There was something about the rain. In a way, it was magical. You know... if you believe in pixie dust. If I told you I believed in sparkling glitter with magical properties, I meant it. Because, for me, the rain had just that—sparkle, glitter, all that jazz. And with the force of an early Summer storm, it freed me from my parents' home.
I remember turning around and staring up the driveway. My father had given up the fight to keep me home. My mother, well, she just cried and cried. And so did I. No one could see our tears with the way water poured down from the sky, but they were there. Pain from our soul, spilling out from our eyes with sorrowful drops.
Because she didn't want me to leave, but I couldn't stay.
There was a shadow draped over me, like a curtain. A big, heavy, sun-blocking curtain. It kept me hindered and sheltered at home. It made everyone in town look at me as a child. It also didn't help that for three years of my life I had a boyfriend that made it seem like I was just that.
Small. And insignificant.
I had to prove to them I wasn't. I was bigger, taller, and capable of putting up the biggest fight. But before I could show the world, I had to believe it first. And I knew I couldn't do that at home.
So, on May 22nd, just as the afternoon brought on a thunderstorm meant to wipe out the ages, I took my chance. I bid my parents farewell, kissed them goodbye, and left.
Would I come back? I wasn't sure. But I didn't tell them that.
To my mother, I said, "I'll call every day."
To my father, I said, "I'll make you proud."
But to my brother, Jun, who came to my rescue the second I'd called, I said, "Just drive. Please. And don't tell them where I went."