I open the door, twice my size, and enter into a grand room with ceilings two stories high.  The chandelier sparkles like a diamond in the sun above me.  I take off my shoes, careful to not dirty the house.  I walk through the living room, the large empty room seeming to stare back at me.  I walk past the kitchen, the beautiful white and black marble countertops sparkle, shine and remain spotless without a smug or spec. I walk toward the floor to ceiling windows which I could stare out at for hours.  Sunlight pours through them, and there never seems to be a need for lights on during the day, even on rainy days. 

I listen to the leaves whistle in the wind, and the water they live on cashes against the dock. It starts to drizzle on the lake and I listen to the “pitter patter” of rain drops falling on the roof and windows.  It always seems to rain when I'm here, which is my favorite part. The breeze flows in the open screen door and my hair dances in the breeze.  Reluctantly walk toward the door, upset I have to cut off my source of cool fresh air.  I quicken my pace as the rain worsens, and water pours onto the brown hardwood floor.  I slam the door and quickly wipe it up with a towel, careful to dry everything. 

The uncertainty and size of this house was unsettling to my mom, but not to me.  The space was my comfort.  Once a month I pack my things and move for the weekend.  Away from my parents, dog, and bed I leave.  The restless excitement builds up within me as I wait to live independently just for one weekend.  Cooking my own meals. Going where I please. Quiet time for studying.  All things I need once a month for my own self care.  Each time I leave, I learn something new. Something I could only learn while I'm out on my own.  Broken washer machine.  Bird in the garage.  Police responding to the wrong house.  Though these things seemed scary, I soon learned to better deal with the stresses that are doomed to come my way. 

 At the end of every weekend, I always come back to the same realization.  Though my alone time is nice, not having to cook and clean while trying to be a kid is what I'm going to stick with until I can't anymore.  I learn a new type of appreciation for my mom and dad each time I spend a weekend alone.  Small freedoms like these help shape who I am, and have helped create the independent person I am today.  So, I nonetheless return once a month to the gated house, in awe of its beauty and design, eager to see what this weekend has in store for me.