I run and keep running. To the one place that gives me comfort. To the one place I can let myself relax. I'm almost there; I can see the top of the tree coming into view. My breathing is shallow and my arms scream in pain each time they move, but I don't let that slow me. Not yet.
I jerk to a stop just as I reach my sanctuary. A relieved sigh escapes my lips at the sight before me. A wide meadow of grass, green and tall. Just to the left, a hill covered in the same grass and a gaping willow. Its branches reaching towards the earth as they sway gently in the warm breeze. I come here several times a week, yet each time I can't help but be amazed at the beauty of it. Without another thought my feet carry me towards the hill, the tree.
My hand pushes aside the low branches as I enter the shelter of the tree. I slump against the trunk, my back leaning against the rough bark. I sit in the same spot each time, right where there is a slight break in the branches and I can look over the valley. Dusk is approaching. The sun sits low on the harizon, its rays creating a golden hue on the tall grass.
The pollen floats in the breeze, twirling and dancing around eachother. I look up. The conapy of leaves, yellow and green, hides the birds chirping above me. I feel relaxed already, my breathing slows as I close my eyes and listen. My skin warms from the sun that just barely peaks through the thick branches. I breath in the smell of fresh air and earth, so much better than the smell of beer that plegues the house. After a few minutes I open my eyes, the pain in my arms unable to be ignored. I pull one of my sleeves up and examine the purple and blue bruise forming on my forearm. This perticular bruise was from my father gripped me and pushing me into the wall as he cursed about how useless I am. I can feel tears forming in my eyes. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I pull my sleeve down as far as it will go. I can't cry. That will just bring more bruises. I look back at the valley. It looks so calm and tranquil and I know, that if I had a choice, I would stay here forever. Let the willow shelter me, let the birds sing me to sleep at night. Let the grass be my pillow.
I feel guilty when I leave home, leave my mom, but I can't stand it there. Not when my father comes home drunk and takes his anger out on us. Ever since he lost his job last month his anger has become more frequent, and so have my trips here. I wouldn't come if I thought my mother would be in trouble but he barley touchs her. I'm usually the one on the the other end of his crushing grip.
I know it hurts my mother whenever she finds a new bruise or gash on me. She hides in her bedroom, closing the door tightly. Sometimes, as I pass her room, I can hear her quietly sobbing. There's nothing I can do to make her feel better. I've tried but she just closes herself off. Her expression turns hollow as she brushes me off, saying shes fine, and returns to her room. I know shes afraid of him and that's why she wont leave and I can't really blame her.
I sit for awhile longer, in no rush to leave. My head falls against the trunk at the thought of returning enters my mind. If I don't return soon my father will come looking and who knows the damage that could cause. Don't want any trouble now do we? The sun is sinking now, the light receding with it. The warmth hasn't left though. I run my hand across the grass, the blades tickling my palms. It's soothing and I don't want to leave and even as night approaches, the tranquility and calm stays. The birds chirp less and less but every now and then I hear the soft melody of their songs. Being careful of my arms, I push myself off the ground. I lean down and brush off the dirt and grass from my jeans. Pushing aside the branches again, I exit the shelter of the willow. I run down the hill, slowing as I reach the base. I don't want to return so soon, to the smell of beer and profanity that is sure to spill from my fathers mouth, so I take my time leaving the meadow.
I turn back as I reach the edge of the grass that connects to the cool pavement. The willow is only a shadow in the darkness now, pearched high on the hill. It still sways, elegant and calm. I can feel my chest tightening as I turn away from it, from its comfort and peace. From its everlasting release it provides me. From my tranquility.
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