I heard thunder rumbling in the distance, signaling the beginning of another storm. The sky was painted a vibrant purple, flecked with charcoal-colored rain clouds. Through my open window the scent of crisp summer rain wafted into my room, filling my lungs and offering me a temporary sense of comfort. Lightning flashed threateningly across the sky, softly illuminating my darkened room. Another summer night I sat alone, staring out into the night sky, the ever-familiar feeling of dread settling itself within my chest.
I pulled my knees close to my chest and wrapped my arms loosely around my legs, finding the position rather comfortable. I rested my chin on my knees as I continued to stare out of my window, observing the midsummer storm that was currently raging outside. The bright flashes of lightning contrasting against the dark sky oddly soothed me, settling my weary mind.
I had never found out why, but I'd always loved thunderstorms. The first storm I ever remember witnessing was during the summer when I was around five or six. I was sitting in the exact same place I was now, staring out of the same window, observing a nearly identical storm with the same curious interest. I remember being happy then; staring out of my window, amazed by the scene that played out before my eyes.
Another crack of thunder resonated throughout the humid night, pulling me abruptly from my thoughts. I sighed softly as rain began to fall, watching languidly as tiny droplets splashed onto the windowsill.
I closed my eyes briefly, choosing to shut myself off from the world that surrounded me. There were so many things happening at once, but I paid them no mind. I had chosen to remain obstinately oblivious to everything going on around me, preferring naively to awareness. Things worked better that way. I had learned that long ago.
"Hayley!" my mother called from downstairs, bringing me back to reality. I unwrapped my arms from my legs and stretched out on my bed, stifling a yawn. Reluctantly, I stood from my bed and left my room, making my way slowly towards the staircase.
Standing on the bottom step was my mother, her normally meticulous hair askew, and her brown eyes lacking the warmth that had been missing for over two years. Sometimes I expected to see them sparkling like they used to, before everything had changed. But every day I was met with the same pair of cold, hollow brown eyes. Eyes that pierced my soul but never truly looked inside, eyes that burned deep within my mind each night as I begged for sleep. It never came, all because of those eyes.
"Hayley," she said, her voice slightly deeper than normal. I noticed that her nose was red and her eyes were bloodshot, indicating to me that she had recently been crying.
"Yeah?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
"I just wanted to make sure that you had everything packed," she said, attempting to smile. "Your flight leaves early tomorrow morning, and we can't waste time packing last minute things."
I rolled my eyes and scoffed under my breath. "Yes, mother, everything is packed and ready to go."
"I know how you like to procrastinate, Hayley," she said firmly, narrowing those unfamiliar eyes at me.
"Well, I didn't this time, all right?" I snapped. "Everything's done. I finished this morning."
"All right, then," she said with a heavy sigh. "Be up by five. We have to leave here by six at the latest. You know how traffic is around Metro."
I nodded. "Okay," I said, absentmindedly tucking a strand of my golden brown hair behind my ear.
"The restaurant's shorthanded tonight, so I have to go in for a few hours," she informed me as she bustled toward the front door. Again, I nodded. She managed to smile weakly at me before grabbing her purse and walking out of the door. Once I heard the sound of her car pulling out of the driveway, I descended the staircase and stepped into the kitchen.
Just as I reached into the freezer to grab a frozen pizza, the sound of the phone ringing sounded throughout the house. "Damn it," I muttered as the pizza box fell to the ground. Irritated, I picked up the phone and greeted the caller with an annoyed, "What?"
"I can tell you're in a lovely mood," the voice of my best friend, Brooke, floated into my ears through the receiver.
"Shut up," I muttered. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to know if I could come over for a bit. You know, hang out before you leave me for the entire summer." Though her voice sounded cheerful, I could hear the resentment she tried to hide.
"Yeah, sure," I replied. "Bring something to eat, too. Stop at 7-Eleven or something. There's no food in this house."
"And your mom is a chef," she said incredulously. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Okay," I said, and hung up. I sank into my favorite armchair in the living room and closed my eyes, waiting for Brooke to show up, armed with sweets and a pint of my favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry's.
"You're making it out to be worse than it really is," Brooke said later that night as she sipped from her Slurpee--Cherry Coke and blue raspberry mixed. I wrinkled my nose up in disgust as she offered me a drink.
"You know I hate that stuff, Brooke," I said, rolling my eyes. "And what do you mean, I'm making it out to be worse than it really is? Do you consider spending the summer before your first year of college in Tree Hill favorable?"
"Think of it this way. You'll get to see your father, who you haven't seen for over two years. And," she said, cocking her eyebrow suggestively, "maybe you'll meet a guy there."
I groaned. "First of all, I could care less about seeing my father. He's an asshole, and you know that. The only reason I'm even going is because my mother thinks it'll be good for me to get away for a while. Secondly, I'm not going there to meet a guy." She shook her head at me, rolling her eyes. "Don't give me that look. I've told you before, the last thing I want is some guy hanging all over me, trying to take up all of my time and whining when he doesn't get what he wants. If I wanted that, I'd get a dog."
