I’ve Lived My Whole Life Without Ever Hearing Music

Mom goes to the kitchen and starts making dinner like nothing happened. Dad goes to his office, but I can feel the change in the air.

That night after dinner Dad comes to my room and tells me I’m required to spend 30 minutes outside every day per the safety plan. The next morning Mom follows me to the back door and watches through the window the entire time I’m in the yard.

When I come back inside she searches my pockets and my room. That evening Dad goes through my things again while I sit on my bed.

They’re following every rule Aisha set, but they found new ways to control me. Mom speaks to me only in short clipped sentences giving instructions.

Dad monitors my outdoor time from the window with his arms crossed. My room gets searched twice a day.

The locks stay off my door, but I know they’re watching and listening more carefully than ever. I’m technically safer according to the safety plan, but I feel more trapped than before.

Now I know they’re just performing compliance while finding every loophole they can. The next morning during my required outdoor time I walk slowly around the yard while Dad watches from the kitchen window.

I make my way toward the back fence where the Wong’s property meets ours and pretend to examine Mom’s dead tomato plants. Andre appears on his side of the fence and crouches down like he’s pulling weeds.

He speaks quietly without looking at me directly. He tells me there’s a youth shelter downtown that takes emergency placements, no questions asked, and they have beds available.

He pulls a small folded flyer from his pocket and slides it under the fence gap. I palm it quickly and shove it in my sock before Dad can see.

Andre says his mom knows a caseworker there and they’re expecting situations like mine. The flyer has a phone number printed in big letters and I stare at it for ten seconds burning the digits into my memory: 720-415-8863.

I repeat it in my head over and over. Dad taps on the window and points at his watch so I know my time is almost up.

I nod at Andre and walk back toward the house. Once I’m in the bathroom, I tear the flyer into tiny pieces and flush it down the toilet.

I spend the rest of the day in my room repeating that phone number like a prayer: 720-415-8863. I think about what I’d need to say to get them to take me.

The Flight into Sound

I think about whether I could actually do this, actually leave. The hardest part is Micah.

Every time I imagine walking out that door I see his face in my mind and feel sick. He’s seven years old and he has nightmares about music because of what they’ve done to him.

If I leave he’ll be alone with them and their crazy ideas and their control. Miles is older and he believes everything they say, but Micah is still little enough that maybe he could be different if he had a chance.

But I also know I can’t save him if I can’t save myself first. I’m 16 and I’m losing my mind in this house, and if I don’t get out soon I don’t know what will happen to me.

The guilt sits in my stomach like a rock, but so does the need to escape. I try to figure out how to do both and I can’t.

There’s no version where I take Micah with me because I have no money and no plan and no way to take care of a seven-year-old. I hate myself for even thinking about leaving him, but I also know I have to.

That evening at dinner Dad makes an announcement. He says he talked to the property owner and we’re moving in three days instead of two weeks.

He looks right at me when he says it, and I know this is because of the safety plan, because they want to get me away from Aisha and her rules before she comes back. Mom nods and says we need to start packing tonight.

I ask if CPS said this was okay and Dad’s face goes hard. He says the safety plan doesn’t prevent us from moving to a better environment, and Aisha will be notified of our new address.

I realize my window just got way smaller. Three days. I have three days to decide if I’m actually going to do this.

After dinner I go to my room and sit on my bed and try to breathe normally. Mom comes in an hour later with boxes and tells me to start packing my clothes.

I pack slowly, buying time, thinking. That night after everyone is asleep I get up and find a pen and paper I hid in my closet.

I sit on my floor in the dark and write a letter to Micah. I tell him I love him and I’m not abandoning him.

I tell him I can’t stay here and let them destroy me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. I tell him the nightmares aren’t real and music isn’t poison and someday when he’s older he’ll understand.

I tell him I’ll try to come back for him when I can. I fold the letter small and creep down the hall to his room.