She stared at the field of daisies and wildflowers and wished she was a piece of tall grass that shook with each gentle breath of breeze which wandered by. Not many people knew this place existed. The paths through the field were solely traversed by her feet and the grass which grew there seemed only to know how to tickle at her ankles as she wandered under the puffed cloud sky. Sometimes when her world went black seemingly out of blue she walked the 45 minutes to her secret treasure just to watch the wind go by, to make crowns out of lavender and wish on dandelions and pretend the world didn't exist. Evie Monroe felt a hope start a flickering flame in her heart as she took a deep breath, feeling the air turning cold in her nostrils.
She let the breeze take her, transport her to a world all her own, where the rain tasted of honey and peach and the grass grew wild in the fields next to her castle made of stone where she 56could smell the scent, not of the must moldering in the cracks in the mortar, but rather hopeful dreams and a promising future. Where the wooden pillars gave off the distinct aura of cinnamon sticks in a cup of hot cocoa and the blankets felt like a warm hug from her mother after her first day of Kindergarten.
She hadn't had one of those warm hugs in years, and her mother always seemed to forget to pop a cinnamon stick into her cocoa. Her mother didn't hate her, not by any means, but Evie was sure she didn't love her.
"Good morning, sweet pea," her mother would say, the southern drawl in her voice almost masking the hollowness which glared at her from sleep drenched eyes.
It was dark one night, as it usually is at 2 am, when Evie awoke with sweat-drenched skin and a horrific image on her mind. she threw the blankets off her, the cold air which rushed to hug her turned the sweat pooling around her midriff cold and clammy. She got up a little too fast and for a second the world went black and seemed to swing beneath her feet- that happens to her sometimes; when she stands for too long or hasn't eaten all day she has the tendency to just fall to the ground and faint. There are other times when her world goes black for other reasons. When she feels so alone and isolated that the world seems not more than shades of gray. That night it was the latter. Her heart felt heavy, like one of the concrete anchors her daddy used to make in the garage for his little fishing boat back when they lived in Texas and could drive down to the marina every weekend. He used to throw her into the bay, you weren't supposed to be swimming there but no one ever said anything so they did it anyways, it was cleaner than going to the pool. She was sure that if she were thrown into the water right then she would sink to the bottom, forever entrapped between the wrecks and broken motors and swishing nets which swirled around the bottom of the bay.
She turned to her door, suddenly calm, her mind soothed by the journey she was about to take. The wood creaked under her feet, light and nimble, her years as a ballerina still ingrained in her toes. She turned towards her mother's door, careful as she opened it to keep the creaking as low as possible. Once inside she knelt to the ground just beside the door and curled her fingers into the black purse her mother carried. There she found what she was looking for. Cigarettes. She pulled one out of the cardboard container, smushed in at the edges from being thrown into her bag, and tucked it into her back pocket. She stood slowly, turning back to the door, and creeping back out to the hall.
She dashed down the hallway, her step built with purpose as she tiptoed down the stairs, only pausing for a moment to grab her daddy's old suit jacket on her way out the door. She wrapped it around herself, not yet cold enough to put her arms properly in the sleeves. She slithered her hand into the inside pocket of the jacket and felt at the lighter that had long since gone dead. She rubbed her thumb over the small engravement on the back of the lighter. She pulled it out and as she trampled the grass that grew in the cracks of the pavement and stared at the words carved into the metal.
For a flame that lights like my inner fire
She wandered with a purpose, with a set in her step as stubborn as she was, she took herself along the path she had dozens of times before. She watched the roads turn from asphalt to gravel to dirt, walked along the side of the fenced in fields filled with horses and colts who stood still,heads hanging low, with the cool glow of the full moon illuminating their shiny coats. Finally, she wandered into the field where she had spent countless hours watching the clouds roll by with the wind, where she taught herself the waltz, and where she kissed the rough bark of the trees pretending they were Tommy Braden.
She sat on a rock covered in soft moss, a familiar cushion as she stared at the stars far above. Sometimes she tried counting the stars. She rarely got past 107. She pulled the cigarette out of her pocket and held it out in front of her. She stared at it. She never quite understood why people were so obsessed with them. They tasted weird and left a heavy feeling in the back of her throat but she did like the way they made her head buzz slightly and calmed her in a way her mother hadn't been able to in years.
She took out her daddy's lighter and gripped the cigarette between her lips. She flicked the flame to life and with an orange glow on her face inhaled the smoke. She held it there, feeling it in her lungs, the weight comforting as she sat in the cold night air. She let out her breath, heavy with smoke, and watched it evaporate into the moonlit sky. She kept smoking for a few minutes, allowing herself to sink into the routine of breathing in and out smoke. When it was halfway done she took the still burning cigarette and snuffed it out against the rock she sat on.
She tucked the half-burned cigarette in the back pocket of her jeans.
Saving it for a rainy day, she thought to herself as she stood up, ready to make her way back to her house. She let her thoughts wander through fields of daydreams as she walked home, her feet were lighter than a newborn as she stepped on stones made of stories and grass formed by forgotten dreams.
When she finally saw the first peaking glow of a streetlight far ahead she picked up the pace, her long journey tiring her to the point of near exhaustion. She nearly collapsed into her bed when she finally tiptoed up to her room and made her way under the covers, letting the sweet release of sleep sweep her away.