When I was unpacking boxes last night I pulled out a photo album of my parents when they were younger. Now when I look into the mirror, the scar isn’t the first thing I see. Nothing has been the same since that day. My mom might have died in the car, but she dragged my father with her into the grave. It’s the bitter reminder of the day that changed my world. The scar is all I ever see when I look in the mirror. I make sure the scar by my ear is hidden as much as possible, then I look myself over, double-checking everything. Looking in the mirror, I part my hair a little to the side so more falls to the right, before putting in a small clip to hold it in place. The more layers I can put on, the better. It’s early January, and the Minnesota winter is raging. They’re soft and warm and will help with the chill on my mile-long walk to school. I go with a short button-up blue jean dress with wool leggings underneath. I pull myself from the bed and get ready for school. When I finally hear the front door slam closed, all my muscles release, and an all-too-familiar tension within me relaxes.
I desperately don’t want that change to come. I can feel it deep inside me, like he’s waiting for me to do something wrong so he can strike out.īut I always make sure there isn’t a reason. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, but I can see it. I’m constantly walking around on eggshells, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But recently his anger has been rising and flying my way. Dad used to be able to drown his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle and pretend I didn’t exist. Things have been getting unstable lately, and it’s only getting worse. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I slowly sit up and listen for his movements. It wasn’t always like this, but it is now.
Dad’s always coming off a weekend bender, because alcohol seems to be my father’s reason for living. I can only hope he doesn’t call out my name. I’ll be able to make my own choices then.Ī sound of something shattering in the kitchen followed by a string of curses causes me to hold my breath. Only months separate me from graduation, and only days from my eighteenth birthday. The schools are starting to run together, but I hope this is the last. I think this is the fourth time I’ve moved in the past two years. I should be used to changing schools by now. No one notices me for the most part, but it doesn’t always work. Most of the time I can blend in and let myself get lost in the crowd of other students. I’m going to a new school and have no idea what this one is going to be like. I’d set my alarm a little earlier than I should have because I’m nervous about my first day.
Rolling over to my side, I see I still have thirty minutes before I need to get up. The sounds of banging cabinets startle me awake before my alarm can go off.
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