𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐮𝐧

goodbye, house

𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 a house way, way, way on the far side of town for one purpose: to be able to scream and shout and hurl whiskey bottles at the sky and howl at the moon in the dead of the night, finding joy in the fact that no one could hear him. No one could also here the sound of a screaming, red in the face, starving baby crying in the house, either.

Though I wonder if anyone would of bothered to truly listen to my childhood wailing and actually have done something about it.

When I got a little older, 7 or 8, I guess, my dad's game of throwing amber glass at the sky fascinated me. He would come home after hours of being gone, drunk beyond recognition, and I would squeal and cheer at his return and sit on the crumbling porch steps and watch as he hurled bottle after bottle to land in the junk piles of our decaying yard. Sometimes, when he heard me laugh, he'd turn his cold blue eyes on me and give the tiniest smile. The only time I ever remember him smiling was when he heard me laugh.

"Come here, Janie. Come play with Papa," he'd beckon, black smeared fingers reaching towards me. And I would. I'd go, and he'd hand me a broken bottle, and my small fingers would wrap around the top and I'd give everything I had in that throw.

I used to dream about the day my bottle would finally touch the sky and maybe knock out a star.

That's the memory I was thinking of now while standing in the driveway of the house I had never even considered my home. The windows were so dusty that they looked gray, almost black, so dark that anyone who walked by would surely wonder if the sun had ever made its way inside.

Not that anyone had ever come. Just one; my mother. But she had left, too.

"Is there anything you need to get?" My officer asked, her voice soft but her eyes firm. She had told me I had thirty minutes here. Thirty minutes to grab whatever was needed and then bam, time to go, sorry, we've got an appointment at the loony bin and if you're late your first night will be in a straight jacket.

"Yeah. I'll be right back."

A joke, of course. There was no way she was letting me go alone inside, and I knew it, too. Still, I turned my back and made as if I was going by myself. She followed. Maybe it was a good thing she was here. I feared if I went inside, I may never make it back out.

Silly, but not impossible.

"The spare key is under those pieces of glass." I said, pointing to a pile of shards at the edge of the weed filled garden.

I always wondered if I had planted flowers in that dirt bed if maybe, just maybe, it might bring some happiness to my house.

My officer nodded and bent down to retrieve it, carefully pushing aside the pieces and grasping a small, silver key that I used to unlock my house.

"Strange place for a spare," she murmured, brushing her hands off.

I shrugged.

"No one looks at what's broken," I replied, meaning more than just the key, slowly pushing the door open and taking a step inside.

The smell was putrid. Like a mixture of blood and throw up, which was probably exactly what it was. I could hear my officer gasp slightly and hold her breath. The idea made me laugh.

"I'm down the hall to the right." I pointed, the silhouette of my door casting a long shadow towards us, making the tan carpet a shade darker than normal.

"Go. I'll let you. For one, I can't take this smell, and two, I'm going to give you a little time to yourself. But if you're not out in 5 minutes, I'm coming after you." She said slowly, attempting not to cough, I think, but making sure I understood her loud and clear.

I nodded, but didn't reply. I didn't need to. Hopefully I'd be back before the five minutes was up.

The carpet muffled the sounds of my shoes, but every now and then a small creaking would ring out that made my heart beat faster and palms tremble. It brought back memories of coming home and having to tip toe through the creaking spots in order to not wake my dad up. Fear was familiar, the taste not unwelcome, because it reminded me of the fear I felt when holding that cold gun. Fear made me brave.

I pushed my door open and stepped inside, wrinkling my nose at the mess. I had spent so long in the hospital while on trial I had forgotten that I was a hoarder. Well, not a hoarder. More like the items scattered across my rooms were booby traps, protection against any villain that would dare make their way to my room.

"Is everything okay?" I heard my officer ask, her voice strained from probably having to smell the house again.

"Yeah. I'll be there in a second." I replied, spotting the only thing I wanted from this house of horror.

I was worried she wouldn't be here, maybe having forgotten me when I was taken away, but sure enough, she was laying on my bed, licking her soft paws and looking at me with hazel eyes that seemed to ask, where ya been?

My laughter was real, more real than it had been in awhile when I took a knee and stroked her soft, orange ears.

"Hello, Milly." I whispered, kissing her head and wrapping her in my arms despite her annoyed meows.

She was faster than any bottle thrown her way, stealthy when he was on the prowl for her, and quiet in her purring at nights when she helped me fall asleep. I had no idea where she went when I wasn't around, and zero clue how she was alive since I rarely had food for her. But here she was, a little thin but fur still fluffy and soft, claws digging into my shirt.

"Will you come with me?" I asked, my cheek resting on her small head.

Her purr was my only response. I think she had missed me, too.

I took a good look at everything I was leaving behind, which wasn't much. I knew after I left someone was to come in and pack all my clothes, and that I was really here just so that they could say they had taken me back. That was fine with me, though it was definitely strange to imagine someone coming and packing my underwear and bras. Even so, if I never came back here again, it would still be too soon.

With Milly still in my arms, I made my way outside much to the relief of my officer. She had probably been questioning if she really needed to come get me or not.

"There you are. I was about to-what is that?" She asked, eyebrows raising at the small, orange bundle in my arms.

"Milly," was all I said, holding her tighter and getting a small squeak in response.

I knew my officer would say no, and I was prepared for an argument and maybe a little showdown, but instead all she did was laugh so hard her eyes teared up. It was so baffling I found myself smiling a little, too.

"You know they aren't going to let you keep that, right?" She said through laughs, wiping her eyes and raising her hat slightly in question.

I shrugged. Yes, I knew.

"They can try not to."

My officer smiled. I realized I didn't even know her name.

"You're not bad, kid. Let's go."

We started walking, our feet crunching on the gravel I had scraped my knee on so many times before, and I found my throat was strangely closing a little. I had absolutely no idea what the future held, and that was scary. But with Milly's purring, slightly vibrating body in my arms, I found I didn't mind what would happen.

Goodbye, house, I thought. If we'd of had a little more time together, I'd of probably set you on fire.