The Window Sill - Madison Duarte

I sit at my window sill, my palms sweaty, face tense, hands clutched tight. The only thing keeping me physically stable is the repetitive chant in my mind; “I am okay”. Though I am in complete terror, I am no amateur to an anxious mind. In truth I have experienced this very feeling before, and before, is an understatement. I am pretty much know as the anxious kid everywhere I go. At school, where I scurry out of my seat in the middle of the lesson, and pace around the classroom. At home, where my room is filled with stress balls, fidget spinners, and all other kinds of weird gadgets. And even at the supermarket where I once got to go to the “Cashier Lounge” when a panic attack quickly arose during our grocery shopping disaster. I always get aggravated having that label stuck to me, but yet I continue to be anxious. Not by choice of course. But more by habit. Unfortunately, having anxiety is like riding a bike, learn it once and you don’t seem to forget how to do it.

               My relentlessly anxious mind wakes me up night by night, at that phase where your just drifting off to the magical world of dreams. However, my brain doesn’t allow me to feel free in the joyous dream realm, instead it awakes me with haunting secrets that I have shielded to myself. So, I have gotten into the habit of jumping out of bed, almost as quickly as my racing mind, and sitting at the tall window sill beside my bed. There, I try to find peace in the things around me like the tall buildings that seem to go a mile high, or the blinding city lights that twinkle like stars in the dark city air.  Night by night I turn to my window sill for comfort, but more importantly as an escape.

               But this particular night when searching for various things I have overlooked or ignored I see a small cop car zoom by. Suddenly another follows it, playing the horrendous tune that shakes your bones. As the grating feeling of anxiety, circles around me, I am reminded of that unbearable scene. The devastating memory of flashing blue and red lights storm throughout my mind, and I hear the sirens echo throughout my brain. Tonight the window sill did not let me escape, but instead forced me to be reminded, forced me to replay the scene that I had been avoiding all this time. I felt my heart race, and my eyes grow watery. I felt my legs and arms go numb. Without the very thing that gave me comfort how was I supposed to get past the thoughts that were stuck to my brain like glue. That’s when I resorted to the repetitive chant in my mind. Tightly hugging my legs, and controlling my sobs, I decided to give the cop car one last look. As hard as it was, I made contact with the automobile. Though, I could not see well through the thick city air, and the tears crowding my vision I was able to just barely make out the vehicle. I watched it park and a police officer open the drivers door. That speedy driver than raced out of the car and disappeared behind the local café.

               Though he disappeared the memories did not. Instead they were enlarged. They felt so real that I could almost feel all the things I felt that day. Like the heavy scent of cigars that stuffed up our living room that afternoon. Or the sight of  two bottles of alcohol that were empty and shoved into the corner of our kitchen. Or The strange man that my so called father was speaking to, as he handed him loads of cash at the corner of the block. I saw all those things happen but only gave it a small ponder. I didn’t pay attention to the signs. I wondered if I could of prevented all of what happened, and if I did, would things look different for me? That thought alone has troubled me since the moment the cops arrived, and took me to the home I reside in now. To the family I now call my own. I know living with my father any longer would have not been the right environment for me, but I do wish there could have been a better chance for him. Maybe not with me, but I do wish he could of outdone his wrongs, and we could both live in the worlds we deserve. But instead he is locked up for good, and I must live knowing that he wasted his life, cause of his silly obsessions. He wasted his life, and jeopardized his daughter’s. Strangely enough remembering that day in such detail felt like the ticket I needed to get past the dark road I had been struggling on.

               Something changed inside me at that moment. I realized that by my father being out of my life, he was controlling it more than before. And I didn’t want that. I want to live my own life, with my family, and with nothing but positivity around me. My father had his chance, now it’s my turn. I also decided that reliving the tough days is okay. The way we look at memories, is the way we see those memories and I needed to rewrite some of mine. Memories can be carried with much sorrow and pain or as tribute to the strength, perseverance, and bravery exhibited. The police man then came around the corner and jumped back into his car. He drove off as suddenly as he came. Watching the police car leave, I vowed that I wouldn’t be so afraid to look at something that remind me. As after all what harm did it do. Yes I saw and slightly relived the pain, but I was also reminded of how strong I was that night, and all the nights that followed. So, don’t be afraid to watch your memories, get past the pain, and look out your window. Who knows what you can overcome.