As I plug my headphones into my phone, I walk to the closet where the bulky, black and silver vacuum is kept, and wheel it out to the outlet on the blank, white wall. Music starts to spill out of my headphones and into my ears as I connect the vacuum cord to the outlet and switch the vacuum on. The continuous roar of the vacuum starts up, and I begin to run it over the old, white, worn out carpet, leaving faint lines in rows from where I have already traveled. I go through each and every room, one by one, and when I’m finished, I wheel it back into the closet and slip on my scuffed up, black and white checkered Vans.

I make my way out the door and start walking, first down a long sidewalk busy with tiny ants, then cutting across the grass, hearing leaves crunch under my feet. Once I arrive to my destination, a big, welcoming cottonwood tree, I start to climb. When I’m satisfied with a spot in the tree, I sit down, feeling the rough bark on my legs, the palms of my hands, and my fingertips. I have come to this spot many, many times before. With friends and by myself. As I sit here, I hear the sounds of leaves rustling, birds conversing, and a car driving by on the nearby road. I am surrounded by the positive energy of all the nature around me and visited by the fresh perfume of the cottonwoods, the grass, the soil, and simply the air around me.

The tree is a perfect place to think. And so, I start to think. A recent fight with my father comes to mind and as it replays in my head, I start to feel angry and sad. I remember being angry at him for not wanting to do normal things that parents do for their children. Angry at him for only caring about himself. “Here” I say harshly  as I toss money onto the living room table, immediately walking back to my room, away from my father and stepmother.

“Hey get back here!” They say almost simultaneously.

I yell, “Just take it!”

“No come back here! You can’t throw money at us like that!”

“You want it so bad so just take it!”

Our voices get increasingly louder as my dad yells, “ I pay child support and medical! What does your mom do? She’s lying about the child support money!”

I yell right back at him from across the room, tears streaming down my face, red from anger, “ She raises me! She takes me to school! She feeds me and gives me a roof over my head! Don’t say she’s lying because she’s not! You’re my father! This is what parents have to do!”

“Ask your mom! Tell her to show you the bank statement!”

“I will!” And with that, I storm out of the living room and into my room, slamming the door shut so hard that the door frame breaks. I sit in my room for about two hours, crying and wishing things were different.

I blink, transported back into the tree, still wishing things were different, wishing things were better. I wish my father had a kinder soul and would stop only caring about himself. I wish he would realize the awful things he does and how he makes me feel. I wish his good side would show more than his bad side.  And for my mother, I wish she had it better. I wish she could have had a happy marriage and lived a happier life. I wish to not make the same mistakes as my parents, to do all the right things and not stop contact with my children, like my father has done with my brothers. I wish for more love and happiness within the people around me. I wish there were less conflicts. Conflicts in my social life, with my friends, my family, within myself, and the world. I wish for peace. I wish I could be in control of the situations around me and fix everything.

I wish to be successful, to be proud, to rise to the expectations of my mother, my grandparents, my teachers, and my friends. To make them proud. I wish that I was more put together, that I knew what I wanted and how to get it. That I was composed. I wish that I liked and accepted myself. But what I wish most of all is to be happy. To be really truly happy someday. Or at least I wish that I could hold onto the happiness and hold it tight so that it would stop slipping away like slippery silk from the grasps of my hands. I wish that it wasn’t always temporary happiness.