Love Lasts

by Savannah Totten

  After an hour or so, we’re still in Texas, and it starts to downpour out of nowhere. It’s so dark and raining so hard that Mom moves to the far right lane and turns on her hazard lights so people know she’s driving slow. Of course, this is our luck. This will add a significant length of time to our drive time, which is the opposite of what I want right now. Mom drives slowly and carefully, and after a while, the sound of rain and darkness causes me to drift off.

  All of a sudden, though, my body jerks forward in my seat, and my eyes fly open. I look over at Mom, and her eyes are wide with terror. I look behind us, and I see a big truck swerving across the road and know we were hit.

  “What was that?” I ask out of shock.

  “I think we just got hit. What do I do?” Mom’s voice is full of panic, and although my heart is beating out my chest, I force myself to be calm.

  “Slow down and pull over,” I say, but I notice there isn’t a shoulder to pull over. So I look around us and don’t see anywhere to stop. The truck that hit us pulls over on the left side of the highway, but both of us are still driving slowly forward. My brain is in fight or flight mode, and since I’ve never been in this kind of situation before, I choose flight.

  “Okay, drive slow, and we’ll get off at the next exit. I’m going to call Dad.” We drive past the truck driver, and I watch Mom. Her lip quivers, and she holds tightly to the steering wheel. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears, but I don’t blame her. My hands shake, as I call Dad. He picks up after a couple rings, and I tell him what happened.

  “Are you guys okay?” Dad asks. He sounds afraid. I feel guilty and afraid too.

  “We’re fine. We’re pulling off on Exit 35A right now.” My voice shakes. The whole world has shrunk, and now, my mom and I are on our own here. Nothing has ever felt so terrifying.

  “Okay. Is there anywhere to stop? A gas station or anything? You need to call the police and report what happened. Then, you need to call me again, and we’ll figure out what to do,” Dad says.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, drive carefully. Call me after your call the police. Is your mother okay?” I look over at her.

  “Yeah, we’re both a bit shaken up, but we’re okay.”

  “Okay, well at least you’re not injured. Well, do what I said. Okay? Love you guys.”

  “Love you too. Bye.”

  I hang up and relay the message to Mom, who seems to be in a daze. The road we’re on is dark and empty except for one gas station, so Mom pulls up next to a gas pump. A few other cars are parked next to the gas station, and the people walking around them look pretty sketchy. They make me even more nervous.

  “I’ll be right back. Stay inside the car,” Mom says. She gets out, and I watch her carefully. She seems less frantic, but she’s also probably as terrified as I am right now.

  I pull out my phone and look up where we are. Waco, Texas. I’ve never heard of it. My foot bounces up and down, and I put my phone away to continue watching Mom. She’s on the phone with someone, most likely the police, and she’s looking at the back of the car where we were hit.

  The impact of the hit was so abrupt that I thought the whole back of the car was going to be caved in or even missing. I thought I would look back there and see a giant hole in the back of our car, but everything seems to be in tact. I don’t know what the damage on the outside looks like, though.

  After Mom gets off the phone, she asks me to come inside the gas station with her. While she tells the gas station employee what’s happened and that a policeman is on the way, I look through the aisles of snacks. The fear is wearing off, and mostly, I feel empty.

  I follow Mom back outside without buying anything, and she calls Dad. I get back in the car, and since I can’t hear anything, I don’t know why Mom is starting to look upset. She bites her lip and looks at me, and I feel it in my gut that this is all my fault.

  If I hadn’t insisted on going to Texas, we would’ve never been in this mess. If I hadn’t dated Dane, this never would’ve happened. If I had been paying more attention or not bought rings with Dane or been more grateful for the days spent in Texas, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Guilt fills me up, and I start to cry. When Mom gets off the phone with Dad, she sits in the car with me.

  “What’s wrong?” She asks.

  “This is all my fault,” I say.

