It was the middle of summer, on a long char broiled concrete road that wound around and around the neighborhood. It had various cracks and ripples, that one sketch mark that Mrs. Hudson had made the year she got her first red car. There was the blood stains of a racoon, and the faint remnants of a pressed sock. Leaves floated down over the road, covering spots like blankets in the night. Ants piled and piled over each other scrambling to get pieces of crushed bubble gum lollipop. A scrap of homework wafted in the air, trailing along with a single hair. Mr. Amely walked slowly with his cane, hobbling and trotting as he could. He waved, and then took out his old pipe and started to smoke. Ashes fell to the ground as he troubled on.
I walked along the sidewalk, in my old worn out blue jeans. I dragged my feet along the crimson dirt road and watched as my shoelaces gradually untied themselves. I bent down to tuck them into my shoe, I was too lazy to tie them.
I tore them off my feet along with socks and held my shoes in hand. I headed back towards the sidewalk. Wandering and wondering as I went on, I watched a raven fly by. It glanced at me and suddenly everything went still. The bird’s eye froze, its pupil black as night. The bird flew away, continuously peering into my soul, I stared into the sky still. Picturing the clouds that hovered above me, I gazed to the top of the sky, the mid section where some say is to be magical. At the top of the sky where the clouds never appear, is where god places angels to watch over us. I looked into the bare sky and thought of beautiful women and men floating from cloud to cloud watching me as I walked, protecting me from any harm. My Aunt Bertram once told me that while she was making her peach preserve in the summer wind of 1997. She saw an angel fly right over her and drop two small tears into her preserves. Aunt Bertram said those peaches never tasted that good again.
I closed my eyes, still walking, and wished for Aunt B’s peaches to be blessed again. So that she could have another happy summer before she died. The sky looked the same, blue in all its glory. A dandelion floated near my nose and I caught the scent of summer hay. I grabbed it and crushed its petals in my fingers. Rubbing the yellow pollen in my palm, I picked out the brown bits of debris the flower had picked up on its journey. I filtered the powder through my fingers and watched it fall. Falling little particles, yet, I seemed to be one of them. Oomph! Face full of red dirt, I picked myself up, realizing I had tripped on some jagged rock. I pulled my legs under me and rolled into the dirt. Tasting the muddy air, I dug my fingers into the clay. Wiggling in darkness, my fingers found a nice moist clump and pulled it out. I tore off a chunk and put it in my mouth. Sucking the water from it, chewing little pieces. It tasted sweet and earthy. A little peppery near the end, I thought of how many creatures had been through this one piece.

