Third Star to the Right

I used to sneak out of my house in the middle of the night, carefully tip-toeing into the kitchen to steal my Dad’s red wine, then out through the patio so the alarm wouldn’t go off.

I wasn’t bad or rebellious; I was just… sad.

I would feel a loopiness creep into me, like when there’s a crazy person dancing in the street, so you avert your eyes and run past.

And that’s what I did. I averted my eyes and pasted a smile on during the day, forcing the twisty, windy, crazy, cartwheeling,

SCREAMING

feelings to spill out at night.

At first, I silently sobbed into my pillow, but when this wasn’t enough, I started sneaking out.

The first time, I crept to my backyard and just cried. I ran my fingers through the cold, moist grass, then laid my head down until I didn’t know where my tears began and the dewdrops ended.

When I went back inside, I told myself that I couldn’t do this anymore; I was making a big fuss; nothing was wrong with me.

But a few weeks later, I went outside again, this time sipping my Dad’s wine, punching the air, then collapsing with exhaustion.

The third time, I brought a pillow and a blanket and planned to sleep outside. It was the first time I laid down on the ground without tears to blur my vision, and what I saw was magical. When I gazed up at the stars, the glimmering lights in the distance, I felt the enormity of the universe. I felt peaceful. I felt whole.

I knew this feeling wouldn’t last, that I automatically wouldn’t start feeling better, but I decided that, maybe, sneaking out at night wasn’t such a bad idea.

And after that third time, the night was no longer a time for sorrow, it was a time for rejoicing. It was a time for gazing at the beautiful sky, and thanking my lucky stars for my life here on earth.

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From Trifecta: This weekend what we are asking from you is a little bit different (again).  Many of you regularly submit fictional responses to our prompts.  This weekend we are asking for a bit of your memoirs.  We want a real account of a period in your life that can be clearly identified by (wait for it) the number three.