The Broken Hearts Club

Butterfly Don't Fly Away

    Fridays were the best. Whether you were a little kid or an old man. It's a stay up late-don't worry about tomorrow-restful type of moment. You just needed to make it through the day then the rest of the night was whatever you wanted it to be. You could spend it by yourself watching Netflix, or out painting the town red with your friends. It was a day for anything to happen. A new adventure every week. Sadly, it didn't feel that way.
   Today I couldn't seem to shake my depression.
   I had been up all night thinking about dad. Fridays were his favorite because he could come home and spend time with his 'beautiful wife and amazing daughter'. I guess we weren't beautiful or amazing enough for him. He just left. Not even a single goodbye. What did I do wrong? Were he and mom fighting without me knowing? Mom never answered my questions. She would ignore me or say not to mention it. After four years, I gave up asking. Instead I was left alone to suffer with my suffocating thoughts.
    "Vicky, it's time to get up." Mom had shouted through my door. I didn't respond. She'd be back in a few minutes to remind me again. For now I leaned against my window, watching people go by on the street below. Could it be possible that all my boyfriends had left for the same reason my dad left? Was I just that horrible that no man could stand to be around me?
    I watched as a man in a suit left his home across the street. His wife stood at the door in a robe, distress coated her face. The man started walking down the street but came to an immediate halt. Could he have forgot something? He ran back up the steps to his wife, dropped his brief case, grabbed her waist and pulled her into a kiss. I couldn't help but smile. That was a kind of love I had only been able to dream of. They stayed like that for the longest time, and when he did finally leave, the distress on her face had disappeared without a trace. It was now replaced with the biggest, goofiest smile I had ever seen.
    I slipped away from my window now, letting the curtain fall back into place. Mom was now somewhere in the apartment yelling that we only had five minutes left. I wiped away the tears that had been falling and cleaned up my red face. I slipped into some jeans and a plaid shirt. Not bothering my hair. My blonde strands fell just above my shoulders and my bangs just barely covering my eyes. Taking a couple deep breaths, I grabbed my phone and headed out of my room.
    "It's about time," mom started, "I thought I'd have to come in there and pry the door open-" she took a look at me, "-we need to get you a hair cut, I don't like your bangs being that long."
    We headed out to the car. Today was warmer than the past few days. Spring was finally hitting. Or maybe it was just Friday? I'm telling you it was a magical day. The car clunked to a start and we headed down the road. I finally spoke, "I want to bleach my hair."
   Mom looked at me through the side of her eye, "Your hair is already blonde, there's no need to bleach it."
    I twisted my short hair in my fingers, "What about some highlights?"
    "That wouldn't make sense, you already have natural highlights," her eyes focused back on the road, "Why the sudden want to dye your hair? It's fine the way it is."
   "Is it wrong to want more?" I asked her, she didn't respond, "Caroline's dad lets her get her hair done."
    "He does?" Mom asked, "I didn't even know her hair was dyed."
    "It isn't, but he'd still let her do it!" I insisted, "All I want is more dimension to it."
    We pulled up to Caroline's place, she was already sitting on her front steps. Her hair was done in a long side braid, covering part of her face. I waved through the window and she got in to the car. She said hello to my mom then leaned up to me and whispered, "Why didn't you text me this morning?" We texted each other every morning. It was her way of making sure I was still alive, "Did you have another bad night?"
     I nodded, "Yeah but I'm okay now." Caroline reached up and squeezed my shoulder. She was the only person who knew about my depression. Well besides my mom, but she just said it was an excuse to get attention. Which it wasn't. 
    "Caroline, don't you think Vicky's hair is beautiful the way it is?" My mom asked her.
    She leaned up and winked at me, "I think it is very beautiful, but I think she could use some more highlights for a little extra dimension."
    I smiled to her, she had read my mind. My mom just shook her head.