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I guess I should start from the beginning. But where is it, the beginning, it’s hard to tell exactly. I guess I’ll start in 8^th grade, that’s when everything started to go downhill. When my mom got sick for the first time, when she wanted to keep it hidden. Also when my dad started drinking, and when the fights started. Those were the hardest. Having to tell my little brother not to listen, telling him that everything was ok. Trying to believe that they really didn’t mean what they said, when deep inside I knew that they did. Wait now I’m getting ahead of myself. You won’t understand it if I don’t go back to the beginning. Uh-oh now there’s that beginning thing again. Well ok here I go, into the desperate turmoil of the early parts of my life.

I looked up from my work. I was sitting on the ground beneath the great old oak. It was honestly the biggest tree I had ever seen in my entire life. Its huge branches swaying in the wind causing the giant shadows on the ground to weave back and forth. I could climb all the way up to the top, that’s how big it was, but I liked sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of the tree better than having a big branch between my legs that I have to hold on to. It’s a lot easier to write when you have both hands and you don’t have to worry about dropping things.

Yeah I wrote, I never told anyone though. It’s like a fear I guess. Everything I write is so important to me that I fear if I let anyone read it that they might not like it and say that it sucks. And that would hurt.

I love the view here, though most people would think it strange. The view calms me, and reassures me in a way. I look up from my notebook and see a graveyard. But not in the scary way most people think about. No, it was a very old cemetery, the ones with beautiful tomb stones and actual trees and plants that shaded them in the perfect way. All in all it was beautiful and calming. It made me think there was life after death after all.

Soon I’d have to make the trudging walk back to home. Not like I didn’t love my family but I always felt safer beneath the oak. I got up, notebook and pencil in hand. I would need a new notebook soon almost all the pages were filled in this one. With one last look upon my safe world I trudged back into the woods. There was a huge wall of trees surrounding the cemetery completely. If you didn’t know the markings of the land you wouldn’t know the way back home. There was a hole in this wall right behind the old oak, and that was the way I went. Underneath the hole, for it was very small, I went and got a scratch I barely even felt. I walked for about five minutes before I saw the bridge that used to be the only way to this old cemetery.

It was about as wide as a minivan was long and made of wood so old yet so strong that it was still together even with the holes that showed up every now and then. The wood was as old as the cemetery was and sometimes I wondered why it wasn’t rotten like the old barn that was just a few hundred yards backwards in the other direction. Then again it was just like the wood on the benches in the cemetery, old yet new, broken one day and fixed the next. I didn’t really care; as long as the old oak was there I didn’t care about any other wood in the entire world.

I crossed the bridge without a second glance and fallowed the river for about another twenty minutes before I saw the clearing that was our backyard. I started running here wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower, hide my notebook and then eat and go to bed. Pretty much what I did everyday that summer but school was starting soon and I had to get ready. I was top dog this year, 8^th grade, and back to the bottom of the ladder the next. So I had to make this year one of the best ones so I had at least one thing to brag about on Freshman Friday.

I came to the back porch and took the stairs two at a time. I was at the back door when I saw my reflection. My face that of a teenage girl. I had long dark almost black brown hair with chopped layers and dipped black ends. I had tanned skin from being outside almost every day that summer. I had hazel eyes and they were marbled dark blue. My eyebrows angled like you would imagine a cat's they were the same color of my hair a dark brown, almost black. I loved my lips almost as much as my eyes; they were full and as my mother put it, voluptuous.

I put my hand on the handle of the door and even before I opened it I knew something was wrong. I heard my dad’s raised words slurred, and my mom’s raised voice shaking. I had never heard such things between my parents before and it scared me, but what terrified me was the thought that my little brother was listening to this all alone. I doubted that my dad had noticed him, even if I had never heard it before I could tell drunken words the first time I heard them.

Now it came over me to listen harder, trying to make out the words between the sobs and the slurredness. I heard my dad yell, “You HID thisss froms ME! Do you have ANY idea how muchs that huurtss?!” My mom was crying and between her sobs I could barely make out what it was she was saying, “Honey I-I swear, I-I didn’t mean to hurt you, I j-just didn’t want to make y-you worry.” Worry, hidden, about what? What was she hiding? What would make my dad worry enough to make him start drinking again? All of my questions were answered by my fathers next slurred words, “You culd haves told mees sooner, I mean I wouldn’t want to loose you like I l-loss my m-mother.” With his words fading ever so slowly by the time he was finished he had passed out. My grandmother… That was what would have made him start drinking again. I had never gotten to meet my grandma, she had died of breast cancer when my dad was about 13, now it all made sense. My mother had breast cancer.

