Break Away 6/100

I loaded my suitcases into the trunk of my car and watched for any signs of life in the silent house. I couldn’t breathe easy and I couldn’t relax just yet. I was not out of the woods yet. There was still a chance that someone could catch me and stop me. I was doing something I dreamed of my whole life. I was finally breaking away from this place. My wings were wide open and I was ready to take the first step towards flight.

As I was about to get in the car, I realized I was missing something important: my guitar. My music was in the pocket of my guitar case as well.  “Shit.” I cursed silently to myself and prepared to head back into the house. I couldn’t leave with out my guitar; it was practically my baby. It was the whole reason I was breaking away. I wanted to pursue a music career in New York and make something of myself as an artist. I wanted to be true to myself and hopefully make a change in the industry. I played the guitar and sang, mostly a bluesy folk sound. Occasionally, I would do some pop and rock.

I opened the back porch door silently and glanced around the dark kitchen. No one seemed to have awoken. My breath caught in my throat as I thought I heard someone wake from their slumber and head down to the kitchen. Apparently, my mind felt the need to play tricks on me. I moved quietly, taking small steps and avoiding the creaky floor boards. I grinned as I spied my door at the end of the hallway. Not long till I could reach my guitar.

It didn’t take me long to reach my room and find my guitar sitting on the bed just as I left it. The black case was covered in scuff marks and stickers. A smile appeared one my face as it reminded me of the first time I got a guitar. I had to be about ten and my parents bought me the guitar for Christmas. I whined about how much I wanted to learn an instrument just like the others kids; I wanted to learn the guitar to be different from the others. I chuckled to myself as I remembered the research ten year old me did to find the perfect guitar. Geese, I was a stubborn kid.

I grabbed the guitar and slung it over my shoulder. The weight of the strap felt natural on my shoulder. I began to make my way back to the car, sneaking quietly through the hall. I stopped at my brother’s door and looked at his sleeping form for a few seconds. A lump began to find its way into my throat. Out of everyone, I was going to miss my brother the most. The lump grew as the memories flooded back. I remembered how we used to save the day as kids both using our imagintions and playing with stuffed animals. I remembered the pranks we played on each other, than played on our parents. My hand clasped over my mouth to stop myself from giggling at the memories. I remembered how he made me laugh when I wanted to cry with his offbeat sense of humor. Most of all, I remembered a sweet kid who was misunderstood and shouldn’t be treated the way he was by others. Gosh, I was going to miss him. He had been an inspiration to myself and my music.

Taking a deep breath, I continued on down the hallway. I briefly stopped at my parents’ room as well and dwelled on past memories once more. Even though we didn’t always see eye to eye, they were still my parents and I still loved them with all my heart. I only wished that we had a better relationship than we did now. I wished that I didn’t look like a complete failure in their eyes and I wished that they stopped reducing my confidence to shambles every time I stepped into the room. They had never really approved of music as a career and tried to persuade me to make a difference choice. I could not live the life they wanted me too. It was important that I remembered the good times just as much as the bad times.  A smile slipped on my face as I remembered the family vacations we took and how crazy my parents could be at times. I really was going to miss them, no matter how much I hated them at certain times.

I shook my head and continued on down the hallway, making my way down the stairs. My breath caught in my throat a few times and I was about ready to sob my heart out once I reached the kitchen. I had to be strong, for both myself and my family. It didn’t take me long to reach the door considering I practically sprinted towards it. The memories were becoming too much for me. I allowed myself one more glance around the kitchen, my eyes settling on the letter last. The letter was to tell my family sorry for everything I was about to put them through. It also detailed how I needed to get away and pursue the very thing that had been keeping me alive all these years: music. However, the letter mostly talked about how much I loved them and how much I wanted their forgiveness. Perhaps, I could earn that someday after I became the woman I needed to become.

I stepped out of the house and made my way to my car. By now, light tears were streaming down my cheeks as I placed my guitar in the back seat. I took a moment to calm myself before looking one last time at the house I grew up in. I had so many fond, yet terrible memories here. I had gone through so much yet so little at the same time. I resented, yet loved this home so much. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I knew I had to do this. It was so much more than proving something to my family. It was proving something to myself. It was proving that I could chase my dream even when the odds were stacked against me.

I tore my eyes away from the old and familiar home. I walked over to the other side of the car and took my seat in the driver’s seat. I had to take a deep breath as I gripped the steering wheel tightly. I turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. In a few seconds, I was heading down my driveway and out of my old life.

I was finally breaking away.

Word Count: 1,139

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