I frowned. “What did I do?”
“I have a note here from the office,” she said, her only offer of an explanation.
The secretary put me in a small room inside the main office. I was so worried, afraid I'd done something wrong without knowing. A man with a stern look on his face and an old lady who seemed untrustworthy came into the room.
“Are you Darcy?” asked the man.
“Yes.” My voice sounded puny. I cleared my throat.
The woman took over. “Tell us about your mother. Does she drink alcohol? You know, liquor?”
“She drinks whiskey,” I said.
“How much whiskey does she drink?”
“A bottle every day.”
She wrote something down. “Does she sleep a lot?”
“Well, she never gets up to get us ready for school. And she sleeps with her head on the kitchen table a lot at night. Sometimes I have to set the supper table around her because she won't wake up.” I figured I'd better answer their questions honestly. If I was in trouble, I didn't want to make matters any worse by lying.
Now it was the man's turn. “Is your house clean?”
“I run the vacuum a couple times a week, but there's lots of dirty clothes piled up 'cause Dad doesn't have time to do the laundry very often, and I have homework every night, and my little brother and sister are too young to do it.”
“I see. Are there dirty dishes in the sink most of the time?”
“Uh-huh. And sometimes the trash cans overflow.”
“Are you ever hungry because you don't get enough to eat?”
I answered all of their questions, too scared to lie about any of it.
~ ~ ~
“Mom's being sent to a place called 'rehab',” Dad said. “She needs to get help.”
“I can help her, Dad. She doesn't need to go away! I can do more around the house and...”
“Not that kind of help,” he said. He closed his eyes, then he turned and walked away from me. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to see her go, and I hated thinking about the change that would take place when she was gone.
I cried when she left, but she came home, and things were good. It was a good change.
One evening I sat on the couch with my younger brother and sister, watching a movie and thinking about how good things had gotten, how much I loved having a clean house and having Mom back and having a happy family.
Dad came into the living room with that old familiar look on his face, the one I hadn't seen in quite a few weeks. It scared me immensely. He took a deep breath and said those words that broke my soul. “Mom's been drinking again. She got into an accident. She's fine, but she won't be living here for a while.”
Tears flooded my face, but I made no sound. I could see by my brother's face that he was broken too. My sister, being so young, cried and screamed. All the pride we had in Mom and her sobriety—all the faith and hope that she'd never go back to being the mom who'd left in such bad shape and had come home so different, so changed—was gone.
I knew forever and on I'd be damaged from this. I felt sorry for myself because she had thrown away all the love and trust I had shown her. She took something from me that day, and I've not yet gotten it back.
After that night we saw a lot more of Dad. The change in him was tremendous. He got us whatever we needed; he truly cared for us. Oh, he was still stern, but when we asked for something we wanted and didn't really need and he had to tell us no, he was also sensitive.
In the month or so during which I had no mom there at home, I had some extra responsibility; Dad saw to it we all did.
“I don't mind having to empty the trash so often,” my little brother said, “'cause it makes the house clean, and it smells better now.”
“We don't fight so much,” my little sister added.
“We finally have some pride in this family,” Dad said.
It actually seemed that things were easier now that Mom was gone. For me, things had changed for the good.
~ ~ ~
The days were approaching for Mom's return, and I dreaded it. I knew when she got back my world would fall into the hands of hell again. I may only have been 12 at the time, but I felt as if I were 20. I'd been forced to be a grownup instead of a fun-loving child, all because of my mom's actions.
It was mid summer and I was washing the last of the dinner dishes when I heard the back doorknob, and I turned to see my dad walk in. He was smiling. Following him was the woman I once thought loved and cared for me as much as I did for her. But I was not willing to let her mess up my life again. She stood there, arms wide, tears running down her cheeks. I glared at her, wishing my dad had come home with the news that she'd moved far away and that we would never have to see her again.
She came to me and hugged me. “I'm so sorry Darcy,” she whispered in my ear. I couldn't tell if she was truly sorry or just pretending to be. But I was not in a forgiving mood. This woman had turned me into damaged goods, and that might never change. I couldn't bring myself to hug her back. I said nothing. I simply dried my hands, walked to my room, and locked the door. Seeing her again was something I just couldn't deal with.
As days turned to weeks and weeks to months, she kept her promise to remain sober. Still, I wouldn't allow myself to get close to someone I felt would eventually tear me apart again. I had made up my mind to wait until she fell off the wagon yet another time and I could once again prove myself right. But that change didn't happen. I watched everyone else get close to her, and she offered much love my way, but I wouldn't accept it. It didn't seem right.
~ ~ ~
Now, at age 15, the house is still clean, we do no more fighting than any other family, and everything seems right. I have, so far, been proven wrong about my mom's backsliding, and that makes me happy. After the past years of no mistakes, she is someone I can't live without.
“I'm so proud of you, Mom.”
She takes my hand. “Tell me about your day. You look kind of bedraggled.”
She is not only my mother, but also my best friend, someone I can talk to when I've had a bad day or when I'm bored. I can cry to her and count on her to help me through the tough times, even when she makes me face the consequences of my actions.
I look back on all the changes and wish I hadn't wasted so much time trying not to get close to her. I still feel like damaged goods, and she knows how much she contributed to that.
She holds me at arm's length, looks me square in the eyes, and says with a sparkle in her voice, “You're a loving, compassionate, understanding, sometimes cranky, teenage girl.”
And I add to that sentence, “...who has gained a wonderful mother and an amazing friend.”
