Tick, tock, tick, tock.
The clock ticks away the seconds, counting down to an invisible deadline. Always counting.
I stare at the ceiling above my head, which has gotten ever closer to me as time has gone by. This room used to seem like a cavernous castle; now, it seems like a musty tomb, closing in on me, full of dead memories.
I take a deep breath and drag myself off of the small, flimsy mattress I had been lying on. I take one last look around the room. The emptiness astounds me, and suddenly, the room feels very lonely. I am leaving it behind, along with my childhood, memories, and innocence.
There is no going back.
The faded light blue walls, stained from years of me writing on them as a child, are stark, devoid of any personality.
The dresser in the corner, spattered with paint, is empty.
The bed behind me, now vacant, is just…there. Drab, plain, bare, abandoned.
These objects, the very same ones I have grown up with, no longer are tied to me, no longer hold the life they once did.
Sure, the memories are still with me. They always with me. Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I will become a blank slate, without any of the memories I have made in the last eighteen years.
But it will be different.
There is no going back.
What really bothers me is the fact that this is what I’m going to remember – this blank, empty room; not the colorful, fun home that I grew up in. In my memory, this mattress will be bare, not covered with my Superman covers that I really should have gotten rid of (I mean, come on, I’m eighteen; it’s time to move on).
I close my eyes and try to visualize how this room looked just a few months ago, before I started packing and taking it apart. The sun was streaming in through the large open bay windows at the back of the room, and the blue curtains were fluttering with the light breeze coming in. The room was golden.
There is no going back.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
I turn and walk out of the room. Starting down the stairs, my head spins more and more with each step.
Left, right, left, right.
When I finally reach the bottom, I see my mother sitting at our small table in the kitchen. She has aged considerably in the past few years, but I haven’t noticed it a bit until right now. Her beautiful brown hair is now streaked with gray, and her fair skin is starting to acquire some wrinkles. However, when she turns her head to look at me, I still see that same fun, familiar, slightly mischievous gleam in her eyes. She is still the same. She is still my mother.
And I am still her son.
But it will never be the same.
There is no going back.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
With a sigh, she stands up and puts her arms out. I run to them, hugging her more fiercely than I have since I was little. The lights get blurry, and a big, fat, wet tear drops onto my mother’s sweater. When she pulls away, I realize I am not the only one who has gotten a little emotional; my mother’s eyes are wet and my shirt is stained with her tears. With a sheepish smile that only my mother can make, she covertly wipes them away with the back of her hand.
“It’s time,” she says.
Suddenly, it feels as if there is a fire in my stomach. I am burning from the inside out.
Seemingly knowing my ever-growing fear, my mother nods at me with a confident look. Somehow, I know exactly what she is thinking: Don’t be scared – the best is yet to come.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
With a renewed confidence, I square my shoulders and stand straight. With one last smile at my mother, I turn and walk to the front door. I turn the doorknob and pull the door open. I step outside.
Turning my head, I take one last, long glance around the house.
True, there is no going back.
It will never be the same.
But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
My life is taking a turn, going in a new direction. There are new things to see, new people to meet, new memories to be made.
There is no going back, but I’m glad. I may be ending one chapter of my life, but another is just beginning
I take a deep breath and pull the door closed with a soft click.
Tick, tock.