featherlight ✅

leaving a mark

"I'm miles from where you are
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms"

The car ride is almost comically uneventful. The miles between our house and my grandparents' are pretty much identical, just a blur of house-trees-malls-fields. The radio blares some sort of EDM that both me and my dad despise but keep on anyway. We stop at a convenience store, him buying a coke and me taking the opportunity to pee. But that, to be honest, is just about all that happens during the entire journey.

I close my eyes, picturing the place that we're heading to; a comfortable house in an orange-pink shade salmon because I was once obsessed with the color and insisted that my birthday present be that their house was painted that way. I don't exactly regret it- at least it wasn't something like bright purple- but I have to admit that it's not the smartest move I've ever pulled. Especially since all the other houses in the neighborhood are white. All of them. And so, I still feel a little twinge of guilt as the car pulls up and I open my eyes, taking in the house in all its unique and conspicuous glory. 

The front door opens before me and my dad even ring the bell, my granddad's face appearing from behind it.

"Josh! Kat! It's so nice that you came!" I feel his arms around me, and I breathe in his familiar old-book smell, hugging him back. He ushers us into the house, taking my small duffel bag and guiding us up the stairs.

"Where's Mom?" my dad asks.

"She's in her bedroom. Probably just fatigue and strain. Does too much, your mom does," he says, shaking his head. "Today she went shopping, went to the local museum to help out and met up with some old friend from high school. Too much," he repeats.

My dad knocks on the door to my grandma's room and we hear her cheerful voice yell, "Come in!"

It's true. She is a hell of a lot more energetic than the conventional eighty-year-old. Or so I figure.

Once we've hugged and exchanged greetings, my grandmother does the classic second-long scrutination through her glasses, looking me over. "I swear you're thinner than you used to be."

My heart instinctively jolts in panic. "Oh, I..." I fumble around for words to say.

My dad laughs slightly. "Don't worry, Kat's always been pretty skinny."

I just nod.

I remember hearing stories of how all the men in the state used to chase after my grandmother- or at least, that's the tale that's been passed down since I can remember. I've seen photos of her and Granddad from back when they were married. They were a picture-perfect couple. Both glowing with youth and with massive smiles on their faces: a beautiful girl and a handsome doctor's son. I grew up wanting to be just like her when I was older. Somebody with a laugh that put all of Tchaikovsky's concertos to damn shame, to use my Granddad's words.

It's a beautiful story, whether or not it's true. 

When I get back to my room, I lie on my bed and look at the walls with its Mickey Mouse doodles that me and Ava once did for lack of better judgement. When I was young, I got it into my head that I wanted to leave some sort of mark on this house for each year I came here. I guess the prime year was the one where I got the whole house painted my favorite color, but I've been leaving things ever since. Last year, it was a small cactus that still sits in the garden somewhere, and the year before that, it was a small, photocopied piece of a narrative I'd written in class, buried under a floorboard. I chew my lip as I consider what I can do this year, because I'm running out of ideas.

Maybe I'm too old for that now.

I glance out the window and wonder what my friends are up to back home. Gabe's probably doing SAT revision, unless he's catching up on Game of Thrones or playing the saxophone. Polly and Meg... well, who knows, I guess. I do know, though, that she and Polly had a sleepover together a week ago, which Em couldn't join because she was with Ashton. I only heard about it from Ashton, who asked me afterwards how it was. It's those small things that make me feel so alone. The inside jokes that I'm not let in on, the hangouts that I'm not invited to, the constant looking for them at recess.

I bet Em's talking to Ashton right now, whether it's face-to-face or through Skype, or even text. My stomach twists slightly at the thought of how close they are, but I push it away immediately. I flip over onto my stomach and scroll through my phone. Polly's sent me a video off Youtube of how to cut down calories and look good for the summer, accompanied by the message of this looks doable let's try it!!. My mouth curls upwards in bitter amusement as I think of how clueless she must be. How clueless they must all be.

Kat's always been pretty skinny. My dad's voice echoes in my head like a lone moth bouncing around a lightbulb.

Ah, the other voice says, but Kat has never been skinny enough.

Over five days pass at my grandparents' house, and I begin to become increasingly bored. Despite my loving the place, I'm itching to get out and do something; to talk to someone my age, for instance. On the bright side, my grandmother is completely fine now, so I'll be back in time for school on Monday. And the neighborhood is organizing a barbecue for tomorrow night.

I'm sitting on the front porch, watching a fly land on a discarded apple core across the street, as my phone rings.

"Hi, KitKat."

I feel my cheeks heat up and am glad he can't see me in my worn overalls and crumpled shirt. "Hey."

"What's up?"

"Not much. I'm extremely bored."

He makes a sympathetic noise. "Not much to do over there?"

"I think I'm the youngest person in a five-mile radius. Also, my granddad is sleeping, my grandma is cooking, and my dad is currently fixing a bicycle or something."

"And you?"

"I'm sitting on the front porch."

"While talking to the most interesting person to ever grace this Earth with their existence."

I laugh despite myself. "Anyways."

"Don't change the topic, Greene," he says, clucking his tongue in mock disapproval. "How's your grandmother, then?"

"Absolutely better, thank God. Thanks for asking."

"No problem. Are you coming back anytime in the foreseeable future?"

"Two more days. So, yes."

"Think you can survive that much longer?"

I lean back and stretch my legs out before me. "Well, I've come this far."

"True, true," he replies. "See you soon."

I nod, then realize he can't see me. "Yeah. See you."