Nothing Left to Lose

Nothing Left To Lose



Unicorns



The long golden brown carpet tickled my toes as we danced around the small crowded room. The white bunk beds with the pink flower foot holes hindered our ability to be crazier than we already were. The white, fake-wood desk hit me in the head and stubbed my toes too many times to count. However, as a young girl, this had no effect on me. I cared more about dancing. As we danced, the song “His Cheeseburger” from Veggietales provided a carefree innocence. There were Oreos hidden in the top drawer of the tall white dresser we all shared. Oreos were so sweet, especially to little girls. Surely my mom knew about them, but she had a sweet tooth as well. I had seen her stash of goodies hidden in various places around the house. These private stashes of goodies disappeared often though.

The unicorn border held our childhood in the walls. The white, winged ponies seemed to watch us dance with glee. The music was loud, blocking the outside world. The unicorns, our babysitters, watched us. Watched us dance with innocence. My sisters would turn the volume up and down, as if blocking something out. What was beyond our bedroom door? Sometimes I felt curious enough to check, to reach up for that golden metal handle. But the door was locked. I would never make it far anyways, my sisters would have pulled me back inside. This is how we often spent our summer days, together. I never felt lonely. It would be hard to feel that way with my three older sisters. And the white unicorns. They were my babysitters. They watched me dance around to “His Cheeseburger”, they watched me as I stubbed my toes. They provided a barrier of innocence from the outside. Whatever was going on outside that door.   

Ceilings

There were no windows, it was guarded from the outside world. I was surrounded and claustrophobic.  I remember the ceiling. The ceiling, particularly the one above the bed, kept me conscious, kept me from screaming. Sure, there was other ceiling, but my eyes locked on, held on, to this spot for dear life. It was dark and hidden. Suffocating the innocence out of me. There were posters of sports cars on the walls. A trophy from high school days standing tall, as a grand achievement on the dark brown dresser. The glow from the TV was the only source of light. My back ached, my shoulders hurt. I felt paralyzed. Confused. Lost. Broken. Trapped. Sound was not present. Except panting, and the scream that threatened to escape my lips. It smelled dirty. Like the inhabitant had not even the decency to wash the pile of clothes which lingered about the room. The ceiling. A thing meant for shelter, for protection. I wish it would collapse and let me escape. Give me a way to the outside world. That would taste so sweet.

Trucks

The windows automatically rolled down. The doors automatically unlocked. Sweet freedom. The truck sped down the road, not necessarily with a destination in mind. It did leave from somewhere, however, that is not important. It bumped when it flew over potholes, there were always bumps on the best roads. The wind ripped through the open windows, a flood of white light surrounded me. Purifying me. Showing me light still existed in this game we call life.

My hair danced with freedom. Danced to the sound of Imagine Dragons coming from both sides. Imagine Dragons was our favorite band. They were different from the country music and show tunes I grew up with. “Without a sense of purpose, we’re setting up to fail,” according to their song, “Round and Round.”

It may have smelled like new truck, except we already broke it in; it still smelled fresh and new though, but it smelled normal. The truck itself was a champagne gold, with some of the paint chipping off the bed. His voice. It’s perfect. It’s honest. Never trapping me, always letting me free. His singing off key, yet so beautiful. A major pothole sent Sprite spilling all over me and we laugh forever, and ever, and still laugh today.


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