A House Is Not a Home
~Aadhya Jain
Crickets outside my window chirp in my ear. A lamp’s dim yellow light is the only thing chasing away the shadows in my room. The sky outside is a darker charcoal black, and the only star visible is the North Star. My legs are cramped and my back hurts from sitting on the chair all day long. Still, I stay put, revising for the next day’s exam. It’s 9 pm and I still have a chapter left, and I know the panic is rising in my chest.
The house is silent. Dead silent. I usually love the silence, for its comfort and timeless safety. Tonight, though, it’s suffocating. My head hurts, and I keep on checking behind my shoulder to see whether or not my childhood doll disguised as Anabelle is ready to jump me.
No one’s home. No light is on, no dishes are being washed in the kitchen, and I can’t hear my mom talking on her phone in the room next-door. It’s just me, with the quiet and my thoughts.
It feels blurry, almost like a fever dream. I close my eyes and search my memories, and I see it. Sunlight streaming in through windows, straight onto my additional worksheets, and colourful chalk linking the path for hopscotch.
One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two– I fell. I always fell, and then I’d get right back up.
These remembrances of unbridled childlike innocence and joy, but it’s like touching the surface of a pond. As soon as I reach out, they scatter, leaving me to only stare back at my reflection when what I want to do is look for the fish.
I miss a full, bustling house, of vibrant toys and lively memories. My heart tugs at my chest, and melancholy fills every inch of my being. Oh, how I wish I could stay a kid. Just a bit longer. Even for a moment.
They say the youngest child is always spoiled, but what do I have? I don’t have my brother to tease or make trashy movies with anymore. I don’t have my grandmother chiding me to eat dinner already. She can’t explain Hindi chapters to me and tell me stories of her own childhood anymore. They used to make mine much happier.
My childhood left, stealing away my confidence. It left me tongue tied with awkward limbs and darting eyes. The only thing I have is this dark, empty house and anxiety filling my thoughts.
I don’t think my house is my home anymore.
I like this!