BACK IN TIME

I open my eyes and get up startled because I slept in again and will be late for work. Now, I am angry because my cell phone must have died on me during the night. I turn to reach for that damn thing on my nightstand. I always make sure I charge my phone at night. As I reach over I notice something that catches my eye, my room is pink. Everything is pink and there are toys everywhere.

I get off the bed I am sleeping on and take a good look around the room. The room looks familiar but I am not sure why. I feel like I have been here before. I don’t even know how I got here. I try to think about the night before, maybe I had too much to drink and a friend let me stay the night and this is her daughter’s room. This has got to be the answer.

I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes. It’s a nice room and this kid is pretty spoiled, she has so many toys. I think about my daughter’s room and grin because I am sure that the child’s room I am in barely gets used.

I hear voices in the other room. I lean in closer to hear what they are saying. “Dad, mom?” I whisper to myself as the voices hit close to home. “Where the hell am I?” I ask myself. I get off the bed and open the door. I walk towards the direction of the voices and see my parents sitting at the kitchen table. I am home. My old home where I grew up.

My mom turns to look at me and she smiles and says “Oh baby girl, your awake?” My dad sips his coffee and pats his leg as if he wants me to come sit at the table with him. My parents look younger. Dad no longer has gray hair and his wrinkles are gone. Mom looks beautiful as her hair flows down her back.

I stand there frozen and cannot move. I see myself in a reflection of a mirror and I look different too. I look younger, shorter and chubbier. “Mom, how old am I?” I ask very quietly. My mom is now in the kitchen, she turns with a bowl of cereal and puts it on the table. “Baby girl, your three years old. You know that. You must be starved, you barely ate your dinner last night.”

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I look at her and move towards the table. I need to stay calm and figure out what is going on. I should be home with my own children. This has got to be a dream.

Who is taking care of them right now? My daughter must be awake and afraid because I am not home with her. I hope my son is home with her because often he likes to stay at a friend’s house overnight. I need to stay calm, because I can feel myself panicking. I am worried about my children, but I am three years old.

I finish my breakfast quickly and go back to my room and close the door. I sit on the edge of the bed and try to think of what I need to do next. I am three years old. “Does this mean, I don’t have kids yet?” Say to myself.

I begin to think about my childhood that I have already experienced. My parents are going to start fighting soon and then dad will move out. My dad will disappear soon and I will barely see him. My mom will start drinking after my dad leaves. My mom will always be sad and cry because she misses my dad and I will feel helpless because I can’t make her happy.

Then I think about the day my life changed and those men raped me. I was twelve years old. I feel my heart begin to race faster because I don’t think that I want to go through that again. I begin to think about my therapist who is helping me sort through all the issues I have because of my rape and I am stable. Being here will only ruin all the work I have done to get better.

I think about my kids and wonder what will happen if I don’t go back as fast as I got here. Will I still be a mother to the kids I had? If I don’t go back to my life now, how can I live like this with all the love I have for them in my heart, knowing I may never see them again. How will I ever forget them?

I feel a tear fall down my cheek and I wipe it away. I already miss them and I haven’t been here that long yet. “I need to get back to my life!” I mutter. “I don’t want to be here.”

I need to figure out how I will be able to get back to the life I need to finish. It doesn’t seem fair that I have to do this over again. Even knowing the pain of the events I will have to endure, I don’t want to start my life over again. I lie on my bed and let the tears fall onto my pillow. I silently cry myself to sleep, hoping I will wake up in a few hours and everything will be back the way it used to be.

 

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