Stupid grey house that I fucking hate

[newbornvisions]

 Tonight I am sleeping on a mattress in the middle of what used to be my mother’s storage room. My not-so-little-anymore sister has her head by my feet, and mine is by hers. I didn’t know it was even possible to sleep with your knee bent up, but then again we haven’t slept near each other in four years. 

 

My parent’s make shift nest lies in the remnants of the living room. The ridiculously large TV my father bought in 2018 now sits on a fold out table. 

 

I don’t know when we got one of those. I wonder if they’ve been keeping it in the basement. 

 

The walls are grey and sad and every ceiling feels too high. I fucking hate this house. I hate who I was inside of it. I hate what I said here, what I did, who I had become. I hate the fighting and the stomping. I hate the claustrophobia, everybody breathing down each others necks and listening for stepped upon eggshells. I hated the downstairs bathroom thats fan doesn’t work meaning that everyone can hear you pee when you use it. I hate this house more than I knew I even could, but tonight I find myself sad to see it go. 

 

It’s different now that I see it’s skin start to thin and the light leave it’s eyes as my family bids it a final goodbye. And I thought I’d be over joyed to see it die. 

 

My mother has been all out of sorts, horrified and guilty that she’s leaving the state and in turn leaving me and my older sibling alone in Georgia. A couple weeks ago they asked me and them to drive to the house and discuss the move, make sure that we’re all on the same page. 

 

She kept trying to assure me that they weren’t abandoning us. They’re just a flight away. It’s only Florida, we already visit that swamp state so often. 

 

It was then my turn to assure her that I was beyond fine. I hardly visited my parents anyway so nothing would really change, right? 

 

Wrong. 

 

Wrong! 

 

Just plain as day, flat out, sliced-bread WRONG. 

 

It’s the first time my family has moved and I’m not moving with them, and that’d be one thing if it were just down the street but I’ve never driven more than five hours consecutively and I’ve only been driving on highways for two years now. 

 

I pay rent, I pay bills, I’m finding a new house to rent all on my own. I have an entire life! 

 

But I’m just a kid inside. I’ll be a kid till I’m fifty, and then I’ll be a teenager till I die. My mom isn’t even an adult yet, I’m not sure my dad is either! 

 

While plugging in my phone to charge for the night the significance of this all hit me like a truck.

 

Instantly I felt my lip quiver and my brow bend, and I knew I just wanted to cry my heart out. 

 

I tried to move in slow motion across the kitchen but as always the floors ratted me out with their squeaking. I remember when I would do this exact maneuver to sneak in my ex girlfriend. Everyone in the house could always tell when I would. I was such a goof for that. And I certainly hadn’t gotten any better since then, eeking and creeking towards the back door. 

 

I tried to time the door handle’s groaning with my father’s snores before giving up and just leaving. 

 

God- what are they going to do with that stupid grill?! 

 

This summer all the mosquitos are pissed and the cicadas are in full force. I’m reminded of when we first moved to Georgia. I couldn’t sleep a wink with all the maraca bugs screeching. But then I got used to it. Now I sometimes get kept up by the hispanic family down the road that loves to party deep into the night. I’m getting used to that too. 

 

It’s always something. Somebody’s moving, somebody broke up with somebody else, somebody died, somebody’s not my friend anymore, somebody and I are friends again, somebody is switching schools. 

 

I didn’t lie to my mother when I told her I didn’t care, I guess I just hadn’t realized that I did yet. 

 

I’m not asleep right now because then the night will end. 

 

We’ll wake up and I’ll help them pack the rest of their things, and then I’ll blow snot all on my dad’s novelty Siracha shirt and then drive to my own home and dye my roommates hair before her shift at waffle house. 

 

I fucking love my life. 

 

I do. 

 

I love it a million times more than being here in this stupid grey dollhouse. 

 

Even though I hate it I can’t bare to say goodbye and I think it’s because I don’t have a choice, I have to. 

 

I’m not 19 and I don’t eat my parents food anymore, nor do I hide in my room to avoid seeing them. They aren’t around like they used to be. 

 

Really, *I’m* not around like I used to be. 

 

This place was like a snow globe that I could shake every once in a while and watch where the flakes had landed. I was the one who left. I was the one who visited. And I could always visit- I could always just come home. 

 

Their new house isn’t going to be home to me, it’s all new and all theirs. My home-base isn’t a common space anymore. It’s just me. I’m my home now. 

 

I cried my eyes out on the porch, shoulders shaking as I held myself. You know it’s bad when you run your fingers through your own hair and pretend it’s someone else soothing you. I cried until I felt myself run dry. 

 

Having made peace with my distress, I opened the back door rather recklessly. The room was silent and I was unsure if I woke anyone until my mother proclaimed that I had scared her. I apologized and went to my sister’s bed. 

 

I didn’t want to be there, though. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my parents bed. But that just wasn’t the relationship we had, not since I was like 11. That’s almost ten years of not being held, kissed, or touched.

It’s incredibly common for me to desperately need to be held by my mother, but that urge is never actualized.

Ever.

 

Fuck it- I’d regret it when they die if I didn’t at least try tonight.

So I snatched up my loaned pillow and blanket and plopped them onto my parent’s bed. My dad was quick to voice his confusion, and the way he asked “what are you doing” seemed almost annoyed, like he was expecting the worst. I don’t know what the worst could have even been. 

 

I told them I wanted to sleep in their bed because I was going to miss them. 

 

The coin flipped and they instantly softened and welcomed me in between them. My mom put her arm on top of me limply, not grabbing hold of what she gave birth to. I wondered if her mind was racing and if she too was reflecting on our relationship. 

 

They don’t know that my little sister has told me about all the divorce “jokes” they’ve been making recently, and the three of us lay on top of the secret together. 

 

Eventually she adjusted, taking her arm away. I gathered the courage to put it back and we all pretended that we could fall asleep. 

 

It was nice, and I’m very glad I did it. 

 

One measly hour later, though, and I’m back in the other room because honestly I’m more comfortable in here. I don’t have to force myself to mouth breathe so my sad, stuffy nose doesn’t whistle when I breath. And I can spread out and sleep just how I like to. 

 

It’s definitely time that we all move forward. None of us can change the past, and we sure as hell can’t stop the future. It won’t be so bad. 

 

It’ll just be different. 

 

Goodnight stupid grey house… I love you. Goodbye.