Different

Something happened to me. Something deep and transforming. I can't put it into words, but I see it when I look at myself in the mirror. I hear it when I am quiet and still. I feel it when I am alone.

When I was a little girl, I would walk around the house as my parents and three siblings sat watching tv. I would wander down the hallway that lead to the front door, which at the time seemed endless.I would pause and trace the thick plaster grooves that were roughly smeered in jagged crisscross patterns about the wall. It actually looked quite pretty with the sunlight beating off of it. At night, I would get lost in its many folds and ridges. I'd run my fingers over it, ignoring the tiny thin scratches that formed on my curious fingers. I would wound my way upstairs and sit at the top step, lean over and rest my head between the banister rails. I'd look down to the spot where I had just stood tracing the wall and then I'd drop a tiny dot of saliva from my mouth and watch as it swiftly and quietly drifted down into the shadows. I'd make my way into each room. Examine the smells, the contents stored and hidden. My favorite was my parents room. I always had the impression that my parents were hidding something from the rest of us. Especially mom. Her closet was a storehouse of suitcases, bags, boxes. I once found pictures of us in her bags, and lots of shiny jewelry in her boxes. My mom was such a mystery to me, with her many secrets and forgotten memories. I know mom had a different husband before my dad, and they had my older brother. I've often wondered about her other husband. What her life was like with him, why they split up. Did he hit her? Did she love him still? Did she love my dad? These were the things I pondered as I drifted aimlessly in my house of mysteries.

I liked to hide. I'd hide myself in the kitchen cabinet and wait until someone called for me. Or under someone's bed and lay there all afternoon, until hide and seek was long over. When I emerged from my spot, my siblings would casually regard me. I was too good at hide and seek, and they lost interest in trying to find me.

I'd lock myself in the bathroom and look out the window at our neighbors apartment, listening to their nightly routine of eating, yelling at the kids, hitting the kids and putting the kids to bed. I'd inhale the cold New England air and watch as the sky went from baby blue to gray, to a dark deep midnight blue and finally pitch black.

As a child, I looked out the windows like this. My many ventures throughout the house always ended up with me looking out the window. Sometimes I would wish to be whisked away into the night by my prince. We'd fly away forever. Not knowing that as an adult, I would feel whisked away, time and again and not like it. But I'd still be with my prince. I fantasized about running away and leaving my family behind. I ran away twice. Once when I was about 4. I made it to the lobby of our apartment before I was caught. The second time I was older, around 10. I ran away to my neighbors house. I played games with the kids and the mom and dad for hours before my mom figured out where I was. Something about that time together with a different family made me want to stay forever. I hated going home that night.

I've always felt different from my family. My sister once commented to my mother how Carla is different from the rest of us. When mom told me that, I wasn't sure if it was a complement or not. I have never felt left out or unwelcome, just...different. And even when I was the center of attention, I would always feel a pull in the back of my mind. Later, I would drift back to myself and feel detached again.

As I grew older the need to explore the world manifested itself and I moved to college. Right after college I got married and lived away from my family. At that time I really bagan to miss them and yearn for their presence. Now, whenever I am with them, I am reminded of the space between us. We are all very close and love each other deeply. But there is a stream, ever so slight, that trickles into my mind and shows me time and again, that I wish for other things. Things unspoken and only felt. And I am able to break away and live this different yet somehow familiar existence that I call "the present". And it is warm and whole and magical and right.

So why then, do I feel sad?