I stood up, checked the time, 5:31pm. My house was two blocks away, I should head home I thought. It was true, my mother would be pacing in the kitchen pleading to call the police to search for me. I started to pick up my pace to a slow jog, watching as the mailboxes rolled by. I looked through the windows, noticing other’s lives. I slivered my almond eyes to see through the screen door of the Laymen's home, there dog Grenville barked as I went by and in the background I could hear Mr. Laymen yelling at his wife. The family had always been a puzzle, yelling at one another while trying to fit pieces together. I passed the Rule's house and noticed the open window in the second floor, quietly holding Ashley Rule, a fifteen year old beauty queen who was scrubbing away in the shower. Taking off her layers of masking makeup.
I had been caught many times staring into people’s windows, the neighbors called me Windowpane because I was always hanging on the edge peering into neighbors secret lives. I guess Windowpane started to stick with me, for my family started calling me Window, then Win, and eventually Winnie. My real name, Alex May, was my great great grandmother’s name and it was tradition that the fourth daughter in the family would be named Alex May. Of course, that was gone now, everyone I knew called me Winnie and I didn’t mind it because it showed people I didn’t care what they thought of me.
My older brother Canon always calls me May, I wouldn’t let another soul call me that except for him. I love my brother more than my whole family, he was the father I never had. The brother I always wanted and the rock that held me together. Canon had loved me through life, and now that he was gone for college, my life seemed empty without him. He called every week, and often sent me presents in the mail. Little trinkets from California where he lived. I had a small shelf in my room reserved just for his gifts. He sent me snow globes, which I collected, hair bands, glow sticks, and small pouches full of nail polish from his girlfriend Mellian. Every Christmas we went to see my brother in California, the weather was much warmer there than here in Boston. I loved visiting his apartment, Mellian had decorated it like a beautiful abundant garden. With red vines crawling up the walls and bumble bees buzzing from curtain to curtain. The floors mimicked pots and planters filled with various flowers, occasionally a small worm or butterfly peeked out with a tiny smile. It was my dream house, but I could only see it once a year. Canon had told me that Mellian used to live in South France, where gardens grew in abundance and flowers popped up through cracks in your walls. She had painted the apartment to remind her of home.
I started panting and stopped to catch my breath, my house was next to me on my right, after a few breaths I cascaded toward the steps. I rocked my closed fist on the old wooden door frame. Once, twice, three times. I banged the barely standing door once more before peeking through the window, I heard the shower water running and pictured my mother rinsing away. Thankfully the top bathroom window was open. I peeled off my jacket and tied to knots through the sleeves, wrapping it around the drain pipe I yanked myself atop the bottom window and stepped onto the tiled roofing. Carefully sliding from slate to slate I managed to climb through the top bathroom window with a clean dive. I rolled onto the floor and skidded as I hit the bathroom rug. It was still damp from my shower this afternoon.
“Winnie? Is that you?” My mother called from around the corner. I scrambled to my feet and brushed myself off, reaching for my jacket hanging out the window.
“Winnie? Winnie!” My mother’s footsteps creaked on the floorboards. I stepped back into the shelter of the bathroom. I heard the last few creaks before my Mother leaped into the bathroom thrusting a kitchen knife at me.
“Thief! Oh god, Winnie, oh thank god its you.” She dropped the knife and came in for a hug. I was taken back by the embrace for my Mother had just threatened my life.
“Geez Mom, what did you think I was? A murderer?” I picked up the knife and headed out the bathroom to the kitchen.
“Now, Win. You can’t just think sneaking in is normal, you could’ve been anyone.” Her hands on her hips, my mom hung up her wet towel and grabbed her underwear.
“Anyways, where the hell have you been?” barked my Mother.
“I told you, I was going out for a walk.” I explained.
“Ok, yes of course! A three and a half hour walk around the neighborhood! Certainly Winnie you wouldn’t even bother to call me?” she yelled. I looked at her sarcastically and shrugged my shoulders. I turned and continued for the kitchen. But my Mother’s wet hand gripped my shoulder back.
“Well? You expect me to let you go without explanation?”
“Yeah Mom, I’m sorry I won’t do it again, yeah yeah yeah.” I huffed and ruffled off her hand, turning for the stairs. But my Mother wasn’t done, for her two hands now shook me.
“Winnie, honestly. I have been trying to afford enough money to buy us a decent meal all day. And you won’t even acknowledge that I spared enough time to worry about you? I am the only one who cares for this family you know, I really wish you would pitch in sometime.” I stared my Mother down.
“You.You are the only one who cares about this family? What family! It’s you and me, a pathetic lifestyle we have. Yeah, maybe you work all day, but remind me how much of it is work and not just you fooling around with desperate men? Yeah Mom, you really try hard to care about me, for you to acknowledge that you would spare time to worry about my safety really shows how much you care. Thanks for the heartfelt response but I don’t need your reasons. You know, if you hadn’t screwed up and drove Dad away life would’ve been a lot different you know!” Her hand struck my cheek. I shuffled and fell, holding my hand against my newly red and burned left cheek. Tears welled in my eyes, but I sucked them in. I sat there on the floor in disbelief, My cheek stung and I felt the pores welt up. Picking myself up I saw my Mother’s face turn cold, her cheeks began to grow puffy and her eyes covered themselves with salty tears. She wiped them from her face and reached for my cheek. I turned abruptly, and looked into her eyes, stepping forward I dropped the knife at her feet and glanced at her once more before charging for my room. I slammed the door shut and locked it.

I heard my Mother’s sobs outside the door. It was the first time she had ever slapped me. I knew why she had, I went to far but I was just so angry. All of her talk about supporting this family and loving me. It was just little riddles she created to puzzle me into loving her. I played the loving daughter once, I hated it, all of that fake sympathy and the matching outfits. But this time I understood my punishment. I spoke of my Father. The one thing that was forbidden in my house after the incidents that had put him in the ground. Around the time I was nine years old, my mother used to be a drug addict. Methamphetamines were her main subject. She was often gone from my life, I wasn’t aloud to see her because it was dangerous. Once she had her dose, no one could stop her, she was uncontrollable. She could wreck someone’s life if she had enough, and often that was the case. I remember how loving my father would be, he would tell me my Mother was vacationing in the Bahamas with my Aunt Lilac. He would tell me stories of her days and travels and the things she was doing. Every so often he would even get me a tropical flower keychain he said was from my Mother. Notes would come from the Bahamas weeks at a time, and they would be signed with my Mother’s legendary lips. My Father would explain to me that My Mother would be home soon to lay with me at night. I often believed him, but then months passed and I realized my Mother’s travels in the tropics were never ending. Later in life I found out she was dealing with drugs at night, and during the day she was feeling the aftermath of her night time terrors.

One birthday, while my Mother was nowhere to be seen, my Father got me a new pair of shoes. The box was lined with pink ribbon, and the top and bottom were covered in yellow and green stripes. I uncovered them and to my amazement was a pair of pristine shoes. They were sparkling gold, with a deeper shade of brown and gold coating the bottom skin. The lace holes were outlined in silver and the laces themselves matched the outer skin, bright shimmering gold. The insides were cream, with small little stars spaced all around. They were medium to good condition, I could tell they were used but it was what we could afford. I searched for a brand name, but none peeked out. They mimicked Sperry Topsiders but I knew they weren’t nice enough, they looked like a long, flat oval. A glittering, shimmering, beautiful gold oval, something you would find at the bottom the ocean in a locked treasure chest. Once used by Pirate’s and thrown overboard because of their great beauty. I put the shoe to my nose and smelled the blank flooring of the shoe, they smelled faintly of feet but I could tell they had been washed using melon flavored soap. I slipped off my socks and slippers and shoved the shoe on my foot, like a glove. I thought they were perfect, they fit perfect to my size six or seven foot, they were the tip top of popularity in the shoe business and they looked pretty fancy snuggled against my sweet feet. It was the best birthday present I had ever got. My Father was the best man in my life at the time, Canon hadn’t even took second place on my list yet, my Father was the shining star and I never wanted him to leave.

