I Have Carried My Fear

 

 

That night, I spent a lot of time alone in my room studying the pictures I had found. My coming to Peachville was no coincidence. But it couldn't have been entirely masterminded either. After all, wasn't it my own actions at the various foster homes that led me here? No, it was more like fate that brought me here to the town where my mother lived.

 

I had so many questions about her. Why did she give me up for adoption? How did she die? Was she different like me? Could she make things move with her mind when she got angry? In the photograph, she wore her long blonde hair in a ponytail high on her head. A blue ribbon was tied perfectly around it. She was smiling and beautiful, but there was also worry in her eyes.

 

I wished I could have known her. More than anything, I wanted to talk to her and have her explain this strange town to me. Were the women here witches? Or did they just have access to some kind of supernatural power?

 

I realized I was different at an early age. Ever since the night of the fire when I was eight years old. I knew. But I never knew there were others like me.

 

And now I had a chance to join them. Who knew what kind of power they had access to? Maybe they could even teach me how to control my power. So far, it only reared its ugly head when I was angry or extremely upset about something. And then, my emotions were usually so out of control, I ended up causing someone pain or destroying everything around me.

 

The fire was my fault, but I didn't mean to do it. I was just a little girl and my parents were fighting. Heath, my adoptive father, kept yelling at Jill and hitting her. I couldn't stand it. I went into the living room and watched them, tears streaming down my face. I remember how the anger and hurt inside of me boiled up so hot I could literally feel my temperature rise. I felt so helpless. So small. He slapped her again and I snapped. The anger consumed me. I remember feeling the wind in my hair and thinking a window must be open.

 

Then the wind grew stronger. More fierce. Suddenly, all of the objects in the room rose up. Vases, picture frames, anything that wasn't nailed down was floating in the air. A painting above the fireplace fell off the wall and clattered to the floor, then rose up again. A glass of wine on the mantle. A book sitting on the side table. A candle in the dining room. They all rose several inches into the air.

 

Heath looked at me in shock. His eyes filled with awe, then, slowly, disgust. He yelled curses at me, told me to stop. He said I was a witch. An evil child. He said they made a mistake adopting me. His words only confused me. I was scared by what was happening around me, and inside, my emotions were out of control. Anger, hurt, confusion. I felt all of those things.

 

When he came toward me, I panicked. I screamed and suddenly, the objects in the room flew in different directions, crashing wildly against the wall or the floor. I ran, but he followed. At some point, something must have flown into the fire that was burning in the fireplace. The fire marshal said the fire was spread around the room as though a tornado had come through there. It was my fault, but I never meant for anyone to get hurt.

 

I ran into my room and the door shut behind me without me even having to touch it with my hand. It was like it only happened because I wanted it to happen. Outside, I could hear Heath yelling for me to open the door. Within minutes, smoke began to pour into the room. In the distance, I heard Jill scream. Behind me, the window broke and a neighbor pulled me through. She saved my life and I didn't even know her name. Jill escaped out the back door, but Heath was trapped inside. He died in the fire and Jill never recovered. She didn't want to believe what I had done, but she saw it happen and could never reconcile it in her mind. She spent six years in a mental hospital, then committed suicide by taking a handful of pills one night. I have carried the guilt of that night on my shoulders for the past eight years.

 

I have also carried my fear. Fear of getting angry and causing something terrible to happen to someone else. Fear of never learning to control this strange power. Fear that no one would ever love me or understand me.

 

Here in Peachville, though, there were people who were just like me. They were asking me to join them. I knew they could teach me to control it and make sure that no one was ever hurt by my anger again.

 

They could help me.

 

But at what cost?