Beyond The Waves

One | Little Bird

[listen to chapter one here]

IVEY 

THE HOUSE WAS EXACTLY HOW they left it.

The ancient tunnel of trees bordering the driveway shielded the harsh August sun from entering my car, but the leaves diverged at the roundabout and sent sunlight streaming through my windows. My hand flung up and blocked the rays from blinding me.

The outside had been kissed by time and a few decent storms.

Vines clung to the walls like a scared child. The white paneling was coated in a dull beige of dirt. The grass was overgrown, and the windows were smeared with water stains. The carmine red door had faded a long time ago to a pale scarlet. Even though the house had only been uninhabited for two years, the wildlife quickly reclaimed the land in tangles of green and brown. No one had been there to stop it.

"Hi, again," I whispered to the house, unable to get out of my seat. It stared back with beady eyes, almost cursing me for letting it deteriorate. It's not my fault, I wanted to say aloud like it was listening. 

As if they were still here.

As if the front door would swing open from the sound of my car approaching, I would see my mom and dad standing in the doorway with open arms, tanned from the summer sun and exploration.

You promised you wouldn't cry, Ivey. So, do not start today. Somehow, I managed to avoid this place for two years. But today was the first time I was back since the accident, and every emotion I had buried for the last two years crept up like bile in my throat. Slow and steady.

It was hilarious how fictional my life had become.

The last thing I liked to do was talk about it because when I told people my parents were dead, I felt pity radiating from them like humidity before a summer storm. The conversation would grow weird, and I was suddenly treated like a house made of sticks; one wrong move, and I would fall over. Followed by a pang of guilt for ruining the mood.

So, I found it was easier to pretend they were still here, nestled inside the house on Clifton Bay, sitting in their respective dock chairs drinking coffee during sunrise. And I couldn't get ahold of them because of the slow internet. They didn't call to sing Happy Birthday because they were out on an exploration for their next research journal. We did not spend the holidays together because flights were overpriced.

It was easier to pretend than face reality.

The truth was I lived across the country. I moved from state to state doing what they raised me to do—spread my wings and study nature. It helped me forget my parents were buried five feet under the ground. Yet, standing on the brick stairs, staring into the windows, felt hollow as if someone took a butcher knife and sliced me down the middle, letting my insides pour out onto the front stoop.