One night, while I was asleep. I heard the front door creak open and shut slowly. I knew it wasn’t my father, he was asleep. I stayed in my bed while I heard my Father’s footsteps creak past my door. A gasp was all I heard before the door shut and all noise ceased. I waited ten minutes, the twenty, then thirty. Still nothing, I leaped out of bed and slowly crept downstairs. Reaching the front door, I peeked through the side window to our outside porch. My mind went blurry, my eyes faded in and out as I saw the figure before me. She was yelling at my Father waving her arms and hands around, signaling sirens and sleeping. They couldn’t see my but I knew my Father noticed my presence. My Mother continued to use her hands when my Father reached for her to enclose her in a hug. I could see gallons of tears drain down her face, she snuggled into his chest and I saw the innocent figure of my Mother that had disappeared for so long.

The next day, my Father told me that Mother was going to be gone for only three more months. He explained to me that he was going to keep me safe and that my Mother was going to see me again and we would all be a family. I had never cried so easily before, but when I heard that sentence, we would all be a family, the glands in my eyes triggered and released everything they could get.

It was the longest three months I had ever lived through. But the day came when I saw my Mother walk through our front door, she was wearing a bright yellow sundress with purple sandals and a big sunhat. Her blond hair was half down and clipped with a sunflower. She was the true image of beauty and I hadn't dreamed of something more mesmerizing. That week, my Mother told me that she had been very sick and had went to a special hospital for people like her. She explained that she was better now and she would be here for me and my Father. It was the happiest moment of my life, the uttermost happiest day. My family was coming together, it was all I had ever wanted. That week I slept in my Mother’s arms every night and come morning, we made my father fresh cheese hotcakes with fresh melon and berries. Life was beautiful.

But the weeks went by fast, and come the end of summer, my Father kissed me less and hugged my mother colder. We both knew he was distant, and her grew worse each day. My Father wouldn’t eat his hotcakes, he wouldn’t tuck me in at night. I wondered if he was turning into my Mother. Eventually, my father filed for divorce against my mother. He didn’t ask for money or custody, just to get away from her. I remember the day he said goodbye to me, he told me he would see me soon and kissed me on the forehead. I was eleven at the time and watching my own father drive away was the worst thing you could do a daughter. All he took was his bright red Ford pickup truck and a pair of old blue jeans.

I’m fifteen now. All of that mess was four years ago, and good riddance. I wiped the tears from my eyes and placed a cold washcloth on my cheek. Smearing some Neosporin on it, I left it along and changed into my pajamas. I sat on my bed and pulled out the yellow and green striped box with pink ribbon around the edges. I blew off the dust, since it hadn’t been opened in four years. I opened the box and lifted the safety tissue. There they were, the shoes my father had given my for my tenth birthday. They still shimmered in their box, I took them out. Squeezed my now size eight foot into them. They dug into my heels and soon cut into my skin coloring the heels with blood. But I felt safe inside them.

I unlocked my door, wiping off the last of my endless tears. I knew where my mother was, in her room. I traveled down the hall, breathing in and breathing out. I saw my mother face down in her pillow, sobbing into the soft linens. I was still in my shoes and I quietly scuffed them on the floor. She jerked up and stared into my eyes.
“Alex.” She cried, a smile appeared on my face and I ran into her arms sobbing as hard as possible.
“Mom! I’m so sorry. I love you so much, I know you try hard and I love you, I’ll start to help you with things I promise. I just want us to be like we were.” I cried into her chest.
“Oh Win, its all I’ve ever wanted. I love you too sweetie, and I’m sorry. For everything.” She kissed my forehead and stroked my shoes, realizing what pair they were. I heard her gasp, and then she hugged me even tighter.

That night, my mother and I laid together till morning. We cuddled for warmth and shared everything, I told her about Dad’s gifts and the shoes. She told me about her kisses and how she got her name. Morning arrived, and the memories came back. My mother took me downstairs and opened up the cupboards. She emptied them of flour, sugar, and baking powder. Taking goat and ricotta cheese from the fridge. She looked at me and whispered cheese cakes baby. I slipped off my now bloody shoes and sat them against the front door. Never to wear them again, for that was a time of the past. My past that had left me, for my new story was filled with cheese hotcakes and love. Windowpane, the girl, wasn’t known for peeking into other’s homes, but for her legendary cakes and her one of a kind love.