Opening My Eyes

By Holly Jane

I feel the road thumping under my feet, my heart thumping in my ears, I can’t see whats ahead of me. All I know is that I can’t stop running. I trip and I hear footsteps right behind me. I feel someone touch me... I wake up in cold sweat, Bomber’s slithered over my hand, he’s noticed my sudden movement and flicks his forked tongue at me. I look at his cage, open, I look at dad asleep on the floor, drunk. I lift Bomber to my head and let him slide over my face. I sit up and throw my legs over the side of my bed while Bomber wraps around my neck. I pull my pants on and walk towards the door, stepping over. Dad to get there. I grab my ciggies and lighter from the bench and open the caravan door. When I step outside the breeze picks up a little and Bomber tightens around my neck, telling me to go back inside. I don’t.

I let my eyes wander, gaze at whatever they feel necessary, while my mind chatters, battling itself. I suddenly remember snippets of my dream, the fear of being chased was drowned out with the excitement of running away. A strong desire to run surges in my belly, tightens my chest, chokes my throat then engulfs my mind. It’s all I can think about. I take a deep breath and try to talk myself out of it. I look at the big colourful tents that I’ve lived with my whole life, I see how kids marvel at them and run inside and I try to feel their excitement, I honestly try, but all I can feel is resentment. My eyes glide over the same elephants that most people stare at for hours! But then I look at the real reason I’ve stayed this long, the one that no one else notices. Ash. I look at her caravan and try to imagine a life without her. A life were I’m free but without my best friend. A life without her would be like a ship without an anchor. No one to say stop, too much.

Walking up those two stairs to get inside somehow feels harder than before. Like I’ve got a load on my back, Ash always tells me that’s my conscience. I look down at Dad; he looks pathetic, weak. He’s snoring heavily, that means he’s drunk. He’s always drunk, at least after training he is. He wakes up at 6am to run, stretch, do some acrobatics then it’s straight in the air to do the trapeze, singles, doubles, whatever the routine requires. I used to love watching him fly through the air. I thought he looked like a Greek god the way he flipped from bar to bar with such ease. Now I look at him asleep on the floor and I think he looks pathetic. I force myself to look away, for I’m starting to feel sorry for him. I flick the kettle on, hum a tune while it whistles and put Bomber back in his cage. I put two extra teaspoons of coffee in the plunger I don’t know why I do it but for some reason I feel I’ll need it.

In five days days it will be Rodger’s birthday. He is the youngest in the circus “family”. He’s turning four. I want to get him something, nothing big, but something. I can’t go to sleep so I think of all the things I saw in the toy shop the other day. I decide to get him the stuffed monster. It was fluffy, blue and had big crazy green and red eyes. I think about all the times me and Roger played monsters while I walk to my chest with my money box hidden at the bottom. I pick it up and look inside. It’s empty. Not even the smallest amount of my poo change is left in the bottom. I want to scream and yell but instead I take a deep breath and look in the top kitchen cupboard. Just like I thought, new bottles. In a rage I rip the tops off them, empty them down the sink and run to my room. I throw everything I can see in a bag and run out the door. But as I leave the circus grounds I pass Ash’s caravan. I can’t turn back, my mind’s set. So instead I find a pencil and paper and write a simple “I’m sorry, I will always remember you”.

The gravel under my bare feet is sharp but I don’t notice it through the haze of my rage. I can’t seem to keep a grip on my emotions, it’s like all these years of desire, anger and hatred have all come at once, like one big birthday present after last year’s was forgotten. I wanna put on my headphones and listen to Paul Kelly full blast. I wanna sing along at the top of my lungs and get this feeling out of me. But I can’t. I’ve got to hitch to Melbourne. Cars come along here about every ten minutes, so until then I’ll keep walking and wait.

Holly Erin Jane