Leaving Colorado

I am standing here at the end of my driveway, waiting for him to show up. I know that today will be the last time I see him for ages. The dark, heavy clouds mask the morning sun; its cold and it is snowing. My little brother stands by me with a confused look on his face. He is to young and innocent to grasp the weight of the situation. Mom is a wreck. She is huddled by the front door of our empty house in an effort to hide her tears from us. She is unsuccessful, however.

I was supposed to run away last night. Instead, I fell asleep. My gym bag was packed full of sweaters and jeans. I really didn’t know where I would go. Somehow I thought that if I ran away, my mom would decide not to move us away from here. Maybe I thought that my parents would fall in love again in their attempt to find me. Last night didn’t matter now. I fell asleep.

The headlights from my dad’s car are plowing down the street and through the heavy snow. The lump in my throat is the size of a grapefruit. Mom becomes silent. My brother stands ambivalent. My dad’s car pulls up next to where I am standing and parks. My dad opens the car door and gets out. His face is flushed and apologetic. Before now, I have never seen my dad cry. He walks over to my brother and I, the smell of Marlboro cigarettes permeate from his Colorado Rockies jacket. He looks down at my brother and me and says, “I am sorry. Things will work out. I love you guys and you have no idea how much I am going to miss you.” My brother and I are taken into our dad’s arms and he hugs us with all of his might. The lump in my throat breaks free and with it come tears. My little brother starts to cry too. The sound of my mom crying creeps up faintly from behind me. Every memory of my dad passes through my mind and down my cheek. My dad releases his embrace and tells us, “It’s time to go.”

I look back and realize my mom is already waiting in her car. Both of the passenger doors open, begging us to come in. I place my arm around my brother’s shoulders and we walk slowly, sobbing, towards Mom’s car. We get in and shut the doors. Inside, the air is warm and stuffy from the heater. The car lurches forward as I struggle to put my seatbelt on. Through the window I see my dad’s silhouette still standing on the sidewalk next to his car. As we drive by, he waves at us with his face distorted in pain. Most certainly, I will never forget how he looked at us as we drove away.

I know I will never be home again.

JRPerez