They pulled up to the gate which made Kassy feel the opposite of safe. Claustrophobic and powerless overtook her.

“Stop.” She lifted her hands to her ears.

“Kassy.” Her mother reached over to console her, tried to slide her fingers through her daughter’s outstretched hand, clutched to her own leg but she jerked it away.

“I’m sorry mom. I, I don’t know why I did that.”

“It’s ok.”

The gates opened and Adeline smiled at Kassy. She took a few curves at elevated speeds, then slowed when they spotted a neighbor gardening by a mailbox, waved, then sped into another curve. They both called this the inside lane which was sometimes on the wrong side of the road, but always brought a smile to their faces.

 “Water.” Kassy whispered out loud.

The sea, the only trait that seemed to hold their lives together on days like these.

“Yes, I think it’s supposed to clear up tomorrow after this storm plows through.”

Kassy’s mind whispered, It’s October.

She answered her mother with silence because at the moment she had no control over what would spew out, which saddened her because Kassy loved words, and her mom. One test in some lab confirmed her vocabulary climbed beyond high school level at age seven and now she was eight. Time passed by so fast. Mornings turned to nights and mondays turned into weekends and now she was eight! Soon to be nine. Days she used to enjoy never seemed to last. Days like these never seemed to tick into night but then she didn’t like nights anymore either.

What was it about the gate? She closed her eyes in traffic earlier and recited words from A to Z, read license plates and created a game that gave her peace. Nothing worked at the gate yet.

I’ll work on that.

She could add it to the doctor’s checklist.

Supposedly if you make a checklist and actually, physically check items off as you accomplish them, it gives you something, I think he said self-confidence and motivation to gain more momentum or something like that, which eventually creeps in and destroys sadness and loneliness, which they seemed to think was her ‘problem.’

Everything was hitting her all at once. The gate, the list, her room, her writing, the swamp, how she pulled away from her mom.

I just want to get to my room.

Kassy read pages of the dictionary and thesaurus daily depending on what her favorite letter of the afternoon was and in her room they await. It was the only thing she loved these days, letters and words. Why couldn’t she form a thought or sentence without it being destructive?

They pulled into the driveway. Her mother smiled at her as if to say, ‘we made it.’

Kassy nodded, grabbed the bags, behaved appropriately, thought about how she had just listened to the doctors with forced eye contact, committed to devoting less time writing alone in her room and recognized she hardly ever began or entered a dialogue on purpose that didn’t have a yes or no response.

Mess. Chaos. Writing. Where’s my pen?

Thoughts she didn’t want to think kept interrupting moments that weren’t so bad.

How to stop the madness? Write.

Nothing was working. No one understood. Her room and her writing made her better, but no one else felt that way. She wasn’t trying to be antisocial, she just loved writing more.

Why am I so negative when I have real conversations?

She climbed up the porch and slid open the heavy glass doors. Family pictures of gatherings and happy moments hung against fireplace stones and bricks laughing at her. They lived on end tables and coffee tables and down the hall. Thank God Candice, her nanny had started decorating. Shades of Halloween lit a family vacation next to a gloomy living room.

Who was the person locked in that frame?

She felt her teeth remove from her dry lips as they parted into a slight smile.

At least there was some normalcy before entering.

Her door now fancied purple and orange lights streaming down, contrasting with the hall lights as if to pull her in and beam her up. A ghost lifted into the air a bit as she pushed the door open.

“I’ll make tea,” whispered her mother who was rounding the kitchen area with the bags Kassy dropped in the living room. Kassy’s door closed. She slid down and her knees clasped her chest. The seasonal purple and orange spider beanbag lay to her left in the corner behind the door. If anyone came in she would be hidden from sight. They’d usually peak around, be sure she was still breathing, smile or pout depending on who it was and close the door. Books covered sections of most furniture pieces including the bed. She mended, molded and mixed them into her own stories, her own world, her own life. A life she could pretend to love. Thunder roared for the first time in hours. Lightning struck out at sea. The storm loomed. The sky darkened. Her mind calmed. The air from her window directly across from where she sat gushed cold air across her face. Her arms fell to her sides, eyes closed.

 

“Who is Cathy with an E?”

Kassy not realizing where she was, hit the back of her head on the door, grabbed the carpet fibers and a pen that happened to be under her left hand. Looked around. No one was there. Alert, she analyzed the voice. Stranger.

“Ouch,” came from underneath her palms. Her legs miscalculated and tossed her to the right.

“Who is there?”

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Sketchy Sky's Christmas List: (COMING SOON) Kassy learns more about her new friends. To keep up with Kassy's adventures throughout the holidays: Join the Group