“Change is good,” she says.
We giggle and hug.
Taylor Green
Writing and reading have always been loves of mine. This story is something I feel doesn't get written about enough; you seldom hear of these kinds of situations. You may hear about someone who is a drunk, but nobody wants to get involved. In my story, alcoholism is nothing new.
Letters and Poetry Dedicated to the Survivors
of the Sandy Hook Elementary School Shooting
in Newtown, Connecticut, December 2012
Along with the rest of the nation, the members of the Young Writers Workshop were horrified by the event that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, in December, 2012. In response, each wrote either a letter or a poem to the grieving survivors—surviving victims, family and friends of the unfortunate victims, and residents of the community. Each member of the Pickford Young Writers Workshop, including its instructors, offered some type of comfort or memorial as a reflection of their observations and feelings regarding the tragic incident.
Jessica Arman
The Sandy Hook shooting was another great tragedy that happened in 2012. There were many innocent victims and many selfless heroes. One man in partic
ular stands out to me. He looked out his window and saw a few kids in his driveway. He brought them inside, went upstairs and grabbed a handful of stuffed animals for the kids, and served them hot chocolate while calling their parents. I think this is another example that there are still good people in the world to counteract the bad. I personally want to thank this man and all the other heroes and say that what you did was just plain awesome and inspiring. Thank You!
Katie Arman
Courage and bravery,
That’s all that is needed
For the souls who've passed.
Dar Bagby
NEWTOWN
Hometown families
Hometown morning
Alarms, yawns, soft warm beds
Hometown grade school
Hometown lessons
Reading, math, fact-filled heads
Hometown children
Hometown shooter
Enter, fire, twenty dead
Hometown parents
Hometown neighbors
Newscasts, panic, filled with dread
Hometown sorrow
Hometown graveyard
Prayers, flowers, kind words said
Hometown anger
Hometown questions
Longing, memories, empty beds
Janet Beasley
Lonely state of mind
Empty hollow abandoned
At last relief. . .love
Taylor Green
Dear families and friends of the children no longer with us,
I’m sorry for your loss. None of us really know why these kinds of things happen, why the world can be so cruel to those who have done nothing wrong, have only enjoyed life. There are reasons these things happen, but what they are only you can figure out in a way that can possibly help. I have a friend who lost her son. He was about 23, I believe, but he was still her child, someone she brought into this world and loved. I can tell it is still hard for her sometimes, and she will never be the same person she was when he was alive.
But your life is not over just because your child's is. You will still laugh and have good days. Don’t waste your life because your child has finished his or her job here. I’m so very sorry if this sounds insensitive, but I have never lost a child and don’t know how it feels. I have lost people who were close to me, such as grandparents. I know this is not the same thing, but ever since my grandfather passed away, I continue to laugh and hang out with my friends, and he is still in my heart. I think about him all the time and know he would want me to be happy, just as your children would still want to see you smiling when they look down at you. They don’t want to see Mommy and Daddy crying; they want to see you laughing and enjoying the life they didn't get to live.
Once again, I’m sorry for your loss. Remember to have some happy moments in your life. God bless.
Sincerely, Taylor Green
Amy Lehigh
To those who lost loved ones on that sad day at Sandy Hook, be glad for the time you had with those who were lost. Though they are no longer able to be seen with your eyes, they may be with you in spirit, in your hearts and memories. Amy
Chelsea Ross
Dear parents, family, and friends of those whose lives were taken that day at Sandy Hook,
On December 14, 2012, the story of Sandy Hook Elementary School appeared across the news screen as I was eating dinner with my family. We all left the table, and went to hear what had happened. When I saw the looks on the frightened children’s faces, I felt like bursting into tears. Who could do this to a classroom of five- and six-year-olds? Who could do something this terrible at all, actually?
I watched parents crying and holding their young kids tightly in their arms. I can’t even begin to imagine how awful and traumatizing this whole event was and how awful it must be for the parents. They lost their kids just a few weeks before Christmas. They had all their gifts bought, ready to see their children’s faces light up as they opened them, and now the kids are gone. It just shows how fast life can be taken from you. That is why no one should ever say they hate their lives; they should just be grateful. Some never get to experience life; others get it taken in the blink of an eye. So just remember that the next time you say you’re unhappy with your life. Life is precious and can be taken at any moment.
To all the parents, family, and friends of those whose lives were taken that day at Sandy Hook, I am very sorry for your loss. I can’t even imagine the pain you have gone through and continue to go through. I have kept you all in my prayers and hope that things get a lot better for you.
Sincerely, Chelsea Ross
THE YOUNG WRITERS WORKSHOP INSTRUCTORS
Janet Beasley is an epic fantasy author and the creative force behind JLB Creatives, a division of Multi-Tech Productions, Inc., which she and her husband have owned/operated since 1998. She also takes scenic nature photographs and combines these talents to create greeting cards and inspirational photo-captions. She lives in central Florida with her husband and their feisty bichon frisé (who's certain he's responsible for running their household!)
Dar Bagby, Janet's sister, earned a degree in vocal music performance, taught elementary and junior high public school music, spent 12 years as a veterinary assistant, and earned a diploma in allied health. She did medical transcription for 15 years and is an English language specialist. She likes to draw and enjoys illustrating fantasy novels, but her real forté lies in editing. She, her husband, and their miniature dachshund live on the shore of Lake Superior in Michigan's upper peninsula.
2012-2013 Pickford Young Writers Anthology of Short Stories and Poetry Page 6