About the Author: The author of Let Go of the Stars is 13 years old. They enjoy skiing, running, and chorus.
2:00 AM.
The sound of rain trickling off of the roof and landing on the hard concrete awakes me from my sleep. I stare blankly out my window, scanning the street below. Another restless night. Another leaching day to come. I often spend hours awake gazing outside because there is simply nothing better to do at 2:00 in the morning. I guess you could call me an insomniac.
Looking up at the starry night sky, I could tell that what the weather forecasters have been talking about was finally here. The sky is covered in a thick gray coat of clouds as far as the eye can see. A clearing emerges through the clouds revealing the stars once again. I name the few constellations that I can see. My mother once taught me each and everyone's name. She was an astronomer. It seems like a lifetime ago. I can’t say that I know what she is now. She is no longer my mom, but a mother of a forgotten child. Years ago when I was just leaving elementary school, my mom and dad would get into fights, mostly about how much my mother would work. She would leave for days, even weeks at a time for her work. It was like she missed my whole childhood. Eventually it came to the breaking point, and my parents decided that a divorce would be best for our family. It nearly broke her, and her passion for the great beyond. When my parents got a divorce, my father robbed my mother of her life savings in court. With that, robbed me from her. Just like any sad divorce story, my dad took me, and my mom took the dog. I haven't seen my mom since. No one has.
“Cassiopeia, Leo, Hydra,” I whisper under my breath.
Sometimes I think that a piece of her is still with me and that the love we share for the sky keeps us together, no matter how many miles we are apart.
Staring out the window I can see the reflection of myself in the glass. My long, deep black hair, hazel green eyes, and fuzzy blue pajamas look back at me. The sound of shattering glass from outside interrupts my pondering. Standing on the corner of Park Street is a stranger in black hoodie. That’s the seventh time they've been there this week. Around their feet are shards of glass. The person does not pick the glass up. They look around, almost as if they're checking if anyone heard or saw them. The answer is yes, because I witnessed the whole thing loud and clear from all the way across the street. Why anyone would be out in a storm like this is beyond me.
Lightning strikes the house and and startles me. I fall onto the floor and let out a little screech. Trying to stay calm, I peek out the window and look contently at the person, making sure not to miss their any move. Leaning forward to get a better look I knock my plant and its small pot off the windowsill. Not thinking, I duck under the window in case the black hoodie saw me. I slowly inch up to view the street. It looks the same, my neighbors houses stand steadily across the street. The shattered glass lays on the street, but there is no person to be seen. Red sirens go off in my head.
“Where did they go?” I say to myself, making sure to not be heard by anyone. I reach for a piece of glass from the shattered pot of the ground. A creaking noise coming from the front door echoes throughout the house and up to my room. I grab the glass and dive into my closet.
“Dad!” I yelp. I think of his room, which is right across the hall.
“If I only had the courage to leave my safe spot,” I say frighteningly.
The closet doors have a small gap in between them allowing me to peek out into the shadowy version of my room. Terrifying. Terrifying is the one and only word that comes to mind when describing this situation. There is a strange person in my house wearing a black hoodie that doesn't give me good vibes and the most strange thing about the whole situation is how I’m comprehending this, given all the circumstances. When I was little I thought I saw a bug in my room and I was so scared that I screamed at the top of my lungs until I woke up my parents, and probably the whole neighborhood. It just shows how much i’ve grown. I glance down at my watch.
“2:30 AM,” I read.
The screeching noise of clean shoes climbs up the stairs, it sounds as if explosions are rumbling up to my room in the silence of the night. As the noise inches closer to my room a shadowy figure follows which I can now see is no taller than ‘5’9’. Holding my glass shard out in front of me I close my eyes. An images of my father, mother and me dancing in a grassy field on a cool summer day come into mind. We are happy, I think. I guess this is what people mean when they say, my life flashed before my eyes. But the thing is this never happened, it is a version of what I imagine my life story to be. Not what it is. As the closet doors begin to open I scream. I scream as did when I was a helpless kid afraid of my own shadow. Never have I screamed with more terror in my voice, and never will I again if this is it. I snap back into reality to see what looks like a person standing over me, smiling. It is not a grin of happiness but revenge and the scariest part is the feeling it gives me, almost like deja vu.
When I wake up I am restrained to a bed in what looks of a hospital room. On the bed there is a paper thin sheet and a uncomfortable lumpy pillow. There are no windows, but instead concrete walls. There is no furniture in the small box like room, not counting the bed. I can’t hear anything, not the busy chaos of Park Street, or the sound of cars honking, I can’t even hear the booming of lightning. I can tell that wherever I am, it’s a long way from home.
“Think, Eliza… Think,” I whisper.
“What happened last night.”
I must have been in a state of shock last night because my memory is blurry. I remember the front door opening, grabbing the glass shard, and then I was screaming, until I wasn't, and I was in a car, well, the trunk of a car, and then I was here, lying in this bed.
“WHERE THE HECK AM I AND WHAT BASTARD HAS KIDNAPPED ME!!!!” I yell trying not to show any fear to whoever may be watching.
On the ceiling facing me is a small black camera following my every move. I make intense eye contact at the camera. It’s not that I want to get on this person's bad side, if it even is a person, I just don’t want to appear as weak, because when you show weakness to people of this sort you may as well be considered dead. I roll on my side to get a better look at my restraints. They are made out of rope and on loose, allowing me to move around. There is no way of telling how long I’ve been here and how long I will remain. I try to wiggle out of the rope holding my hands to the bed but my attempts are useless.
The door of the room slowly opens revealing the same shadowy person from before. They are wearing a black mask and cloak. I don’t say anything for the fear of what they might do. My heart feels like it will explode out of my chest.