I ran inside now, past my crying mother, down the short hall and right up to my brother’s room. The door was closed and I could hear loud music before opening the door. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything I hoped above hope, a hopeless hope. I opened the door and found my little brother crying, his ears covered by his hands and his eyes shut, hopeless hope. It seemed he was trying to shut out everything. I walked over to him and put my arm over my brother. He looked up at me his eyes red and tears still streaming down his face. He wrapped his arms around my neck and I hugged him with all the life I could spare. We stayed this way for a while until his sobs weren’t as loud and when he could finally speak I asked him if he wanted to go to Brandon’s house. He told me he did and he soon was there.

My mother had cleared up her act when Brandon’s dad arrived. Me and my mother had carried my dad to their room and laid him there to sleep for a while. What I didn’t know was soon enough he wasn’t ever going to wake up.

I visited my great old oak and the cemetery it watched over less and less, for the stress was amazing and usually when I got home I locked my self into my room and fell asleep holding my little brother tightly so that no one could take him away. My father was hardly ever sober. Then I realized he wasn’t only drunk but there was a new kind of fire in his eyes these days. He loved my mother and I knew that but lately he wasn’t ever home. We never knew where he was. Chemo and radiation kept my mother in the hospital lately and out of work.

It was now the summer of 8^th grade. So much for a year of fun. I had slowly lost all contact with everyone. No longer was I waved to in the halls, nobody ever called me, and I never called any one either. So it really was my fault. Instead of reaching out for help, I had contracted into a ball of nothing but me.

I had a job now at an arts store for I was fairly good at drawing but still writing was my favorite thing to do. After work I one day felt the need to go to a place I hadn’t been in forever. Me and my brother had only gotten stronger and closer, I asked him if he could an eye on mom, I told him I needed to go out today, get some fresh air. He only laughed and I knew I could count on him. We hadn’t seen dad for about three months now and that wasn’t very good we had almost accepted the fact that he was dead. Overdosed on something and rotting out in the streets somewhere. I know it sounds harsh but still he had been the one to abandon us. Mom I knew was near death. The Chemo and radiation taking their toll every time and all I wished was that she had the strength to wait for another three months. At least then I would be 16, and able to own a house. Then we could stay together. I was scared and afraid of loosing her but the pain I saw on her every day was something that I just couldn’t stand.

I was nearing the bridge now and it had never looked so new in its life. Maybe it was just the fact that I hadn’t been here in a long time, but I doubted that. I walked across it without a look down ward though I think if I had I would have turned and ran for my life, scared of to much. But I didn’t and now I’m glad. I know that if I had everything would be gone now.

I walked on for five minutes and saw the hole through which was my secret oasis, my hidden world of peace, and life, and death. I walked underneath the hole and earned another scratch that bled down my arm. But this I didn’t notice for I was distracted by something else. Right where I always sat was a girl that looked of my age with dark red hair, almost blood red. She had green eyes and permanently tanned skin. She was beautiful, and the only thing that didn’t fit was probably her hair, it looked as if it should have been a dark brown like mine.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her softly for she looked as if she was in a trance. She turned faster than I thought humanly possible and she got up almost as fast, but her walk was slow and delicate, but graceful. I had never seen clothes of the likes that she wore. Her pants were jeans but they were baggy yet they fit, they were the same color of the earth that we stood upon now. He shirt was as red a her hair but it was more red on one side and like a half shawl the red seemed to be more on her right, and it eventually faded at a slant into dark blue shirt.

“I am sorry I disturbed you. I know you come here but recently you haven’t been. Why?” She had a strange accent but it seemed to fit her well. I don’t know why but I felt like I could trust her, like she of all people would understand. “I’m having a,” I struggled for the right word, “difficult time at home. You still haven’t answered my question. And now I have another one. What is your name?” She seemed intrigued by what I had said. “My name is rose. I come here often, like you but never have I been brave enough to actually talk to you.” I smiled, “I don’t bite I promise.” We both laughed at my comment. “Come and sit with me.” She told me, “I’d like to ask you a few more questions.” I came closer and saw that she was pointing at the spot were I had always sat when I had come here.

“You look older than the last time I saw you. Why?” she asked me. I looked into her eyes and knew I could trust her. She might have not been brave enough to talk to me before, whenever before was, but now she was here and wanted to know. “Can you keep a secret?” I asked her. She laughed a laugh that seemed so beautiful, “You have no idea how good I will keep your secret. I will take it to thine grave.” She smiled at me. “Ok,” I said. “Oh wait,” she butted in, “What is your name?” I smiled, “My name is Mystique” I said, “And this story I’m about to tell you is a very long one. Are you sure you want to hear it?” I asked. She smiled her all knowing smile, “You have no idea how much time I have.” “Ok,” I said and then I began.

