𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒚

Seventeen

𝚃𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎'𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝙷𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝟷𝟺𝟸 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚖 𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙳𝚛, 𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚘𝚗, 𝚅𝙰

𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟿, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟹

𝟺:𝟸𝟽 𝙿.𝙼.

Six year old Otillia Cobbs trudged her way along the road, kicking back the tall grass with her little legs. Sweat dripped down her brow and along the sides of her face, the harsh sun beating on to her scalp, burning her part exposed from wearing her hair into pigtails.

In the distance she could see her house, beaten and run down from the elements. Squinting her eyes, trying to see the front of the house better, she observed her father's old, red truck in the driveway.

Her heartbeat quickened, and nerves bundled up in her stomach. Her fast paced walk turned into a light jog. Her backpack was light and essentially empty, except for the pink binder with loose leaf, lined paper, a few pencils thrown into the bottom, and a Berenstain Bears book.

She finally set foot upon the gravel road of her driveway, slowing her jog to a walk, lightly stepping up the wooden stairs, opening the screen door, and shutting it behind her. In her arrival, the scent of cheap beer and vomit flooded her nose. Announcers of a professional baseball game came from the old TV in the living room, turning her head to the muffled noise, she saw her dad passed out on the old arm chair.

Tillie, as quiet as a mouse, tiptoed into her tiny room. Setting down her bag, she laid on her made bed, staring at the ceiling. Her noisy fan was the only sound, she heard apart from the fans from the TV, and the birds chirping outside.

Her room wasn't anything special, and she was aware that compared to other girls her room was below average, but she didn't mind.

The first major difference was the lack of space, there was a small wardrobe for her limited amount of clothes, and a twin sized mattress with a light blue quilt on it. That was pretty much it, she didn't necessarily have any belongings, except for a small brown bear with a skinny, red ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. Her bed didn't have a bed frame or anything, it just sat on the floor. She didn't mind. They didn't have the money for anything else, and she was well aware.

Soon enough, she heard her father get up from his chair with a deep grumble. His deafening footsteps thudded on the wooden floor, past her room, and into his room next to hers. The door slammed shut, and Tillie released a breath she didn't know she was holding. Waiting in silence, she left her room, looking over her shoulder, checking to make sure she didn't wake or bother her father.

The clock on the stove said 6:07, but the sun was still out, just above the horizon, casting an orange and yellow and red and pink glow on the house.

She looked in the pantry for anything that could satisfy her grumbling stomach. There was nothing there except boxes of oatmeal, and half a loaf of bread. If she looked in the fridge it would be filled with nothing except beer and old lunch meat that would be sure to give her food poisoning if she even touched the packaging. Sighing in disappointment, she grabbed the loaf of bread and took it to the toaster, one of the few appliances in the house that actually got regularly used. Tillie slid one slice of bread into the slot of the toaster, and turned the knob halfway between the 1 and the 2.

Zoning out, watching the grass sway in the light breeze, she jumped when the toaster popped up. Quickly she turned around, scanning for her father. When there was no sign of him, she crept to the hallway, staring at his door, which had remained shut. She let out a breath of relief, turning back into the kitchen, placing the perfectly toasted slice of bread on a paper towel.

Munching on the bread in the kitchen, she thought about her mom. She had wondered what her mom was doing right now, or where she was. She wondered how things might've been different if she had stayed.

It was common that Tillie thought about her mother. She had always wondered what she was like, as she had learned that what her father describes her as probably wasn't the most accurate description of her.

Tillie finished her toast before she even began to eat it. Once her sad dinner was over, she filled a glass of water, and went back to her room. She had left her door open a crack, as she wasn't supposed to have her door shut. One time she had made that mistake, and her dad yelled at her. She didn't remember exactly what he had said to her, but all she knew is she felt scared and wanted to run away till he cooled down.

Lying on her bed, under the blue quilt, hugging her brown bear with the skinny, red ribbon tied around its neck, she stared at her fan, trying to force herself asleep.

"Aloe plant, baby's breath, chrysanthemum, daisy..." She whispered to herself, listing plants she knew in alphabetical order. It was a game her teacher taught her to play when she was bored or needed to pass the time. Tillie found out herself that it was also a good game to help you fall asleep at night.

Down the alphabet she went, drifting further and further into a dark, and empty sleep.