The Balcony | Teen Ink

The Balcony

January 25, 2010
By salem_rose SILVER, Brainerd, Minnesota
salem_rose SILVER, Brainerd, Minnesota
7 articles 4 photos 17 comments

Favorite Quote:
Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will ~ George Bernard Shaw

I stared at the vastness of the ocean, lost in deep thought while the sorrowful guests were quietly mingling inside. The sun was starting to dip in the sky and the seagulls were swooping down to get the deserted food in the sand. A slight breeze made its way over to me, blowing my light hair back behind me; a kiss against my skin. My now deceased mother had loved the spring air. She would come out to the balcony late at night while my baby sister was sleeping, standing on the railing. I usually would come and join her.

“Come up here with me,” she insisted.

I climbed atop one of the plastic chairs, swaying as I tried to stand on the flat wooden railing. “Why do you like to do this?” I asked shakily, gripping her hand tightly.

“To see.”

“But I could see just fine when I wasn’t standing on an unstable piece of wood.”

She laughed. “Not that kind of seeing.” She took a deep breath. “Can’t you feel the rush of adrenaline? Everything is so sharp, so clear.”

I turned back to the ocean, noticing that what she said was true. The leaves of the nearby tree looked sharper than ever. I could even make out the edges of the clouds in the sky surrounding the gleaming moon. The ocean’s water looked even darker. “Yeah, but why? I mean, you could fall and break a neck if you lost balance!”

“Life is too short to not do anything dangerous, Nikki,” she sighed. “Trust me.”

I did trust her, until she was killed in a car accident while driving back home from work. A daughter’s worst nightmare come true: a police officer at the door to tell you your mother died.

Now as I stood on that same balcony that my mother loves oh so much, a tear trickled down my flushed cheek, knowing that I will never be back again.

“Nikki?” a soprano voice said from behind me.

I turned to see my brown haired, four-year old sister standing in the patio’s door, dressed in a black dress. I picked her up. “What is it, Jasmine?”

She played with a piece of my hair. “Jenny says it’s time to go.”

I sighed. “Alright.”

And without a final glance back, I went inside to find Jenny, the Social Services agent, to start my new life- without my mother.

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