I count that days to cope with it. My therapist says I count the days to push through it. What is it?
I don`t know.
It`s hot out. I could swim with my sister. It would feel nice for the cool water to wash over my skin and slowly consume me. What if I don`t come back up?
Maybe it isn`t through. Maybe I still need to push through it.
School is approaching fast. I still don`t have my homework done. The blank pages stare at me all night, etching into my memory the black ink scrawled across the white paper. I can`t do it. I can`t think well enough.
I`ve been placing flowers beneath the window each night. The breeze carries the scent down the hall. The breeze carries the scent even when the window is closed. My mom thinks it`s sweet. Dad doesn`t like the petals floating to the floor from the older flowers. I won`t throw out those older flowers though.
I think the flowers help with it.
I still don`t know what it is.
I met with my therapist yesterday. He said I should write every day. Every day is too many days. No one writes every day. It`s too much work.
My therapist said I should write more about it too. Says I won`t recall it unless I talk about it more.
How do you talk about something you know nothing about?
I asked my dad that. He got angry. I am starting to think everyone but me knows what it is.
I set out more flowers last night. White rhododendrons. Little stereotypical flowers with crinkled petals. They`re my favorite.
The flowers also made dad angry, but Bailey liked them.
Bailey asked me to play with her yesterday too. She never really wants to play with me. I think she wanted the flowers. Poor Bailey; she needs more friends than the plants growing in the garden.
Bailey took the flowers from the window. She tried to plant them in the garden overnight while everyone else slept.
The flowers died.
I bought more to set by the window. Dad nearly stepped on them. He`s been getting angrier. He hit mom yesterday.
I think it has to do with his anger. I still don`t have an inkling as to what it is, but I stopped asking dad.
Mom just got home. It`s dark out. Yellow street lamps buzz with life casting their glow along the street. The tree is a massive shadow rustling its leaf feathers all ready to fly off. I could hardly see her through the darkness swarming the old tree.
She is really late. My alarm says it is only two. She is alone too.
The front door is opening. It`s so loud I want to flinch. I hope dad doesn`t here.
I should head to bed.
August 24th part 2
Mom wasn`t caught, but dad was still angry. He made Bailey cry. She is still crying. Poor Bailey; she just wanted to bring in some of her garden friends.
I forgot to write. My therapist was angry, just like dad. He said I would never remember it unless I worked for it. He said everything I wrote so far was useless.
I wonder if therapists are typically so mean.
I still don`t want to write. I feel like the writing is not helping in uncovering it. Even Bailey is getting frustrated that I haven`t remembered it.
I let her help me plant the flowers outside of the windows to make her happy. She picked rhododendrons too. I let her plant baby`s breath as well.
She really loves her garden.
I made dad mad, again.
I skipped school for a week. It makes my head fuzzy. I don`t like being there anymore so I haven`t been going.
I do other things still.
I help Bailey in the garden. I`ve never seen a six-year-old so responsible before. She works until the dirt turns her red hair brown.
I watch mom come home too. Same time every morning. I try to watch her leave, but I never catch her. Sometimes I think she is just sitting by the tree.
Dad was angry once again. He was yelling at mom. I saw him hit her too. Mom yelled at us to leave but before I turned the corner I saw him hit her. Things froze for a moment. I thought I could help her but I just let him hit her.
He stormed through Bailey`s garden as well. Poorly Bailey. All she does lately is cry.
I think he it is me he is really mad at.
He glares at me muttering ‘it, it, it’ under his breath a lot. Sometimes I think he will hit me. He doesn`t. Only mom.
Maybe mom angered him too.
She`s been staying out later, staying out under the tree. She likes the gardens too. I saw her caring for them before heading to the tree.
Maybe he is really mad at the garden.
The rhododendrons survived. They were the only flowers to survive. Their petals are crinkled but they were like that before.
Mom left last night and didn`t come back. I stayed up until the sun greeted me with its orange rays but she didn`t return.
I think mom left.
Dad hits her, but I think it chased her off, whatever it may be. I think it is why she left us.
Bailey is always in the garden now. She only talks to the flowers and me. Dad yells at her but she never responds, never has, never will. Mom couldn`t even get her to talk. Poor Bailey.
Maybe I will join Bailey in the garden. Maybe the garden pertains to it.
Maybe working in the garden will help me remember.
Bailey left. Like mom she left. She spent the entire day speaking to the flowers and only the flowers, then she left.
Dad got angry, then he was upset. He cried and cried and cried. I`ve never seen him cry before. It scared me more than when he hit mom.
Dad won`t talk to me either. He just spends his time outside. I think he is waiting for mom and Bailey.
I think mom and Bailey are gone for good.
I heard a noise around two in the morning. I thought it was mom but I didn`t want to look out the window.
Something hit the glass while I curled up under the covers. It was a quiet tap, an almost inaudible tap. I got up after that and looked out. Mom wasn`t there.
I couldn`t sleep after that. I was scared that when I woke up dad wouldn`t be home either so I stayed up. I stayed up and thought about it. I still can`t recall anything about it.
The rhododendrons have taken over the garden in such short time. I don`t think I like the flowers anymore.
It`s there. It is right there. My head is foggy, but it is within reach. I can feel it. Whatever it may be is right there.
Dad has been in the garden all day, the one outside the hall window. He stares at my window for a long time. He has been ripping the flowers out one by one since this morning.
He knows what it is. I know he does.
Why won`t he tell me what it is?
September 22nd part 2
The power is out, has been for the past hour. Midnight is a quarter of an hour away. I know it is only half an hour away because something is in my room.
It is in my room.
It has been counting down by the minute for the past hour.
Dad is gone. He disappeared after he ripped all the flowers out.
He left me alone. They all left me alone. But it didn`t leave me. It is there, counting, counting down to something.
It has a soft voice and smells of rhododendrons and baby`s breath. It is sitting on the corner of my desk watching me write.
I don`t know what it is still.
Twelve, eleven, ten.
It whispers secretes between the numbers, Bailey`s secretes. Mom`s secretes. Dad`s secretes. My secretes.
It is Bailey`s friend, my friend. It knows something. It knows everything. It knows the person beneath the flower bed.
It knows I buried them.
Seven, six, five.
I think I finally recalled what it is.
Four, three, two.