My Happy Place

Written August 23, 2006 in class.

ONE DAY
My life goes on. I live. Mother and Father fight. He yells and she just sits there, her eyes spitting sparks almost real enough to burn the hardwood floor, and yet refusing to look up or make any sound for fear of getting hit. We're all like that too; me, Abby, and James. Father shouts, we look down and stay quiet. It's no wonder we find Mother alone in thier bedroom, lying there, her unfoucused eyes glazed over, a weird slackness to her features. Tightly wound around her upper-arm is a bright pink bandana. We know better than to bother her now; this is her only escape from her abusive marriage. Abby follows suit with her own escape of razor blades, glass straws, and little bags of that hellish snow-white powder. James leaves to find solace in the bed of his girlfriend. I myself lock the door to my room and induldge in rainbow-colored pils with comical names.

ANOTHER DAY
Mother got taken to the hospital this morning. Father hasn't been home since last night. Abby found her at 3 in the morning collasped on the floor, not breathing. I called 911. Everyone is gone. -snapshot- I went into my parents room and frowned as I walked through the door at the mess and the smell. Clothing strewn all over, a sharp odor that could have been rubbing alcohol, the tools of Mother's heroin bliss, and the telltale scent of marijuana. -end snapshot- I shoved her incriminating items into a sack and pulled out the secret dresser drawer. I noticed with disgust Father's personal stash: a collection of whitish-yellow chunks and a small glass pipe. My eyes blurry with unsheld tears, I flushed it all down the drain. Father already had enough poison in his blood without this. I retreated to my room again to search for something, anything, to distract my mind from this living Hell. I found something sufficient: orange BiC lighter, red and blue-swirled glass piece, and sticky greenery, all locked safely in my box.

SOME OTHER DAY
Father hasn't been heard from in 4 days. Mother is still in the hospital, but getting better. The doctors give her medication to keep her from her cravings. Abby has a job and can foot the bills until we know what's going to happen. James shows up every now and then with red eyes and reeking of liquor and in a bad mood, uncaring as to what will happen to us. He got even angrier when he saw my dialated pupils and smelled the stale smoke clinging to my hair. I'm past caring what he thinks, the stupid hypocrite, coming home and telling me I can't do what he's been doing since the age of 13.