Telling her was at first really hard, but word after word it got easier. She never interrupted and she listened all the time. No matter if she was looking at me or at the ground or up at the sky. She seemed to contemplate every word that I spoke. Taking in all of its meaning and wondering why I had chosen that word. I had finished about ten minutes ago and she had been quiet the entire time.

When she spoke I could hear all of her thought being pulled into what she was saying. “You have been through Hell and back without a scar to show for it on the outside. But on the inside there are more scars there then you will ever be able to have on you skin. Your father did not abandon you exactly, he did not do the right thing but he still tried. He could not cope with the loss of your mother, or the thought of it. So he figured that he should take the easiest way out. Being drunk all the time happens to ease the pain. But being high gets rid of it completely. Your father loved each of you; he just wasn’t as strong as you. You mother has been brave and yes she will die soon. And I will hope with you that she will be strong enough for three more months. Your brother is as strong as you are and you two are going to do great things. I know you do not know me, but I know you better than you know yourself. Your life is one that will make you stronger than anything and God goes not hate you but loves you. And I know you question, if he loves me then why am I like this, why did this have to happen to me? The truth is it made you stronger and you will be able to save so many more lives with the experience you have. God does not come out bluntly, no he works in strange circles that have straight edges as well as curved ones.

“You are not alone in this world. I will not be here long and you will need others to tell your story to. You need to stop hiding and accept what has happened for with denial comes death only harsher, and you do not need this. But it has happened and it will not go away. You are special. You deserve a life of love and happiness but usually the ones who deserve this do not get it. Instead they are stuck in a Hell that spins of fire and death. And they are stuck unknowingly into this world to change it, but most of the time they do not even get the chances. They are torn and they take their hatred upon their selves. Mystique you are the one who will be able to tell who is hurt and who is not, who can be helped and those who can’t.”

I was about to ask her how she knew. How could any one know? How did she? And who was she, were did she come from? I guess she could tell, because as I opened my mouth she put up her hand to stop me.

“Now I will tell you why I am here and who I am. My name is rose and I am not supposed to be here. Not on this Earth any way. My time has already come and gone. You see I was in the same position that you are in now. I loved this spot and this great old oak, this sight that was so peaceful. I am not as I seem Mystique. And never are things really.” She was quiet for a moment and I took this time to speak, “What you said can make sense, but then again it doesn’t. What you say about yourself is what is confusing me honestly. How can you be not of this Earth?” She stood and walked toward the cemetery, I had no choice but to fallow so I did. We were in the center of this graveyard when she stopped. “Look,” she pointed and I looked to what she was pointing at. I gasped. On the tomb stone it read, R.I.P. Rose Parker, In Loving Memory, “Your dead?” The question remained to be unanswered. For then she was gone.

I will forever remember her words and as I turned around to go home, I realized I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay and so I did. I walked over to my tree and sat down. Watching the shadows play across the ground and watching the other trees sway in the wind. I loved this place. And I knew I would always remember it. This world was my savior, a world to get lost in and a world to feel safe in.

I walked home later and in a few days we had a telephone call from the police station telling us that our father had indeed been rotting in an ally way, dead from an overdose. On my sixteenth birthday my mother changed her will so that everything now would be in my name. I loved her for looking at it that way; she passed away a few weeks after. I wished that she was still here, but she’s not and I wouldn’t want her to be in the pain she had been in. In a way Rose had prepared me with her words. I will always cherish knowing her, even if it was for only four hours. I know her words are true.

I am older now and I roam the streets looking for those children in need of help. The ones I know I can help, and the ones I know I can’t I still try, knowing that Rose would do the same. I wonder where she is now. She never answered my question though I’m pretty sure I know the answer. I have never told any one who Rose was, only that she helped me through my crisis and that I loved her for it. My brother is a student of theology at some university, (he was the only one who knew of Rose) and he puts up some pretty good debates. He needs my help some times though. And I gladly give it to him.

I leave this story here wrapped in plastic in a box underneath the great old oak tree that will forever remain my favorite place in my heart no mater was does come through it will always shelter you. This story ends here but maybe another will just begin here. Maybe someone will find my story, and maybe their life will be helped by my story. I say good luck to the next person that comes walking down the unbroken bridge, and crawls through the hole in the wall of trees. I hope the next person that sits under this great old oak can feel its magic through their body like I feel it in mine.

I write still and I’m proud of it now. I no longer hide it for I have nothing to fear from it. Their opinion is theirs and I could care less.