  “No, it’s not,” she says. Her face is a mixture of exhaustion, sadness, and disappointment, and I know she’s lying. My dad will be even more furious with me now when we get home, and it’s all too much to feel right now. I wish none of this had ever happened.

  A police car finally pulls up behind us, so Mom gets out to talk to the officer. I force myself to stop crying and try to listen to their conversation, but it’s muffled. I hear the words ‘license plate’ and suddenly realize that we should’ve at least got the truck’s license plate number. This is my mistake as well. I told Mom to keep driving. The conversation between Mom and the officer is long. The officer writes things down in her notepad, and when their conversation is done, Mom comes back to the car.

  “There’s not much she can do because we didn’t get the license plate number, and since it’s so dark, I wasn’t sure of the color of the truck. I convinced her to escort us to the nearest hotel, though, because she says we’ll need to change one of our tires in the back before getting back on the highway,” Mom says. The police car starts to drive away, so Mom turns to follow it. We’re the only people on the road.

  “I didn’t think about the license plate. I didn’t know if the driver was drunk, and it was dark and raining. So I don’t know. I didn’t know,” I say.

  “It’s okay. You did the right thing,” Mom pauses for a minute, “But you know, I don’t think the prayers to keep us safe worked very well.”

  Mom follows the police officer to a Hilton hotel, and I think about that. Pam did pray for us to be protected, and if God was watching out for us, then we wouldn’t have been hit at all. But the more I think about it, the more my heart tells me God was watching out for us. I look over at Mom.

  “I think the prayers did work. With how fast that truck was driving and how dark and rainy it was, the accident could’ve been a lot worse. We could’ve been badly injured or killed, but we weren’t even scratched. God did protect us,” I say. Mom tilts her head like she’s thinking it over.

  “You know, I think you’re probably right.”

  I look out the window at the nothingness that is Waco, Texas and almost want to smile. In all this horror, God was with us. That gives me hope.

  Once we arrive at the hotel, we thank the officer for her help. Then, we go inside and pay for a room that’s almost as expensive as the four nights at the cheap hotel in San Antonio. My guilt worsens. When we get to the room, Mom showers, and I lay in bed, facing the wall. Tears fall down my face, and I feel hatred for myself. This is all my fault.

  Mom and I fall asleep in our separate, comfortable, and expensive beds and wake up early to go to the nearest auto shop. We get a tire changed that I know we don’t have enough money for, and then we’re back on the road towards Indianapolis.

  The rest of the drive lasts forever, and neither of us want to be driving on the highway anymore, especially at night. By the time we’ve driven from Texas to Illinois, I’m in and out of sleep, as Mom drives. She swears she’ll be able to drive the rest of the way home, even though it’s becoming night time again. I force myself to stay awake to make sure she doesn't fall asleep and veer off the road, but she seems to know how to keep herself awake. She has her window open slightly, so the wind hits her face. The radio is on, and she’s fidgeting a ton. She’ll touch her face, scratch her arm, touch the back of her neck, rub her eyes, and repeat similar motions over and over again.

  Once we see a highway sign saying “Indianapolis,” we both cheer. We’re delusional. The roads start to look familiar, and soon enough, we drive the roads we’ve driven a hundred times. We pull into our neighborhood, and it feels
like a different universe. It feels like everyone here was living peacefully, as chaos ensued back in Texas.

  When we pull into the driveway, it’s nearing four a.m., and I wonder if anyone is still awake for us. Mom and I leave all our things in the car and walk like zombies to the front door. When she reaches for the door handle, it opens by itself, and Dad stands there. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. His eyes are bloodshot, and lines of worry and age fill his face.

  “I’ve never been so glad to see you guys,” he says.

  Mom steps inside, and they hug for a long time. I step in too and close the door, and then Dad hugs me too. Despite the fact that my dad and I never hug unless it’s a special occasion, he hugs me for a long time. And I choke up a little. I don’t know if it’s because of the guilt, fear, anxiety, or exhaustion, but I want to bawl. Dad lets go of me and seems to notice.

