Frozen Butterflies

“I can’t sleep”, I whispered to the darkness. No answer came back. One never did. The room was silent. 

I listened to the sound of cars passing by. People chatter as they go on a late night walk. The sound of dogs barking in the distance. Far off in the distance, a police siren went off. The television was on downstairs, my parents watching their late night shows.

But my room was quiet. The only sound that could be heard was my breathing. My words seemed to be swallowed into the darkness. 

Nights had been like this for a while. Dark silence. At first, it was comforting. Day time was a living hell most of the time. Night was when I could relax and let my mind at ease. But a weary mind can no longer find comfort when the nighttime becomes just as hellish as the day. 

A sense of loneliness had nestled itself into my chest. I could feel its coldness. It almost made me shiver. The loneliness was like a frozen butterfly, wanting so desperately to break free of the icicles and feel its wings flutter once more. 

I sat up, tossing my blankets off me. I didn’t want to sit in the quiet darkness. Not again. Not like all the previous nights before. I pulled on a hoodie before slowly opening my bedroom door. Down the hallway, I could see the light of the television cast onto the wall. I knew my parents would be too distracted to hear me. I quietly tiptoed out of my room and down the hallway. My socks help soften my footsteps, the soft pat pat being drowned out by the television. 

I quietly walked into the kitchen to grab my car keys. The metallic keys jangled together, making me freeze. I strained my ears for the sound of my parents stirring from their show, but heard nothing more than sitcom laughter. I made my way to the front door. I glanced by the living room to make sure my parents didn’t see or hear me. 

I saw empty beer bottles near my fathers feet. His head was laying back on the couch, and I could hear him snoring. My mom was curled up tight on the other side of the couch, snuggling into the armrest. 

I knew she would rather be snuggling with my father, but no one dared touch him after he had drunk his beers. 

I felt tears well up in my eyes. Both sad and angry. I looked away and quickly rushed to the front door. 

“Liam?” my mom softly asked, “Liam, honey, are you there?”

I wanted to answer her. To tell her I was here. To have her hold me and stroke my hair as she softly shushed me and told me everything would be okay.

But I knew if I did that she would worry again. She would think I was getting bad again. I was getting bad again, but I didn’t want her to know that. She had enough to worry about with work, my father, and my brother. 

I would be fine. I always got through it. Some days it was harder than others. But I always got through it. 

I waited for her to return her attention to the tv. After about ten minutes, I grabbed my shoes and quietly opened the front door and slipped out. 

I went out to my car and got in. I put the keys in the ignition and started the engine. I pulled away from the curb and drove off. 

The city streets were busy and buzzing with life, like always. I saw a group of women coming out of a clothing store, laughing as they held multiple bags filled with clothing. A father and mother walked down the street, pushing a stroller with a toddler as their older child skipped beside them. Two guys leaned on a car, sharing a cigarette. A group of teenagers, around my age, rode their skateboards though the street to get to a gas station. An older couple held hands as they walked to the theater.

I slowly made my way through traffic, making my way out of the city and onto a smaller road. It led me up a mountain. No one else was on the road. I drove up the winding road. I had the radio off. It was all quiet except for the hum of the car's engine. 

I pulled off to a viewing spot. I turned off the car and got out. The cold air nipped at my flesh, but I paid no mind to it. I welcomed the cold. I looked out upon the city lights. Headlights from cars moved along the streets and the building lights flickered on and off. 

I suddenly felt tears falling down my face. My mind went back to the group of teenagers. That should be me. I should be out with friends, riding on my beaten up bike and pooling in our cash to buy some crappy gas station food. 

But instead, I was here. On the top of a mountain. Alone. 

I sat down on the gravel and let the sobs leave me. It had been a while since I had a good cry. My vision blurred from the tears and my shoulders shook. I let out soft, shaky breaths as the tears fell. I cried out and scooped up a fist full of gravel and threw it. 

I glared down at the city lights. They were not welcoming, not like how they used to feel when I was younger. Nothing felt welcoming. Not even home. And I felt so homesick. 

It's hard to feel homesick when nowhere feels like home. 

I laid back on the ground, the gravel and rocks poking me through my sweatshirt. I looked up at the deep blue sky. It wasn’t black, the light pollution prevented that. A single star faintly glowed.

My face was wet from my tears and my chest hurt. As my eyes locked onto the lonely star, I could feel the butterflies fighting against their icy cocoons. But the ice was too thick. It would not break.

I wanted someone to come along with warm hands. Warm hands that can reach into my chest and melt the ice that contained the butterflies. 

They wanted to be free. 

I wanted to be free.