue walking through the endless path of green grass or to turn back and hope to find myself in the comfort of the white house. It was clear that I had only one option— to walk back. The house was something secure, something that would provide me shelter whereas the vastness of these fields provided nothing but silence. 

I need to go back. There is nothing for me out here. If I continue to walk, I may never be able to find my way back... and then what? I don't even know what time it is. What if it gets dark? What will I do then? It's time for me to turn back. Maybe I will find the energy to explore tomorrow. Maybe I will wake up tomorrow and remember? Maybe-- anything. But I know for sure there's nothing out here for me. 

The white house grew in size as I got closer, I sighed and hoped that there would be an answer. Please God, let me have some kind of answer. I don't even know what is true anymore, I don't even know if I believe in You-- but if there is anyone I can lean on, I'm hoping that it will be You. 

Back inside the house, I felt familiarity with the unknowing, the white walls, the white furniture and the silence that rang deeply. 

There were no answers in here. I continued to search in the rooms, on the walls, in corners and out of the windows for anything that looked out of place-- anything that was unpurposeful. But I found nothing. I had no concept of time in here. The sun continued to stay at the same spot, but hours must have drifted on. But where does time not exist? How does the sun remain in the same place all day? There must be a logical explanation for all of this. I couldn't focus on anything. The questions continued to tack onto themselves. I waited for nightfall. I waited in the living room to see if anything would change. But without the umbrella of time to help me gauge my research, I couldn't decide how to measure expectations. There must be a song that I know that would help me measure minutes. Yes-- yes, yes! Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you... wait. I don't actually remember how long this is. But if I sang it 20 times in a row and the sun didn't move, that would mean something-- wouldn't it? So I sat on the couch, in complete silence, singing the birthday song to myself twenty times and hoped to see a shift in the day-- in time. There was nothing. The sun never moved. Nightfall never came. I now knew that wherever I was, I was either stuck in the same time or the environment I was in was unlike one that I was familiar with. How could any of this be possible? 

Unable to find any answers, I paced the bedroom. I walked and walked for what must have been hours. But I had no concept of time. Nothing had changed. The sun stayed as high as it had from the beginning of my day, and the slight breeze continued throughout. The timing of the air felt intentional; as if it was scheduled to arrive every 5-6 happy birthdays. I had measured. I had nothing else to do. Nothing else to occupy my time. The rhythmic singing gave me something. Some version of time. Soon I tired of the same activity and laid on the bed (my bed?) and continued to measure time. My version of happy-birthday-time. 

I blinked, I thought I blinked. Maybe I fell asleep. How many happy-birthdays had I repeated to myself? I couldn't have fallen asleep. Maybe I fell asleep. Maybe that's why I can't remember my happy-birthday-time. 

I laid. I waited for the breeze. I counted my happy-birthdays and the time sequence was the same-- around 5-6 happy-birthdays. It's the same. This is the same place I was. But why does something feel different? Something is different. There's something new. Something has been added. 

I laid. I waited and laid. I wasn't sure what I was waiting for. But a part of me was scared to find the new in this space. How long has it been? Was there someone here? Someone must have been here. There's no other way anything could be brought here without someone bringing it. Is that possible? I guess anything is possible. It's still daylight and I must have sung happy birthday 200 times by now. So there is no such thing as could never be, because now anything can be. Everything was a free-for-all. I was free falling with the hesitation and the doubt. I hoped that whatever I found would only give me the peace I had searched for earlier. 

I sat up. And there as clear as the white walls, the new stared back at me-- a book and a piece of paper. Things that definitely never existed in this space earlier. Nothing scary. Just some paper and ink. I can handle this. How did it get here? 

Walking over, I remembered the plea I made with God. With the only person that might be able to help. Was this divine intervention? Whether or not I had believed in Him in my past, didn't seem to matter anymore. It seemed clear as day that there was a Him to reckon with. There was a Him that was listening to my cries earlier. He has sent me answers. 

I picked up the paper. It was as white as the walls of this house. There was not a word on it. Nothing. What does this mean? Why is this a part of the answer I had asked for? Was this all a joke? Was I living in a nightmare? Was I dreaming?

The piece of paper stared back at me as if it was mocking me. I had every intention to crumple it and toss it in the wastebasket; but realized that there was a reason it was here. What the reason was I had just not figured out. Holding the book in my hand I hoped that it would be filled with words, with any kind of guidance that could help me understand. I thought that it may even be the Bible to help me get through this period of unknowing, but as I opened it I realized that this is not what the Bible looked or felt like. I had somehow known this in my mind. At some point in my life I must have read the Bible, I must have known what it was supposed to feel and look like. I looked for a title, an author, anything that would give me an idea of what I was about to read; but much like everything else in this house, the cover was blank. 

What did it matter if I knew the title and the author? Would it matter in any way? 

So I read. The words seemed to take life in front of me. The story starts with a girl, Paula, who was born to a once loving mother-- as the oldest of 5 kids she would later end up taking care of everyone in her life. She was smart, independent, strong and capable, and her mother relied on her entirely too much to handle the problems that lay in the household. Paula acted as a surrogate mother for the other kids as her mother leaned on her vices to get her through her loveless romances and crippling addictions. As I read the story I could feel my heart breaking, I could taste the tears in Paula’s life and I could hear the voices of her brothers and sisters that asked for help. Help for their homework, their finances, their heartbreaks and the lack of love they grew up without. I wept reading about the men that would come into Paula’s life through her mother that would torture and molest her when she was young. Reading the accounts of one of her step-fathers that first broke her, made her a reality. I could see. I was slowly beginning to see it all. The walls in the bedroom changed. The beautifully pristine walls turned dusty. The floorboards creaked and articles of my youth began to appear. The room never changed in size, but more furniture was added. More people were added. I saw visions of my brothers and sisters, huddled together in a queen bed sleeping. I hope they were sleeping. Quietly they snored as I laid awake in my twin bed next to my step-father. The room continued to change as the memories came back. The furniture moved around, the walls plastered with cheap wallpaper and then with an ironic cheerful yellow, my sisters and brothers came and left and then I saw my mother. The mother I had adored as a child half awake in her drug haze. She had fallen asleep on the floor of my room, nodding herself to a dark place with a cigarette burning brightly in her hand. No. No. No. I don’t want to see this. I had remembered now. I remembered it all. There would be more tragedy. Shortly after my mother’s passing, my youngest sister and brother would be murdered by a gunman that had mistaken them as someone else. My oldest brother would go to jail avenging their deaths and later die in a prison riot. And finally, my other sister would later go missing. Death followed my family. I remembered. And I had fulfilled the prophecy. 

Suddenly, I was in the kitchen of the house. I saw myself. My feet swayed slowly in front of my eyes and I screamed. I don't want to see this anymore. I don't want to feel this anymore. I don't want to remember any of this anymore. Please God, forgive me. Please let me forget. Please show me the way out of here. 

The windows filled with light. Light at a level I had never seen. The plush greenery that had laid from end to end was now on fire. The answer was the fire. I ran into the room and saw the piece of paper had been written on. The words were clear. Burn and forget. Charging to the door with the fire at my feet I threw both the paper and book into the raging fire. I wondered if this fire would end-- if this was my ultimate end. 

And then I knew.