the willow by the river

Chapter 1

I'm rushing down the hallway, walking as fast as i can, and clutching the straps of my backpack. I hear a loud laughter from one of my classmates behind me. One of them is having a party this weekend i think. his parents aren't home, and they're probably gonna have a lot of fun. Not that i care what they're doing. The only reason i keep up with their plans is so that i can avoid them. I walk through the front doors of the school, and down the marble stairs, two steps at a time. 

Maybe I'm lucky today, and no one will be there when I go home to get my stuff. I should probably make up an excuse not to be home this weekend. I could say that i'm gonna visit someone, a friend? And then just say a random name when they ask who? I could just say that every time i go to my spot to be alone? But no, that would fall apart too easily when my mum will want to meet the friend. And then she'd really start getting suspicious. This time i can probably get away with just leaving a note though. 

I go to the bike stand and grab my bike. It's a bit old and a bit rusty, but i don't want to bother my parents by asking for a new one. My ribs are sore again, so i take it slow on the ride home. I should probably just stop binding when i bike, but i don't really want to. Another thing on my conscience. Wonderful. My thoughts are going a milion miles an hour as usual. what if you had plans this weekend, but you just forgot, and your mum is gonna be so mad, and she's gonna end up finding your spot because shes looking for you?. I don't have plans. But what if you do? i DONT. Okay then. I'll still bring it up later though. Now what about this? You're just an attention seeking girl after all? That last one has been bothering me for years, ever since i first started questioning my gender. 

Finally, i reach my house. A quick tug on the door handle lets me know that it's locked. I take a deep breath and relax a little more. No one's home. Thankfully. 

Then I open the door with the key under the doormat. For some reason i never got my own, but it's fine. I go inside, through the hall, not bothering to take off my shoes, and up to my room. The bag i packed yesterday is lying untouched in my closet. I take the few things from my backpack that i need, put them in the bag, and then i go downstairs to the kitchen to get some food for my trip. There's still some leftovers from dinner yesterday, so i put those in the bag too. And then, after leaving a note saying ill be back tomorrow because I'm at a friend's house, i head out the door again. 

Halfway there, on the first bridge, I realise that i forgot to lock the door. I panic for a moment, but then i remember that my mum is probably home by now. I can feel my entire body loosing up, and my mind getting calmer, as I get closer to the only place in the world that's truly mine. Where i'm free. I try to go here as often as possible, but with school, and my parents constantly making plans, i don't get to nearly as much as i'd like

I can see the river now, with the trees by the banks. And there's my willow. It's branches are just kissing the surface of the quiet water, and it creates a thick curtain of leaves, shielding it's trunk and a small area around it, almost a cave. My safe haven. I discovered the place on one of my many long walks to get away two years ago. I've been going here ever nice, to escape everything. It's become my favorite place in the world, and it's also slowly become mine. 

I jump off my bike and throw it in the grass beside the big tree. It's a beautiful day, quiet and calm. The sun is shining, and the sky is blue with a few strokes of white clouds. I take it all in for a minute before i part the branches and walk into my cave. I thrown my bag by the big plastic barrel i store some of my stuff in. There's a few blankets and pillows, some books and a lot of sketchbooks and other drawing equipment. I look around. Some of the branches have stuff hanging from them, old necklaces and scarves, a few paintings and pictures. On the ground, which is almost s floor now, there's some flat rocks that i've put here over time. 

I start to unpack my stuff, and pull out some pillows to sit on, when I spot something. It sits right over one of my older paintings, a cage formed like a female body, and a small blue boy sitting on a swing. It's a note. And its not mine, my handwriting looks nothing like that. 

Someone's been here. Someone's been in my willow by the river.