"And you'd probably chuck the dog before you got emotionally attached to it," she said as she flipped her Dark brown hair--hair I had been envious of my entire life--over her shoulder. "Face it, Hayley. You're like, commitment impaired."
"I'm not commitment impaired, Brooke, as you so eloquently put it. I'm realistic. I mean, what are the chances of actually finding a true, everlasting love? I honestly don't think it exists."
"Oh, it does," she said, a dreamy expression overtaking her features. "You'll find it one day, Hayley. Someday when you least expect it."
I snorted. "Right. Hand me that bag of Cheetos, will you?"
"Oh, ye of little faith!" she cried dramatically. "I shall make a believer out of you if it is the last thing I ever do!"
"Uh-huh. The Cheetos, please."
As I slipped into my pajamas later that night, I stood in front of my mirror, closely examining my face. I blocked out all of the mementos that framed my mirror; honor roll certificates, hastily scribbled poems, pictures of Brooke and I. I concentrated on my eyes, suddenly realizing just how closely they resembled my mother's. They were the same striking brown color, and they held many of the same emotions I constantly saw floating around in hers. Anger, restlessness, a sadness that never completely faded away...all of them were there, staring back at my reflection.
Shaking my head, I walked past the mirror and plopped down onto my bed. I buried myself underneath my blankets, ignoring the heat that lingered within my room. All I wanted now was to sleep and forget about everything that had been on my mind. I didn't want to think about leaving. I didn't want to think about my father or his wedding that I was being forced to attend. I didn't want to think about college starting in the fall, which meant me moving out of my mother's house and into a dormitory located halfway across the country. I wanted to escape the thoughts that had been plaguing me, the thoughts I so desperately tried to evade.
Moonlight crept in through my open window, bathing my room in an eerie glow. Shadows from slowly moving cars driving down my street danced across my walls, followed by the glare of headlights that occasionally spilled in through the window. I turned away from the window and instead focused on the one picture of my father that I kept open in plain view. It rested comfortably on my bedside table, reminding me constantly of happier times.
Soundlessly, I lifted the photograph from the table and held it delicately in my hands. I stared at it for what seemed like hours, carefully memorizing every detail and storing them in the back of my mind so I could remember it always.
The photo had been taken eleven years previously at my family's summerhouse in mid-Michigan, the one that had been sold after my father left. I sat comfortably on his shoulders, clad in my sparkling orange bathing suit, my nose tinged a light red from the sun. A bright, toothy smile was present on my face, and my eyes were filled with excitement and laughter. A large, happy grin was spread across his lips, and his steel blue eyes were twinkling with joy. My hands were tugging playfully at the ends of his brown hair, and I had known even then that he hadn't minded it. The glistening water of the lake could be seen just beyond us, and as I stared at that photograph, I remembered just how cold that water had felt on my bare skin. I shivered, placing the picture back onto the table.
I hadn't seen my father in over two years. I hadn't seen him since that night he had left. I blinked back tears as the memory of that day came rushing back to me, dragging up a thousand painful emotions along with it.
When my parents sat me down at the kitchen table on that cold, dark January morning, I had a feeling that I knew what they were going to say. I had been preparing myself for this moment for months. After all of the arguing, the lies, the deceptions, I knew that the end of their marriage was near.
At first I had been scared. I didn't know what life would be like without both of my parents there to take care of me. I wondered what it would be like to live with only one of them, and visiting the other on weekends and holidays.
After my fear subsided, I started feeling angry. Angry because they couldn't make it work. Angry because it was my fault in the first place. Somehow I knew that it was because of me that they were constantly fighting.
But as I sat at the kitchen table on that January morning, none of those initial feelings lingered within me. In fact, I felt relieved. Relieved that the fighting would finally end, and maybe then everyone would be happy.
"Hayley, your mother and I are getting a divorce," my father had told me in a sympathetic tone.
Beside him, my mother was twisting a tissue in her hands. Her eyes were red and swollen. I couldn't ever remember seeing her look so terrible. For once, her long brown hair that I had inherited wasn't perfectly groomed and styled. It was uncombed and messy, and I remember it was the first time I realized how closely I resembled her.
"Your father and I love you very much, Hayley," she had said to me, her voice sounding deeper than normal because of all the crying she had been doing. "But we can't just seem to get along anymore. Things will be better this way, they really will be...you'll see..."
But by then, I had already tuned her out. I had heard all of the necessary details. All I wanted then was to just go upstairs to my room and listen to music, and maybe play a few songs on my guitar. Apparently, though, my parents weren't finished tearing apart my world. There was one more minor detail they had yet to inform me of.
"I'm moving back to Tree Hill." I can remember the way he sounded, the way he looked, perfectly. He was sitting across from me, dressed in his shirt and tie, his mug of coffee in one hand, my own in the other. His voice had been sad and sympathetic, completely devoid of all other emotions.
And I sat there, staring blankly at his face, feeling the pressure of his hand squeezing mine. It was then that I knew that my life would never be the same. If only I had known just how different it would become.