How far can I go?
I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I don’t mean distance, nothing like that. I’ve flown far, far away from home and come back just fine. The distance from home isn’t what I’m worried about. But instead, I’m worried about how far I can take it.
Every once and a while, I leave home. I’ll escape through the door and I’ll fly out to some magical or mystical world. Something that expands beyond my wildest dreams, where my fantasy can become reality. But never for long. I would always worry about…
What exactly? There wasn’t really any pressure. Sure, the people at home would miss me. But…I’m not them. I shouldn’t feel bound to them. I love my family, but…I don’t want to keep living in the same home with the same people and the same boring life. I want to be my own person. Away from the family, away from home…I want to start a new life. My life.
And I’m not saying that my family isn’t a part of it. I highly considered bringing them along. I’m sure that without our father, we would be much better off living somewhere fresh and exciting. But…I want to do this myself. There’s something so appealing about life on my own. Nobody to depend on but myself. And I don’t think I could see myself being anything but a lone wolf.
I say this like I’m thinking about leaving, but in truth I’m already gone. At least, by the time you’ll see this I’m gone.
Tonight, I snuck out of my room as I do every other time I planned to leave. It’s just that this time, I took a small messenger bag with a couple of pairs of clothes to change into, some toiletries in case I ever find somewhere to use them, and some other utilities like a flashlight. I thought about getting a keepsake or two. After all, I didn’t know when I’d be coming back. But all of that felt attached to my old life. Something like that simply didn’t have space where I was going. I slipped through the halls and down the stairs, avoiding the creaky steps and slipping into the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches and grab some snacks in case I didn’t get a plan for food soon. As I finished cutting a loaf of bread into even slices, I realized I had been holding a serrated kitchen knife embroidered with the name “Celeste” on it with a bright green that popped on the black handle. I had instinctively reached for a set of kitchen knives that my father had given me as a present. He gave us all presents after our cooking phase. For my brother, a set of pots and pans with a set of various spatulas and stirring implements. For my sister, a group of measuring spoons and bowls, useful for when she’d try baking. And for me, who only would really find space to help out, a set of cutting boards and knives to assist them both with their ingredients. I slid the knife back into its place among the many handles, but it never left my mind.
Packing the sandwiches into small bags and stuffing them into my bag alongside napkins and metal utensils that I wasn’t sure how I’d wash yet, I looked back at the knife rack. I slowly and carefully slid out one of the smaller carving knives. The blade felt weighty, and I began to feel uneasy at how comfortably I could wield it. Under my palm, I could feel the embroidered letters that spelled my name. I didn’t need a keepsake, but…A knife could be useful. For cutting vines if I was in a forest, or to assist me in crafts if I had to make something. It could also be used for defense. I swallowed hard as I tried to shake the thought. But, I knew I had to face reality. There was a chance I’d have to defend myself. It’s just in case, I told myself as I slid the knife into my bag. But this was a reminder to myself that I wasn’t just escaping to a fantastical journey of my dreams. There’s an inherent set of problems that could arise, and I needed to be prepared. I almost turned back right then.
But I pressed forwards. The call of this new life was too strong to ignore, and I resolved to attempt to solve any issue with words before I would try using the knife. In my head, I checked off everything I did. I prepared my bag and grabbed what I needed, I left a goodbye note on the bed to tell them I wouldn’t be home for a while, and I made sure this was what I really wanted. I let out a long breath as I realized that this was, truely, the end of my preparations. All I had left was one more goodbye. I slowly opened the door to the night sky of the world I called home, walking out under the starry blanket towards the lone tree which stood unopposed.
Coming up to the tall trunk, I ran my hand across the rough bark. There was a comfort in this place. A shelter during sunny times. A mark of home when I was flying. And most of all, a memory of times past marked by the red scarf that lay hanging from the lowest branch. Father told me he’d let me wear it when I grew up. That it was the family heirloom and would be passed down to me. But, after he died…It didn’t feel right. The night after, I came out here and hung it around the tree because I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I decided that he wouldn’t have wanted me to have the scarf anyways.
Now that I think about it…that’s when I met you, isn’t it?
Out of all the people I’d leave behind, I couldn’t choose to leave you out of the story. I’m sure you’d like to see where this will take me, so I’ll make sure to keep you up to date. After all, I still want to learn more about you. You remember why I wanted to learn about you, right? I don’t expect that I should stop trying to chase that goal even if I’m leaving.
One day, I’ll visit you. I promise.
With my final reminiscing done, I walked back home and slid in quietly so I could listen to see if anyone was awake. None of the lights were off, and the entire house said nothing as I closed the door behind me and crawled down the basement steps. I looked back at the home I was leaving one last time before I turned towards the same basement door I had been opening for all those years.
It didn’t take all too long to figure out where I’d travel to, actually. My father—and to an extent my brother—have documented specific worlds with a simple system to determine simple things such as danger, habitability, and advancement. I picked out somewhere so that I won’t be bored, but also won’t find myself shot out of the sky again. I didn’t really read up on it too much. I wanted it to be a surprise, I suppose. In hindsight, that might have been a mistake.
I’m telling you this as I’m standing in the doorway. My bag is slung around me and I’m only a step away from leaving this world behind. I’m feeling a lot of things. I’m excited. I’m anxious. I’m not sure what will happen.
But this is the beginning of a new story. And this time, I get to write it myself.