Chlorine and a concussion weren't the best way to start our journey, Rose, wouldn't you agree?
My pounding head, and urge to vomit did.
See, your home was a couple houses down the block, and each one of these immaculate back yards in between had fences that were at least, six feet tall, and cameras subtly placed, as to not disturb the 'aesthetic' of their patios that were ripped straight out of a magazine catalogue.
Mom was the same- she had a few installed.
All of that to say, I didn't quite... know how to make it into the back yard of your father's home, who, by the way- hated me even more than he had before- and you know why.
Well, maybe not, Rose.
Where...where was I?
Shit, the pain made it kind of hard to think straight.
Or stand straight, for that matter, I realized, as it was getting harder not to let my knees go weak, and all jelly like.
Oh! Right, I was thinking about how to get to our hideout- your tree house.
I remember being almost convinced they only existed in the stories I read. So, imagine my shock when you had told me you had one!
It was near the edge of your backyard, hitting the back boundary, some branches dipping over that fence, into the neatly trimmed start of the small forested patch behind the fences.
And I knew that your Dad would have a hard time... looking in there, and if I was completely honest, I-
I didn't want either. But, I knew that it was only a matter of time before he did, and then cleared out many of the things we had there together.
So, I had to beat him to it.
So....
Fences.
I could get over the fences, sure, but I'd probably set off a few alarms, and get caught on camera, and with this... cut on my forehead, and my lack of steady feet- I'd more likely end up on the neighbourhood group chat as some sort of spectacle.
And if there was anything my parents did care deeply about- it was optics.
I felt a bit of a ping in my head-
Not sure if that was the concussion speaking, but I vaguely felt I'd already found an answer.
Oh!
The tree branches that hung over your back fence!
I could just... climb them, and boom! In the tree house I'd be.
Taking more steps forward to the back fence of my own, I was on my way.
Rose, your things were safer with me than your father, you know that. Plus, it deserved to be with someone that cared for them as much as I did.
Trying to steady both my feet, and mind, I tried to focus on what I needed to gather all the things I'd left in the tree house.
Searching my memories, I found the answer.
Your princess backpack.
The same one you'd stopped wearing back after your 11th birthday, Rose.
I remember, see?
You always said I was terrible with that kind of stuff, but honestly, it was only because if it didn't have anything to do with you, I couldn't really find it within myself to care.
I'd finally made it to the end of the yard, and I reached up, ignoring the blurriness in my vision as I looked up, and jumped, grabbing hold of the top of the fence.
I guess those football practice hours had finally paid off, Rose.
Full transparency, Rose- I'd only joined 'cause you said you liked football players. Or, so I'd heard.
That, and because it was the only thing in years that had gotten the full attention from Mom and Dad, when I'd announced it during one of the bi-monthly family dinners we had.
They'd been full of support, buying me pretty much top of the line brand equipment, like the grip-enhancing gloves, the football helmet, and shoulder pads, and cleats- even hiring a personal trainer.
Mom had even taken a bit of a break from work- her new way of showing the highest level of care and love- to drive me to tryouts, and eventually, when I'd passed- practice.
All of that seemed to dry up after months passed during freshman year, and I was still keeping the bench warm, if not just acting as a glorified water boy for the team.
See, what they didn't tell you, Rose- was that-
Huffing, I heaved myself over the fence, awkwardly landing on the other side- twisting my ankle just a bit.
"Ow, shit." I cursed, muttering under my breath.
"Where was I?" I whispered, as I looked around, trying to remember the path through this back patch of woodland. Should be a straight line, I think.
Oh, right.
I wanted to say- what they didn't tell you, was that football, in a neighbourhood like this, was very, very status based, and I in their terms, was a "new money" baby.
So I'd made it on skill, I imagine, and the rest were a mix of skill and nepotism placements, for some of the richer families to humble-brag about their quarterback son at some local party, or some event like that.
I would like to say, Rose, that our star quarterback was just a nepo-baby, but unfortunately for me, and luckily for the perpetually warm bench, with what I imagined was Scrooge-levels of money, he too, had access to trainers, probably even better ones than I'd had.
So it was safe to say that I would not be leaving that bench soon.
But it got me in shape, and I think that's kind of the only reason I'm still managing to stumble my way through this thick forest patch, with hints of trash hidden amongst the leaves.
Kind of like this neighbourhood, I think.
The minutes passed in a haze of throbbing headaches, and constant stumbles, and no- Rose, I didn't fall over earlier.
Regardless, I finally came across the branches I'd remembered.
Grasping one in my hand, I planted a foot on the fading white paint of the fence, and began pulling myself higher, bit by bit.
Soon, I got high enough to grab onto a higher branch, and use the one before as a kind of seat, as I looked over the all-too familiar backyard.
