Chris Martin’s Fix You caressed my ears as Dad drove to our new destination. Why was I even trying?
It felt like my father wanted to ruin my life on purpose. Tears pricked in my eyes as I stared out the window. Frost patterns covered the glass as the street lights sparkled off the icy window every few yards.
When are lights going to guide me home, Chris? When?
There was no sign of any life behind us, just snowy roads and tree silhouettes. The cold reflected the gaping hole deep inside me.
I pulled the blanket tighter and clung onto the hot water bottle. I was fifteen, going on sixteen in less than six months, and my life, ever since I could remember, had been like this, on the run.
Every three months, Dad would pack and hit the road. Why? I didn’t know, but it was getting tedious and I was so over it.
He acted as if some demonic force were chasing us, but it was clear it was all in his head.
I couldn’t wait to turn eighteen. I couldn’t wait to start my life, to get rid of this constant disturbance.
I kept staring at the snow, zooming past us. Flickering my gaze at the heavens above, the stars didn’t even shine. I despised winter.
Dad tapped my arm, and I looked at him. The faint lights coming from the dashboard lit up his rugged masculinity. Stubbles covered his jaw line. He tapped his ear, and I removed one earpiece.
“Do you want to listen to your music on the radio?”
“No, I’m fine.” I stared out the window and slumped further down in my seat, plugging the earpiece back.
He let me be. Knowing that this was his fault that I had no friends, no social life, nothing.
I closed my eyes and hugged the hot water bottle, releasing a huge breath as Fix You ended.
That song always felt as if Chris Martin from Coldplay peeked into my life and got inspired to write the lyrics.
Except for a few verses, Dad didn’t give me what I wanted. But I needed someone that was going to fix me, save me, from this life.
I hated fighting with my father. It drained all my energy, sucked all the life out of my soul, and left me stuck in tiredness and hopelessness for weeks to come—stuck in reverse. It was one reason Mom left us so many years ago.
I didn’t remember her. I was two, and I only knew what she looked like because of the picture I hid in my treasure box.
Dad never talked about her, and when I brought up the topic, he would shut it down faster than I could outline a picture on a canvas.
It was becoming clearer each time Dad would make us pack why Mom had left.
She was over it, too. Why didn’t she take her two-year-old daughter with her? Now that was the million-dollar question.
One that would never get answered.
Someone shook me, and my eyes flew open.
For the love of blueberries! Why don’t you give me a heart attack!
“Elena, we are here,” Dad said and climbed out of the truck.
A bit of sun glowed underneath the dark clouds. It stopped snowing, but left the earth covered in 15inch deep of white squishy snow. I hated the icy and wet feeling against my calves. My watch pointed out that it was almost five-thirty.
Light reflected off the snowy surfaces. Dark shadows reduced the snowy top trees on the edge of the property. A forest was like a prop that came with all the places we’d rented.
My mind made up so many reasons a forest was part of our life. The possibilities were endless. At a time, I thought Dad was a vampire or a werewolf that needed the forest to go hunt, but then again, I never saw a fang, and werewolves had the full moon thing. Dad never left me by myself, especially during the full moons.
Still, it was creepy why trees or a patch of forest were always near.
The house was enormous. It reminded me of a farm. It had a barn—a bright red one lingered beneath all the snow.
“Home sweet home,” I breathed, and opened the truck’s door.
An icy breeze entered the truck, and I grabbed my blanket tighter. The cold seeped through to my bones. “Where are we?” I asked.
Dad’s feet disappeared into the snow as he took one of his bags from the truck. “Falmouth, in Maine.”
Yay, Maine. The tone in my head oozed sarcasm. Just three months and then we hit the road again.
I picked up my bag and followed Dad around the house to hunt down the front door, which was probably buried behind more snow.
Inside the house, it was warmer. Someone probably came and gotten the house ready for us before we arrived. I rushed up the stairs to choose a room. It would never be mine, but for the next three months, it would become my dwelling.
It was a lot bigger than my last room.
All our places had furniture. It wouldn’t be wise to be on the run if you had furniture to drag along.
A narrow bed waited for me. On the nightstand sat a clock radio. The desk was barren, with a chair tucked against. A long mirror stood next to it. A dresser covered the front of the window with its light beige curtains. Matching bedding laid on the bed, but Dad would replace all of it in the next few days.
The sad part was, I had no bed to call my own, no belongings, except the few things that I carried along in the tin box. Mom’s picture was among them.
I sat down on the bed. It was one of those bouncy ones, those heavy ones. I took the tin box out of my backpack and opened the lid.
Mom’s picture was the first thing that stared back at me.
She was beautiful with her long golden blonde hair and she had the friendliest blue eyes. Mine were green—forest green.
Dad was the odd one out with his copper hair and dark brown eyes.
I looked nothing like him.
I pushed her picture away and looked at the admission tickets I’d kept. It was one of the best memories I shared with Dad. He took me to the carnival; I think I was twelve. It was the best night of my life. He was so relaxed, and I thought we were going to stay, but a few days later, we’d packed up and hit the open road again.
The next piece that I had treasured was a leather bracelet. Where I’d gotten it from, I didn’t know, probably from my mother. Whenever Dad laid eyes on it, he became uncomfortable. It was one reason I didn’t wear it. Still, it was exquisite. Not like the other bracelets they sold. I would know.
My fingers brushed over the rough, thick leather. Whoever made it, made it with all the care in the world. I’d tried to find something similar in all the shops that sold bracelets, and yet I hadn’t found one that was like this one.
It was something I always had. I dropped it into the tin and put the lid back, sliding the box under my bed. I needed to be grateful for what I had.
To stop figuring out the reasoning behind Dad’s irrational behavior. He wasn’t crazy; Dad didn’t act like crazy people do, but then again, how did crazy people act?
He was just paranoid, and the reason was something I still have yet to discover.
I knew it would be something worthy. Dad was as smart as a person could get. He freelanced most of the time and always worked from home.
Still, why he was paranoid around the three-month mark was a topic he refused to talk about. He kept telling me I wasn’t ready.
I wondered if I would ever be ready.
I stared at the ceiling with my earphones still in my ear. This time, Taylor Swift embraced me with one of her songs. The melody seemed so familiar.
It wasn’t because I listened to this song a thousand times. It was a feeling that something about this tune felt familiar. Like music had a deeper meaning than just a girl listening to songs.
Like music was always part of my life in a deeper way, a more spiritual way. The tune in my ear trailed off as the one in my head became louder.
I switched off my iPod. I could still hear it.
It always happened when I listened to a song reminiscing about music. The tune didn’t belong to any song that I heard before. But it was so familiar. Like it used to be part of me in another life. Like it was something I lost and nothing could replace it. I disliked this feeling as I didn’t know what it meant.
And then, just like that…it disappeared.
