The Gift of Sanctuary

They just wouldn't stop screaming!!!!!

    “You worthless dead weight! Good for nothing lazy bum!”

 

    From my second story room I could hear her screaming. They were at it again. They did this almost every time they were together, my parents. They were stuck in the same old rut that they had dug in my sixth grade year, the year they split. Here’s the drill: My dad would come to pick my two siblings and I up from our mom’s house, or he was dropping us off. Then the ‘rents would start to discuss who was going to be stuck babysitting “the kids” the following weekend. After that conversation began, one of the two shrieking banshees would find some personality flaw in his or her ex and start picking at that flaw, like a scab, trying to make it bleed. Then they would spend Lord knows how many hours picking at the scabs that were left over from the last fight. God be with those who got in their way.

 

    I couldn’t bear the fighting anymore. Every harsh tone just made me even more sick, even more tired than I already was. It was 11:30 at night for crying out loud! I wanted sleep. I wanted to sleep peacefully, to rest, to stay in one place. I wanted to have a lengthy sleep that lasted the life of a star. But I could tell that would not happen tonight; there would be no tranquil sleep that night, not in this stuffy box anyways. I gazed out my window. “Long like the life of a star.” I thought. Seeing the stars and pristine sky, I wondered what it would be like to jump out that window and fly, fly far, far away. Then the thought crossed my mind “Why am I here?” It’s not as if I had no other place I could go. I had plenty of space to run; I lived, breathed, ran, and existed in the boondocks, and I adored being there. On my “farm” in West Iredell, a piece of land 'bout five acres large, we had two horses, an old barn cat and my dogs: Maxxie and Bowser. The best part was that you had so much room to escape to. I grew up there, so I knew each square inch of my property and everyone else’s by heart. Since I had so much space, I was sure escape would not be that hard. After all, I was always told I was smarter than most thirteen year olds – I had enough knowledge – enough to dream myself out of that hectic, screaming place. I could hear my father shouting.

 

    “You’re not that much better you piece of –”

 

    That was it! I was considered to be the queen of chaos in my house, but even Lucifer needs a break from Hell. I grabbed my inhaler, knife and coat, put my shoes on, and zipped down the stairs. The door opened and closed without making a sound. The second I stepped out the door I was hit by a wonderful gust of fresh, warm July air, with a faint hint of aging horse manure. My destination was already set; I was going to a favorite “hiding spot” of mine. These spots were everywhere. I used them for nights like tonight, when I wanted to be as far from human beings as possible. The one I was headed to that night, I picked for the view. This particular spot was located at the very back of our property. Actually, it was a little while off on the edge of the surrounding woods, about a half an hour’s walk. It was a new moon, so I could see every star alive, every candle dancing in that magnificent black abyss. I could see how the trees were swaying, and little blades of grass were trying to imitate the gargantuan trees. I could see bats swooping past the flood lamp which illuminated our driveway; they just wanted their nightly meal of moths.

 

    Then Maxxie and Bowser, my two beagles, came bounding out of the neighbor’s field; they knew exactly where I was going. I went everywhere with my dogs. My dogs were my best friends, my only friends. After a thousand wet kisses from my loves, and probably a few gallons of slobber, I started to feel a little better, but I still needed time to think. Off to the hiding spot I went.

 

    My spot was about a mile from my house. I started walking out through our weed ridden field; it was full of briars and snagging tangles that reached up to your waist and tried to trip you in the night, tried to steal and smother you. Past the pet cemetery where old skeletons lie, beyond the creek which glistened with the reflection of the stars, into the woods, through more murderous briars and tangles, more weeds, more thorns; finally, I saw my small piece of paradise, my little place nobody could find but me. It was a small lean-to I built myself, made of sticks, two-by-fours and old tin roofing, about six feet by four feet, large enough for me to lie in, which was slightly important if you were to consider how much time I spent there. It was furnished with random objects I had snagged from my houses (I had one house per parent). There was an old plastic covered toddler mattress, a sleeping bag and a pillow (the latter two I kept in a humongous Rubbermaid® container); a dwindling supply of bottled water; a dying dresser, which I saved from slaughter, filled with an assortment of writing and drawing supplies; a  flashlight; a folding lawn chair; and a battery operated radio. I had it good. The best part was that since it was on the edge of the woods, on top of the hill, I could see everything.

 

    In addition, all I could hear was silence, beautiful silence. There was no yelling, no profanity, no  screaming over the “monstrosity” that occurred when my little brother accidentally spilled my sister’s water, nobody informing me for the three-hundredth time I was a disappointment to nature; there was only silence, silence and room to think.

 

    So, I thought. I thought about how it would only be a few short years until I turned eighteen, and I could permanently escape this mess, thought about how much I would have given for school to start sooner, thought about how many people loved me, thought about everything that had happened in my eighth grade year, how I had made such great friends. Then I thought about high school; I thought about the journey ahead. I had managed to worm myself into an early college program, and it looked like there was a huge challenge coming. I thought about that and this and other things pertaining to life.

 

    Then the thought came from out of the blue (or maybe the heavens – I don’t know, but it sure did hit me): “I have what I need.” After all, it was true; I had friends; I had food, water, shelter, and, although they are often the cause of my troubles, my natural disaster, if you will, I had family. Best of all, I had sanctuary. I had a place to go when the storm hits, a place where, if a natural disaster tore my life apart, I could hide. My sanctuary was built sturdy, and I knew it should last at least a few more years. With the notion that I always had a place to go, I headed back. My watch reminded me it was 3:00 AM when I walked into the silent house. The door opened and closed without making a sound.

 

Author's Note

Written for English 111. Spring Semester '09

Reviews

[Mary]

very well written from experience id say could be wrong but most things written that well are to some extent

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I really like your writing. This line especially, "That was it, I was considered to be the queen of chaos in my house, but even Lucifer needs a break from hell." Very powerful. I've been there many times, years ago, I only wish I had a farm to escape to back then. Thanks for sharing! :)