It was filled with toys and trinkets, getting harder to see with the fading sun, as it hit the higher branches with a strong, illuminating orange glow.
It was getting darker.
Good.
With that, I noticed one of lights in the second floor click on-
Your room's, Rose.
Scrambling to hide myself further into the shield of leaves, I tried to see what was happening inside.
Your Dad was an emotional man, Rose. See, during the funeral, he'd gone red in the face, when I'd tried to step up and give you a speech today, I'd even written you a letter- I know you would've loved it- but my father just held my shoulder, keeping me in place, shaking his head.
Don't tell anyone Rose, but- I resented him for it.
These weeks, I've been tearing myself apart. I kept on replaying what happened over, and over and over and over and over and over in my head, and I tried to find words to even capture the colossal level of shit that I'd needed to say-
And right when I'd managed to finally fit it into a letter, a letter for you, Rose, they sewed my mouth shut.
Everyone.
See, everyone had been able to get on that podium and give you a heartfelt speech, but me.
In fact, they went so far as to steal my chance- your father gave mine a nod, and he'd gone- to speak for me, and my mom.
They stole my voice, Rose.
They stole it.
Like I stole yours.
Waiting, I focused on your father's frame, his body a dark outline against the shining window, as he seemed to kneel at the foot of your bed, shaking.
I know you would've felt some sadness at the sight, Rose, but I didn't.
In fact, all I could feel was the copper-like taste of envy.
Or the blood slowly running down my face.
Not quite sure, Rose.
Still, I needed to wait for him to leave- your room was towards the back, with a very clear view to the tree house, and by proxy- me.
Talking about the tree house, I noticed the string lights were shut off.
Good sign, I think.
Either nobody had been messing with them, or the batteries had run dry.
The seconds passed by, as I kept an eye on his shadow, then minutes, and before I could really even process it, about half an hour had passed in a haze.
The bleeding had stopped, I'd noticed, as the blood that had run over my eye dried, sticking my eyelids open in place.
Of course, whatever cut that jump had given me throbbed with pain, slowly becoming the only reason I was awake, as my eyelids grew heavy with every sticky blink.
Finally- the room's light shut off, and I began to move, ignoring my cramped, asleep foot.
Moving the the opposite side of the tree, as smoothly and quietly a I could, given my foot- and head- I began planting one foot in front of the other, with only one goal in sight.
The window.
I wasn't sure if it was open, but it used a simple latch to lock, and I'd opened it plenty of times. All I needed was a stick to pry it open it enough to reach above.
One slight problem.
A massive fucking padlock.
My mind paused for a could of beats.
"When did this get here, Rose?" I whispered, truly confused, somewhat trying to stamp out the growing flames of my rage.
Wait-
Did you put this here, Rose?
Was it during our fight? Did you think I would've tried to break in here while we weren't on speaking terms?
Rose, rose, rose.
Now I had a problem on my hands.
See, the one place that would've been unlocked for certain was the ladder leading into the hatch- which was on the front side of the tree, in plain view of all the motion-sensing cameras I knew your dad had put out on your patio.
And I've been to your house, Rose. If it were any other house, I would've risked it, but your Dad likes to play the camera feed into the living room, and when the outside cameras turn on, there's a dinging sound that plays.
But- maybe I could keep an eye out for your dad?
The sun seemed to have hid itself, and with the growing darkness, I could probably keep track of where his shadow was.
Fuck.
At least he'd been the only one here, other than you, Rose.
And I know- you loathed to talk about your "bitch mom", and their divorce, but it seemed to pay off in the long run.
Hm. It took exactly three throbs of what must've been a massive knot on my forehead, before I decided- fuck it.
Mainly because your Dad made a post online that he was going to take some time from work to put together a vigil-
Beautiful sentiment, really, it's just hard to appreciate when he sent my parents a text just before the funeral that he'd prefer not to see me there.
The vigil, I mean. If he thought he could've gotten away with refusing me entrance to the funeral, he would've but again, Rose, I've begun to see that a lot depends on optics.
He's now being seen as a magnanimous, graceful man for not holding... what had happened against me, yet a sympathetic, and vulnerable enough man to make it known that my further presence would weigh on him.
Regardless, it meant he'd be here, at home for the time being, and at any moment, until he worked up the balls- could climb up here and take everything that rightfully belonged to you and me, Rose.
So, it had to be tonight.
Scooting closer to the edge of the window, and handing onto the foundation about ten or so feet above his yard, I peeked past the corner, looking for any sign of movement in the house.
Ah!
There, Rose, by the window next to the stairs right in the middle of the house leading downstairs.
