I was harshly nipping away at the large succulent plum, the white remains oozing from under me. My pen began stabbing the paper, a rainbow of colors along with my animation bursts as if only set free like a pack of sheep without a shepherd. I hear the sounds of Mr. Arnoldś bakery next door, the men hooting and hollering, as I breathe in the aroma of fresh baguettes, the rich, filling smell of country loaves, and the light fragrance of warm rolls. The smell clashes beautifully with the foul street exhaust that stings my nose, as my brother’s toy cars bang against the thin crisp walls of our broken down flat. I've been drawing for as long as I can remember. I think all children draw as soon as they figure out the thumb and can grab crayons. The only difference with people like myself is that we never stopped drawing. I couldn’t afford a single crayon, let alone brushes and paints but I tried to draw wherever I went. I drew on the pavement with pieces of brick, but janitors and patrolmen didn’t appreciate such art. I would have painted on walls or on fences, but every wall and fence belonged to someone. Besides, brick doesn’t really draw on walls; it only scratches. Mama tells me to be thankful that I at least have a roof over my head, I tell her she’s nuts because everyone at school even knows that we are as poor as searching the sofas for pennies. If that’s not embarrassing enough, try being bullied for being that one girl in school possessed with art, and being jabbed around because your ́different ́ or the outcast. Sometimes I feel that no one loves me, that I don't need anyone. Drawing is my attempt to escape the bitter reality that I live in because I consider it another world far from everything. When I draw, I am in a state of pure relaxation, nothing else matters to me. I do not plan or think about what I am going to make, but rather I let my feelings move my hands. This is what speaks to me, seizes me, and carries me away, I feel captivated and in love. My hands often twitch and my eyes glisten with happy tears, if only the world could see my paintings, it would laugh with delight. It’s been a month since I have found my special pen, and nobody knows about it. I found it concealed under a heap of the junk while I was bulldozing for old canvases, brushes, paints, and crayons, in the city’s subway which is more like a homeless museum, with strays walking about. I came home later that day only to realize that this wasn’t just any type of pen, it was capable of much more, so much more. Any event that I drew, came to life. Since then, I’ve been using it to my full advantage, especially to ditch school, nobody notices me anyway so it's not like it matters. 

“Luna! Come, downstairs honey, your dad and I need to talk to you about something,̈  Mom’s voice echoes softly as if the slightest disruption would cause the place to collapse. 

¨I’m coming!” I screeched, slapping down the burberry crayon, and slipping the pen under the layers of my corduroy pants. My feet glide uncomfortably across the demolished floors. I pull my finger through the loop of the door since the knob isn't there anymore. My nose is blasted with the harboring of nasty odors, microwaved salmon, the carpet and walls years of the absorbed stink, cat litter, and the rotten critters spoiled around the dump. I turn the corner, and my parents face reads expressions I see often, they were possessed of a terrifying sensation that life was being slowly squeezed out of them. 

¨ I got a call from Mr. Wilson that you’ve been skipping class! Is that true young lady?” Mom questioned fiercely, maintaining direct eye contact. Her hazel eyes were a melt of autumn tones, fending off the winter frost. Freckles, light, delicate; sprinkled softly on her sun-kissed cheeks. Waves of brown hair that refract the sun's gentle light, penetrating its smooth layers. She was a goddess herself, yet a part of me stung within her presence. 

̈ ̈Luna you aren't paying enough attention in class, all your grades aren't meeting the standards, and your always caught up in drawing! What is the matter with you?” Dad came in as if he was delirious or drunk. He paced around, clenched his fists, and rested his face in his botched hands, whose skin had been butchered from working long nights in the factory. 

̈ Nothing is wrong with me! Stop worrying, i ́ll be fine!¨ I assure them in an awfully dreadful tone. 

̈ Excuse me, young lady, there is so much to worry about! How are you supposed to get into college and make something out of yourself, if you are just gonna sit in your room all day acting like everything is okay!” Mom demanded in an enraged manner. 

¨I can explain myself! It's been really tough- ̈ I attempted to defend myself, holding on to the last bit of hope that just maybe they would have the slightest empathy. 

̈ ̈ Enough! Harold go grab everything!̈ Dad had already buzzed off without mom even finishing her sentence. 

¨NO STOP! I HATE YOU! YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO ME!¨ I surrender to the floor, upon her knees weeping and barely able to catch my breath. 

