International Tutors' Magazine April 2019 | Page 11

APRIL 2019
It’s the middle of the day but dark as night, the wind blowing violently at the trees. I’m
in my room, holding my pen in my hands, playing with the cap while staring through
the window at the bending trees, looking for something to distract myself. Just like I
used to do when I had done something wrong.
“Christa.” The silence in the room is deafening.
I look at her through the reflection of the window. Her face is blurred out, with no
indication of what she is thinking. I feel the same sense of guilt I had when I was
young; it is stabbing. Is that how my mother felt when she first heard that she was going
to marry a stranger? I don’t know how she feels about my father. She’s always been a
dutiful wife, obedient and gentle, but there is a sense of distance there. Sometimes in
the morning, I catch her staring out the window for hours, like a caged bird hoping to
fly away, knowing she cannot. Perhaps this is why I look out the window when I hear
the news, mourning for the life I would never have. A free little bird, flying wherever it
wants to go.
* * * * *
I’ve never seen anything this beautiful. The barrel is coated in a marble-like black color,
with a hint of gold on the cap matching the beautifully carved nib, as sharp as the point
of a sword. I pick up the pen carefully, seeing my reflection faintly gleam on the barrel.
I know immediately, this is the best present I have ever received. A graduation present
from my old English teacher.
She discovered my talent by accident, when I had submitted a piece of homework with
some of my imaginary scribbling on it. She submitted it to a writing competition. I won.
Ever since, she had shared books with me, talked to me about writing, and supported me
in my dream of becoming a writer.
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