  “It’s okay. There’s no need to cry yet. Let’s get some sleep, and we’ll talk about everything in the morning,” he says. I nod.

  “Love you,” he says. My mom says it too.

  “Love you too,” I say and walk upstairs.

  As soon as my head hits the pillow, I allow myself to cry silently. And before long, I fall asleep without any clue as to what’s about to happen tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 16

  When I wake up, my initial reaction is surprise. To open my eyes and see my bedroom walls is strange. I barely even remember falling asleep in my own bed, but I’m grateful to wake up in it.

  My head feels clouded at first, but my mind quickly reminds me of all that has happened in the last few days. I close my eyes and curl back up in a ball, knowing that a dreadful conversation will happen today. I want to escape it, but that’s impossible. Although I’m not completely sure what Dad will have to say, I am sure that it won’t be good.

  I stay in bed for awhile, not able to fall back asleep but listening to my siblings bicker downstairs. It’s almost like I was never in Texas at all with how normal everything feels. My heart knows I was there, though, because it aches and reminds me how much I miss Dane already.

  Eventually, I get out of bed and head downstairs. My siblings notice me, but they don’t say anything. Without any interruptions, I make myself breakfast and head back upstairs to my room. The day goes by slowly, and I anticipate talking to my parents. Around lunch time, they call me downstairs and tell all my siblings to go upstairs and close their doors. My heart races.

  I sit on one couch, and Dad sits on the couch across the room. Mom sits in her recliner. Dad rubs his knuckles and looks to Mom before starting the conversation.

  “First, we want you to know that we both love you very much.” The words are heavy, and I know what they mean. I know this conversation is headed for disaster before it’s even started. He continues talking, and I listen carefully to each word, anxiously awaiting the words I know are to come.

  “I’m not mad at you about the accident. I know it wasn’t your fault. I was just very angry in the moment because I felt very scared, and I knew there was nothing I could do being so far away. It terrified me, so I’m sorry if I made you feel like it was your fault.” I don’t move or say anything. Each word lands on my shoulders like a brick, and I’m already tired. This week was emotionally exhausting, and this only adds to the exhaustion.

  “But your mother and I have talked about you and Dane wanting to get married, and we don’t think it’s the right thing to do.” My heart shatters, and I start crying immediately. But I expected this. My father couldn’t let me do something so careless, even if I believe it’s the right thing to do. He keeps talking, but I don’t want to hear anymore.

  “We think that you’re too young to make such a huge decision like this. It would be different if you guys had been dating for years before this, but it’s only been a few months. He’s your first real boyfriend, and there’s no way you can know whether or not this is true love. You need more experiences to know that,” Dad continues. I shake my head and sob dramatically. He doesn't understand a thing. I wish he understood how I felt, but I know my feelings don’t really matter in this situation. I look to Mom for some sort of sympathy, but she looks away.

  Dad keeps talking, and each sentence adds to the deep ache in my heart. It feels like he’s shoveling dirt on top of me, and I’m lying here helpless, waiting to suffocate and die. My heart beats out of my chest, and my hands begin to shake. I dig my fingernails into my palms in an effort to stop them.

  “You don’t really know what you want,” he says. “Your mother and I were together for years before we got married. You and Dane have only been together for a couple of months. I know this feels like forever, but it’s such a small part of your life.” The longer he talks, the more I start to cry until I’m full on bawling. Dad repeats himself and tries to bring in more reasoning behind the decision, but I know he’s probably trying to talk over my cries in hopes that I will stop. But I can’t. Anxiety fills me and spreads through my body like a virus.

  “What are you crying for?” Dad finally asks. He and Mom look at me like I’m an alien, and they don’t know what to do with me. My chest hurts, and my whole body quivers.

  “Are you really that upset that we don’t want you to marry Dane? It’s not like we’re saying you can’t ever marry him. We just want you to make smart choices, and we want you to go to college. You can go to college for four years, and after that, you can do whatever you want. You can get married then if you want.”