Thoughts flew through my head as I tried to force my sluggish, pounding head to guess how far away he was from the T.V, and how long it would take for me to climb up the ladder in comparison to how fast it would take for him to rush down as soon as he heard a ding.
Shit. Not long.
Do I wait? Or do I go?
If I go, how long would it take for him to go out here to check things out?
Would I have a quick way out if he did?
Wait- I just realized- how the fuck was I going to see anything inside if the string lights were shut off?
Even if they weren't, he'd sure as shit notice them flicker on as soon as I turned them on!
"God damn it, Rose. Why didn't you tell me any of this?" I muttered, leaning against the planks of wood on the back of the tree house, as I watched him head downstairs.
"You know what, Rose? Fuck this shit." I said, finally having lost my patience.
Flopping down the distance to the floor with about as much grace as a slug on cocaine, I hit the ground with just another twist of my ankle-
From the blinking red light from hidden camera in the plants on the back patio, I knew I didn't have much time.
So, I turned right around, and faced the tree I'd just jumped out of, feeling suffocted as the clock began to tick.
Hauling myself up each ladder plank, I tried to remember where your Dad would be right about now.
Halfway down the stairs, before hearing a ding. Picking up his pace as he made his day down the somewhat long staircase, and into the living room that was about a room away- about maybe ten, fifteen seconds, give or take, before another fifteen or twenty as he looked at the cameras, saw me making a mess- and rushed out here to beat my ass.
I couldn't let myself overestimate. So-
At most, twenty-five seconds to enter- take all our things- and get out, and climb the fence again.
With a most definitely sprained ankle and a knot the size of fucking pluto on my forehead, along with a headache the size to match- I didn't even have enough time to think.
25- I was starting up the ladder.
24- I was halfway up the ladder- it'd gotten smaller. Or I, bigger.
23-I reached to top plank, head poking into the hatch.
2- shit- my ankle blinded me with pain as I pressed on it on the wrong angle in my rush to launch myself inside. I'd lost count.
Uhhh...
19- I crawled onto the floor, whipping my head around the dark as I fumbled for the princess backpack I knew had to be around the floor to the right.
18-
17-
16- Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! It wasn't here. I didn't know if I should keep going- I needed the backpack, unless all I wanted was to get away with a handful of cassettes, and pictures.
15-
14-I heard a distant door open and shut.
13- I felt the smooth plastic texture of what could only be-
12- the backpack.
11- Standing up, and unzipping the backpack, I retraced my steps- I knew this place like the back of my-
10- Hand. I flailed to the center- the karaoke machine- the one I'd bought for you.
9-Scrambling, I felt around for the box next to it- your cassette case. All of your recordings, in this one box.
8-I stuffed it into the open backpack, fumbling with it for just a-
7- second. Next- all the photos on your wall. Running to it, I tore off anything that felt loose-
6- stuffing it into the backpack. Our polariods. Our memories.
5- It was a chaotic rush- I tried not to let a single this fall through the gaps in my hands.
4- I imagined where my favorites were- I couldn't bear the thought of those being lost to me.
3-I kept going, not sure when to stop-
2-Finally- quickly running my hands over the weathered wall- smooth.
1- Next- any clot-
"Who the fuck is up there?" I heard a gravelly voice shout up- shit.
He was blocking my exit, and I think he knew that.
But- he didn't call my name?
Wait- undersized shirt- wet, matted hair- dirty, forest-trodden clothes- I looked like a bum, a crazy.
He didn't know it was me.
"I'll give you till the count of three! I've already called the cops, you dumb fuck!"
Shit.
Well, Rose. Not sure how to say this, but I guess I failed.
I'll be going to jail, and these pictures will be his to hoard, and I'll never have another glance at you again, as my memory of your face fades as I rot away in jail.
Or, I could slam through the window, and hope to break the lock.
Choices, choices.
Grabbing whatever I could, especially if it felt like clothes, or hopefully- one of her cameras, on the off-chance she'd left one here, carelessly-
No luck.
I did snag a couple of what felt like jewelry, and coats, shirts, maybe?
I didn't care, stuffing it into the backpack without a second thought.
I did one last reach-around, feeling something like a leather notebook in my grasp, and I didn't quite know what it was for- I wasn't familiar with any reason Rose would have it-
But still, I tried to stuff it in- but found the small, bloated backpack far too full.
Still, I was determined to take anything I could lay my hands on.
In my panic, I leaned just the slightest bit over the hatch- catching a glimpse of her dad, red in the face, grasping a baseball bat.
Fuck.
That was it.
I gripped the notebook, before turning to my shoulder, and running, full force, to the worn out wooden window doors, that were much weaker than the lock put on them, and making contact.
The wood seemed to creak in resistance, groaning as it strained for a second, before somehow managing to knock me on my ass, while giving me what most definitely would be a bruise later- on my shoulder.
