Part 1: It’s better this way By: Ellie Young Prologue The first thing I noticed when I glanced up from my ruined pre-calc book was that my music was off. Then I noticed that everything was pitch black. I know I have amazing priorities. The hum of the washer and dryer was off and I was in a total stillness. I breathed it in and realized how calm everything was. How still and frozen time felt. Then I heard the pounding of footsteps from down the hall and I heard the door swing open. “Nova? Are you okay?!” My mother gasped from my doorway. No, I am choking on air. I rolled my eyes and tried to keep all trace of my thoughts from my voice as I said, “I am fine, Mom.” I heard her give a sigh of relief and visualized her swiping her bangs off her forehead. I wanted to punch anyone who said that we looked nothing alike. No matter how true that statement was. My mother had short curly blonde hair with bangs. Her eyes were a pale blue and she was always smiling. I had long wavy dark brown hair and striking green eyes. My mother said I was the spitting image of my father. But I didn’t want to look like my father. My father left my mother when he learned she was pregnant again. When he left, he ripped a hole in me and took my trust in people with him. Before my dad left I had had friends. I was always begging my mom to let me hang out and go down to the cold ocean. But my father taught me an important lesson. That people always leave and you can't stop it. I started pulling away from people until eventually alone became my normal. Yes, my friends did try to keep in contact with me but eventually they stopped. I didn’t blame them. I would give up on me too. My mother ended up having a miscarriage. So it was just my mom and me. We moved out of our seaside bungalow and moved more inland in a small cramped apartment. My mother started working two jobs and I had to learn how to take care of myself. I cooked and cleaned and did my homework. I had only been eight but I had to grow up. And now, two years later, I had it down to a science. Wake up and make lunch for myself and mom, catch the bus, ignore the whispers and name-calling, sit in the back of class and pretend I was invisible, and then finally catch a bus ride home to do homework and make dinner. And of course leave time for stargazing. My roof might be the only time I have ever wanted anything to do with my dad. When I was young he would take me up to our roof and we would stay out for hours. He taught me names of constellations and I could identify stars before I started the 2nd grade. The sky was like an extra limb, I was attached to and it was a part of me. “Well,” my mother started, taking me out of my bubble, “I guess I can light candles but it is really late.” It was late, almost nine o’clock. “I guess I’ll get ready for bed then.” I sighed, putting my math book down. I had finished with homework a long time ago, what I actually had been doing was doodling in the margins of the book. Which I was definitely allowed to do. “Okay…” Then she paused for a moment before clearing her throat. “Don’t stay out too long.” `“Okay,” I said quietly and grabbed my stuff for a shower. I stood there in the shower, feeling the coldness running all over me, and I winced. Though our water heater hadn’t been working for months, I was still not used to the bitter cold of it. I finished my shower as quickly as I could and got dressed in my pj’s. When I got out I could hear my mother mumbling in the kitchen, shifting through the bills I had finished earlier. Since my mom worked two jobs and could barely even stay awake the rest of the time I usually ended up paying the bills. It was kind of comforting. Knowing where everything was going and that I could control it. There was barely anything that I could control. I waited weeks and months after my father left. I was so sure that he would come back. Because if someone loves you, won’t they come back? Won’t they miss you so much it’s agonizing? I had imagined in those early days of my father swinging the door open and pulling my mom and me into a hug and whispering in my ear that he was so sorry and would never leave again.
Part 2: Five months after he left, it was my birthday and I was so sure that he was going to walk through my door. Of all the days to come back, or call, or even send a letter to me, this one would be the best. After that day of nothing happening, I finally realized the truth. He was never coming back. And I grew from that. It’s crazy to think that a 9 year old grew up. While I should have been worrying about if my shirt was too pink, or if I had memorized a certain song everyone loves, or even how to tie my shoelaces. (Which I did have trouble with up until after my dad died, another thing I learned how to do.) But nevertheless I did. I pulled my black tank top on and shoved my earbuds in my ear. ‘Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl’ by Olivia Rodrigo comes pounding in my ears. I turn it up even louder. I like being swallowed by music. I grab my sketchbook and run my fingers over the spine. I got it last year for my birthday. My mom had gotten the one with the most amount of pages possible for the tight budget we always had. But at the time it seemed like the most amazing thing in the world. Especially considering that my dad never showed up. Mom and I rarely ever talked about my father. It was a very tense subject. And I knew that it would make my mom cry. Whenever anyone ever asked me where my dad was I always answered for my mom. Because she would get this faraway look in her eye and I knew that another meltdown would happen. Right after Dad left my mother stayed in her room for days. I could hear her sobbing through the ventilation shafts and I was worried. Worried because I felt like breaking down too. I could feel my hopelessness and grief consuming me and threatening to spill out. But I had to be there for my mom. So I make myself walk to the bus stop and make myself breakfast and dinner. Putting some out for my mother. Sometimes I would come home from school and see that the plate in front of the door was gone. Sometimes it would lay untouched for days and I would have to replace it. I shook my head and opened the window, letting the cool night air wash over me and smiled, swinging my leg over and stepping on the flat apartment roof top. I climbed over a ledge and flicked on the fairy lights I had already put out there. I sat down and swung my legs in between the crack that separated the two apartment buildings from each other, the wind whistling and dancing across my cheek. Sighing deeply, I opened my sketchbook and started adding details to one of my past drawings. It was a girl just below the surface of water, she was reaching and reaching up. She was so tired she just wanted someone to see her to help her. ‘I miss you, I’m sorry’ came on through my headphones. I threw my book on the ground and looked down at my feet dangling two stories off the ground. My father brought me up here. He taught me about the stars and everything that we still don’t know. He was still here. On a different roof of a different city. He was here and he was messing up my mood. Every corner of this house is haunted.