“I’m not going to hurt you, you don’t need to be afraid,” they reassure.
“You talk to me like your the good guy, and I am just a naive child, but I know exactly what you are, a heartless monster,” I say not thinking twice.
They don’t say anything, but instead look around. This person does not seem like a a total moster, I can tell by the way they took my insult. But who am I to talk.
“I’m sorry it had to be like this… Eliza,”
“HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW MY NAME,”I yell.
“That's not important,” they say.
How could they think that a detail like that isn't important?
“That’s enough for today,” they say.
I can tell by the high pitched tone of there voice that this person is a girl. She turns around and shuts the door behind herself. What do you mean that's enough? She gave me nothing, not how long I have been here, not how she knows my name or why the heck she kidnapped me! I stay stationary and make sure to not make any sudden moves, I don’t want to come off as doing anything suspicious. It’s not like I can do anything with my hands tied up though. Trying to think of all the possible reasons that this person might kidnap me, one thing becomes clear. This person knew that my house key was under the ceramic frog in the plant pot next to the door, they knew exactly how to get to my room and they know my name. It was no coincidence that the kidnapper took me, it was strategically planned.
There is the faint smell of gasoline in the air, leading me to believe that there may be a car somewhere. My mother taught me how to drive when I was eight. Why? I don’t know. Her teaching didn't help much because I never learned how to make it outside of the driveway. I slowly sit up the best I can with the rope around my hands. Once I get to the sitting position I can clearly see the extent to my restraint. The rope is attached to the bedpost in a few double knots.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say confidently. My hands ache from the burn that the rope has inflicted. From behind the door I can hear a rustle. She’s back! The door swings open and yet again, out comes the figure.
“What do you want with me,” I say firmly.
“I don’t want anything to do with you….. But your father, he’s a different story.” she admittes
What does that even mean? I think
“In other words, I need your mothers money and the only way for me to get that was for me to take you.”
“Why did you need me to get to my moms money?” I ask
“Simple sweetheart, it’s called ransom.”
“My father won’t give you anything, I bet he has already called the cops!” I yell.
“Well then you clearly don’t know your father that well,” she says.
She opens the door and pulls out a black duffle bag. She opens the bag revealing mounds of green. My heart skips a beat realizing that I may be able to go home.
“Does this mean I can go,” I say.
“Life is never that easy,” she responds.
“You're a fraud,” I yell and kick, like a child during a temper tantrum. She quickly leaves, slamming the door behind her. I look up at the security camera to see a red light blinking. It’s offline, I think.
“This is my chance,” I whisper.
I pull my arm across the bed in hopes of untying the rope. My fingertips barely touching my restraint, I slowly untie my left arm from the rope. Adrenaline rushes through my veins with the fear and excitement of escaping, and seeing my dad again! I quickly free my right hand from the rope and jump off of the bed. The second that I touch the floor I collapse onto the cold concrete. A shiver runs down my spine. I have been laying down for so long, it is almost as if my body has forgotten how to work. I take a second before standing up again.
“This is it,” I say while running to the door.
“I was first in every 100 meter dash in track, this will be no harder,” I try to convince myself before opening the door.
I push open the door to reveal a steep staircase that could easily be over 100 steps. My heart races as I take my final steps. I feel as if I have conquered Mount Everest. Once I get to the top I realize this is going to be harder than thought. Deep woods of pine trees surround me. It looks like it may mid afternoon because the sun is right above my head.
“Where has this person taken me?” I yelp.
I used to go camping in the woods all the time with my father. I was never scared because I with him. Now that I am here, all by myself, I have never felt more alone. The fresh smell of spring fills my nose as I walk. I can hear the obnoxious birds chirping and for the first time I feel like I actually might be able to make it back home. My confidence quickly turns in to fear as I get the feeling that someone or something is watching me. A rustle seems to follow my every step. Pretend that nothing is wrong, I think. I keep a steady pace for what feels like an eternity, my feet grow heavy under me and I begin to walk slowly.
“If you don’t confront this monster then they might get to you first,” I say trying to convince myself that I am up to the task.
I turn around and sure enough the person is not far behind me. They sprint towards me and I run like I have never run before. After 30 seconds I can already tell that I am no match for them. Their long strides are clearly faster than my wobble-like run. As I take my last leap of faith, I trip on a tree root and fall onto my face. The person closes in on me like a predator ready to kill. As they reach for me I rip of their mask. It hits me like a wall of bricks. This person is no stranger, it is my Mother. I start to crawl away, maintaining eye contact. I try to think of something to say… anything... but there are no words to describe what I am feeling. I’ve played the moment that we would meet again over in my head a million times. This person who I called a monster, a fraud, is my mother. I thought that I would be happy, anxious or overjoyed but I feel nothing… Nothing besides the anger it brings me to realize that a person I once loved so dearly has chosen to inflict this amount of pain on me. My mother's deep blue eyes look at me in a deathening stare.
“I’m sorry,” she says. People say that family forgives, no matter what, but just because this woman is my mother doesn't mean that she is my mom.
Do I run? Do I talk? Do I just sit here and contemplate what to do? I don’t know. In school people used to joke about how their whole life was a lie, based on a little thing, like when I found out that a person in my class was a second cousin, but I think that this is an appropriate time to say, MY WHOLE FREAKING LIFE IS A DAMN LIE!
On that thought, I get up and walk away, like nothing ever happened. I’m not sure where I’m walking, but anywhere away from here would be better. What will I tell my dad? I think. I run through exactly what I predict to happen in my head. I will get home, probably start crying, and spill. I was never good at keeping secrets. My dad always told me to keep my head up, so I look up to the sky. The night sky and constellations shine down on me over my head, and for the first night in a lifetime, I let go of the stars, because after all, they are over four light years away.