  “No!” I yell. It catches everyone off guard, even me. My breaths are fast and irregular, and I feel out of control of my own body.

  “I don’t understand what the big deal is. Tell me why we should let you marry Dane,” Dad says.

  The answer is right there in my mind. I know exactly what to say, but I can’t say it for whatever reason. My body keeps shaking, and I keep crying. I wish I could explain to him how many tears I shed over the past two months because of how much it pains me to be without Dane. I wish I could explain how insecure and broken I felt over the last two months and especially right now. I wish I could explain how heartbroken and full of pain I feel right now because now I know Dane and I are destined to break up. When Dad says no, the answer is no.

  Both of them watch me without saying anything. They couldn’t possibly know what to say to me right now, and I don’t blame them. I feel sick. After a few more minutes of silence except for my bawling, I force the words out, feeling like they could make me throw up if I kept them inside.

  “We won’t make it through four more years of long distance,” I say much too loudly. My voice shakes, and as soon as the words come out, I feel lightheaded. I lean against the back of the couch.

  “You can if you really want to,” he says, and I shake my head. I rub my eyes and my nose over and over again, and the sniffles make my lightheadedness even worse.

  I feel like if I say anything else, I could actually get sick. So I focus on my breathing, which is currently irregular and harsh. The room sways, and my head tilts from side to side. My arms start to go numb, and I go from an emotional wreck to being frantic. My body feels like it’s shutting down.

  “You’re only seventeen.” They keep talking, but all I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears. My crying stops, as my hands go numb. I squeeze up and down my arms, trying to stop the numbness, and I look at my parents with terrified eyes.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Dad asks, and I take a deep, shaky breathe.

  “It feels like my body is shutting down,” I say. It’s the most coherent thought I’ve had during this entire conversation, but my parents look at me like I spoke another language. Neither of them move or say anything. My body aches, and I grimace. The room spins. I look at Mom.

  “Can you please get me a glass of water?” I ask, saying the words slowly. She gets up and brings back a cup of water. My hands shake when I take it, and I sip it slowly. Then, I close my eyes and breathe slowly and deeply. My body still shakes, but I slowly start to regain feeling in my
hands and arms. Nothing seems to exist outside of my body, so I only focus on myself, trying to calm myself down. I don’t know if my parents are still talking, but I don’t hear them. I don’t know how long I sit there before I open my eyes and see my parents looking at me with confusion and fear on their faces.

  “Are you okay?” Mom asks. I nod slowly. There’s an awkward silence. My body feels drained, and my mind is empty. I can’t even cry anymore, so I stare down at the ground.

  “Well, I think we can be done talking then unless you have anything else to say,” Dad says and looks to Mom. She shakes her head.

  “Do you have anything you want to say?” Dad asks me. I shake my head, avoiding eye contact with both of them.

  “Okay. Then we’re done.”

  I nod and stand up slowly. My balance is shaky, but I walk to the kitchen and put the cup on the kitchen table. Then, I walk upstairs without looking at anyone. When I open my bedroom door, Jessica is sitting on her bed and looks at me for only a second. I head straight the the bathroom and close and lock the door.

  When I look in the mirror, a sad girl looks back at me. She’s almost unrecognizable with her bloodshot eyes and pale face. Her lips are turned down into a frown, and her eyes are full of grief. I look away. I take a shower, standing in the hot water without moving to actually clean myself. Thoughts don’t even form in my brain, so I stare at the shower wall for a long time. Then, I get out and get straight in bed. I don’t have anymore energy to cry, so I quickly fall asleep.

  I wake up early on Wednesday morning to my siblings getting ready for school. My parents told me I could stay home an extra day, so I urge myself to fall back asleep despite the noise and lights. It barely works; I drift in and out of sleep for a few more hours until I force myself to get up around 10:30.

  Mom and Dad are off work today, so I try my best to avoid them as I make myself some breakfast downstairs. They don’t talk to me or each other, making it much too quiet downstairs. I eat quickly and head back upstairs.