Still, I wobbled back onto my feet.
I had to try again.
However, it seemed the luck was not on my side, and I'd been heard.
"Oh, fuck no!" He spit out, and I heard a clang as the hollow metal bat must've knocked onto the wood of the tree as he started climbing up.
How could I tell?
The approaching huffing from this out of shape tub of lard.
I didn't waste another second- and ran back into the window, putting all of my weight and muscle I'd built up on my 17 years on this miserable earth, into the slam-
A sharp crack rang through the small tree house, and I saw the dim light stream in- and despite my urge to look around for anything I'd missed, I just gripped the backpack and book in my hands as tight as I could, before angling my shoulder one more time, and runni-
Color burst in my vision as my already massive forehead slammed into the ground- due to the grip on my ankle, I imagine, Rose.
Fuck.
Kicking with as much force as I could muster, coupled with the awlkward angle he held my wonky ankle, he was pretty much forced to let go, but not before poking his hairy face through the opening.
Pure adrenaline and pain caused me to do what I did next.
I promise, Rose.
With as much force and accuracy nearly three years of constant football practice and passion had given me, I lobbed whatever I had in my hand to his head-
The book.
It landed with a 'thunk'- and his head shot back, the corner having hit what seemed like his forehead-
Ha! Payback!
That moment of triumph was short-lived, though.
His head slammed into the opposite end of the opening, and his eyes just-
Shut off.
Passing out, his grip on the ladder relaxed-
And down he went, like a bag or bricks.
Huh.
Honestly wasn't as good as I would've imagined, Rose.
Slowly, I peered over the ledge, like what I imagined a scared squirrel looked like, looking down at some logger that was ready chop down his home.
And like Jack and the giants, the giant lied on the floor, with his club in the grass.
My mind tried to jump-start again, trying to focus on the situation, and cut out the throbbing of both my head, and my heart, as fear and pain tore at my attention.
Okay-
I honestly? Hadn't expected to make it this far, with this plan.
I was just supposed to have slipped in, slipped out, with her dad only mildly aware something precious had been taken much later on, but without any proof, what could he do?
Now?
Now he knew exactly when something had been taken, and exactly what- our things, Rose.
Meaning it would only take a somewhat brain-dead idiot not to take two and two together, and realize that only sentimental things had been taken, nothing of value, and that the only one who could've been motivated to do so was the idiot walking around with a mild concussion and a forehead the size of a wrecking ball.
On top of that, he'd called the cops.
Reaction time was fast in this area, maybe five, or six minutes at best.
Fuck.
What to do, Rose, what to do?
Well, first- muddy the waters.
Change the motive.
Okay, he'd seen a bum through the cameras sneak into this tree house.
Why?
To steal, no shit.
So maybe make a mess, like I'd been searching for valuables?
I know that Rose had left some expensive furniture here, like the hammock, adorned with silk and whatnot, but a bum wouldn't know the value of a interlaced silk hammock, but it was the most, and probably, only expensive thing here-
Except for-
The karaoke machine.
But again, it was tied to myself. I couldn't take it.
So, hammock it was.
Fumbling around for it, I took hold of it, draping it over the princess backpack, and over my head- hopefully- to block the camera's view- and started...trashing the place.
No, Rose, I didn't cry, when I tore down the string lights you'd been so enamored of;
I didn't cry when I heaved your karaoke machine to the side, as if it'd been in the way.
Not when I tore at your shelves of trinkets, or ransacked the little safehaven of ours; our bastion of comfort.
I didn't cry.
A couple minutes ticked by, with all the chaos, and I knew I had to run. But my feet were leaden with guilt, and my head pounding, pain radiating from the bottom of my ankles, to the tip of what must've been a unicorn horn by now.
Glad the darkness had only grown heavier, sparing me of the sight of my destruction, I found the strength to move, a final idea forming in my head, as I made my way down and out the desecrated corner of our comfort.
My feet hit the ground, and instead of running, I kneeled over your passed out father, and dug in his pockets, urgently, before pulling out his wallet, and tucking it into mine, keeping a hunched figure to hide my frame, and careful not to expose the pink backpack from the silken cover of the hammock.
Now, finally- I could leave, through the same way I came- after solidifying the idea through the camera, that this was undeniably- a robbery.
So, I grasped the edge of tree branch, careful not to climb over the fence- I would've needed to stand straight- they would've been able to compare my height to the fence, and then all I'd done would've been for nothing, Rose.
So, I skittered on to the branches, retracing my steps into the forest.
Yet- as I made it over the fence- even with the wailing of the distant sirens, I didn't walk towards the direction of home.
No, not quite yet.
I had another place to go first, Rose.
But until then-
Love,
-Me.