̈ ̈Please, I promise I will pay more attention in school!” I try at her again, but she is ignoring me now, disappointment plastered across her face. I watch father come in with possibly years of work, talent, and dedication in my brown paper bag I found after hours at the local market. I storm upstairs without a second thought, turning the corner and seeing Max who had probably seen the whole thing. My feet are blasting through the wood, hands crumpled and sliding across the popcorn walls and I slam my door, it's a miracle that it didn't fall too. My pen destroys the paper and I begin to draw stupidly,  jabbing in every corner. Suddenly, my anger triggers the time in world history where I actually went to the crusades, or that one time in biology where I swam with narwhals in the great pacific, or maybe in math where I drew a time machine and met the dinosaurs, now that’s epic, that had been my childhood, or maybe some glimpses of heaven. My hand jolts and begins to throb, I look back staring at it in an amusing manner, it’s an absent smile wrapped around the creases of my mouth. 

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” Mom blares from the kitchen, as I hear the tea kettle shatter among the floor into a million pieces, scorching her hands. It must’ve been as hot as ten thousand suns in one. 

“Honey are you okay?” scurrying to see what happened, Dad stubs his toe on the legs of the kitchen chairs, and he sits there uttering wild cries like a creature in pain. My plan had worked, and maybe they would finally hop off my back for a little while. But it wasn’t enough I kept scribbling, and my hand was in motion, it was uncontrollable, and it was as if emotion completely drove my fingers. A gust of darkness blew over me, the drawing was now emotional, eerie, and cryptic, and my hand scrawls as fast as a jackrabbit in front of a prairie fire. The pen drops, I step back, and my stomach begins to churn like the inside of a washing machine. I had ‘accidentally’ drawn a picture of my parents getting into a car accident, and almost dying. My heart began to pound like the thundering hooves of a thousand wild stallion, as I felt a generous sensation of tightness in my chest. I stammered towards the window, peel off the duct tape, and pry it open. It’s too late, Mom and Dad are already in the car and I hear the 2006 Toyota rumbling like a restless torrent lashing the mountain-side. 

“STOP!” I burst into an outcry of tears, and keep yelling but they can’t hear me now.  

“YOU CAN’T LEAVE YET!” My voice breaks, and I feel like i'm physically shutting down. My legs tremble down the stairs and I slam open the front door but the car is already pulling out of the driveway, and they can’t see me because it’s too dark. I run after them but collapse and the car’s exhaust knocks out my lungs as I plunge to the pavement. My back was knotted like a sailor’s rope, and I lay there on the ground weeping with my fractured heart. It was too late now and my actions were irreversible. My mother’s patient, yet tormented voice rings in my ears. What had I done. It had felt like years since I had been down there until I finally got the urge to get up to the sound of the home phone buzzing in the kitchen. I bolted with as much power I had left, and picked up the phone. 

“Good Evening Ma’am, this is Lenox Hill Hospital is this Ms. Ross speaking?” The lady on the other side greeted me with pleasure. 

“Yes this is her, what is the reason for your call?” I evaluated, even though I knew where this was going. My palms grew sweaty, failing to keep a grip on the phone, and my cheeks blushed a cerise red, and my head whips a glacial pang of pain like the stab of a dagger of ice frozen from a poisoned well. 

“Ma’am your folks have been in a terrible car accident. They have both suffered traumatic brain injuries and internal bleeding. Your mother has endured a skull fracture, and your father has spinal cord damage along with herniated disks. They are both going in for surgery now.” The woman spoke as if she was a robot, who had given this speech about 50 times today and lacked emotion or any form of compassion. My skin washed a creamy white and my anxiety pulsed. 

“ WHAT! Are they going to be okay? What happened? Are they going to live? I want to see them! I can’t lose them, please-” My voice convulses and I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into my own skin. 

“Ma'am, please calm down I know your parents are in terrible condition, but we have the finest doctors in the nation working on them right now. I promise they’re in good hands, it is now your responsibility to be there for them. Any further questions?” She spoke profoundly, her voice going in through one ear and out the other. I wasn’t processing any of it, how could I have done this?

“No Ma’am thank you,” I snapped. The phone descends to the floor with me along with it. I sit there condensed by my own thoughts, I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act or feel, after all it was all my fault. A plump brisk hand touches mine and we exchange looks, it’s Max. Max’s eyes were all coffee browns. The center was a bright mocha, chocolatey and bright. After that, it was all latte until the rim of dark roasted beans. I smile and wrap my arms around him, I gripped him so tightly that you would’ve had to pry my fingers off with a crowbar. There we lay on the floor our heads placed gently on one another’s shoulders, resting so exquisitely and in unison. Never would I have ever realized the importance of family and love then in this moment now. I had spent my whole life going to extremes to avoid them and the whole world around me, when all they have ever wanted was the best for me. They had been there for me through everything, and it was my turn now even though more than anything at this very moment I wanted to be squeezed in their arms, drinking hot chocolate, and rewatching the same movies every Friday night, like how it used to be. I guess you never realize what you’ve got until it’s gone.