Unlikely Hero Page 4

  “Well, I really don’t care, I need to tell you what happened!” I blurted out.

  “Amber, I’m getting tired of telling you over and over again. We will discuss this when I’m not so angry and disappointed in you. What you need to do is shut up now. Shut up!”

  Dad turned to me, the anger radiating from his eyes. The car speed up. It was dark and misty outside and I couldn’t tell where we were, if we were close to home or not. I was also petrified of what he would do when we got home.

  He’d never hit me. He never did before. My main concern was that I would be grounded...for life.

  “Dad you are being so judgmental and that’s not like you. I think you are acting like an…”

  The sudden thunderous sound of metal meeting metal, along with the loud grinding jerked my gaze up, away from the angry face of my father, to the horrible scene out the windshield. I quickly brought my hands up to my face. The tinkling sound of the glass cracking, flying like hail into my face. Each little shimmer leaving dicing marks in my face, arms, and hands. The smell of burnt rubber and gasoline assaulted my senses.

  We were flying, airborne. Twisting, cracking, rolling. The air was sucked out my lungs, like a violent punch in the stomach over and over. I wasn’t able to catch my breath, or stop the world from turning. The loud snapping coming from inside my body was painful as we rolled and then I violently hit my head. The loud cracking sound echoed inside my skull, shooting pain behind my eyes. I couldn’t see but I felt the warmth run over my eyes from my chin blurring my vision, everything was disoriented. My arms were dangling and I had to lift my hands to my eyes to push the burning liquid away. It was then that I suddenly realized we were upside down.

  I tried to reach for my seatbelt, but I wasn’t able to move my arm. The pain I felt when I did try, was excruciating. I heard sounds coming at me from all directions and it made me so dizzy. I felt like I was at the end of a long tunnel. My head was pounding so hard I couldn’t think.

  I vaguely remember seeing a glow coming into the car at an odd angle, a wavering light. Nothing was clear, everything a blur; smoky, like a weak orange light in the distance. I wasn’t able to focus. I used my other hand to swipe at my eyes, and immediately wished I never did. The glow was enough to outline my father’s face. I looked over at my dad and screamed, “Dad…Daddy?!”

  The horrific scene I saw terrified me. The steering wheel was crushing his chest. When my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I could make out the shape of my father’s body, hanging upside down still. The pounding in my head intensified. It looked like a scene from a horror movie; it was surreal. I thought I was dreaming, I prayed I was dreaming. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. I heard someone whimpering, and realized it was me.

  I tried to pull myself together, knowing I had to get to him, pull the wheel from him, but my body was unresponsive and I was in too much pain. I couldn’t reach him. I tried calling him; my voice so weak by now I barely heard it. I called again but there was no response. I saw the frozen look on his face, empty, vacant. I was confused why his eyes were wide open. Then I began to fade….

  I don’t remember the specifics; everything seemed to happen at once. I remember the feelings, the smells, the air being sucked out of me; then nothing except the helplessness.

  I keep on having that same dream over and over. Two cars, tangled together, melding into one piece of twisted metal. Fires burning, then an explosion and each time it happened, all I could do is hang upside down next to him, unable to touch him. I couldn’t do anything, my arms too heavy to lift. I couldn’t reach him. My body hurt so badly. My father sat upside down unmoving, there was so much blood, it was everywhere… it always ends with my screaming. “Dad, Dad, Daddy please look at me. Daddy, please. Please don’t leave me; I’m so sorry Daddy. Please, please Dad, please it will be ok.”

  But it wouldn’t be.

  It would never be.

  I didn’t know if I was screaming these words in my head, or out loud, but in either case, it seemed my pleas were unanswered. Everything was hazy, dreamlike – no, no it was nightmarish. I will never get those memories out of my head. They will never stop haunting me. I know I was meant to die too and yet somehow...

  ***

  It’s been one year and two months since the accident, and not a day goes by that I don’t cry, not a night goes by where I don’t dream about it. Not a moment goes by that I don’t wish I died that night, instead of my father. And I will never ‘get over it’.

  I spent one month in the hospital, kept in a medically induced coma, so that my body can heal itself. Mom stayed with me every day and every night. She got so thin and looked so haggard, her once young face looked so much older and so tired. When I finally came out of the haze from the coma, I had plenty of time to think about what happened and what I had done. The guilt devastated me, ate at me. My heart was broken and I just knew I would never feel joy or love again. I didn’t deserve to.

  I amble through each day like a zombie and wake each night crying and screaming. My mother runs in to comfort me each and every time. She would try to soothe and quiet me down. Sometimes she would just hold me, rubbing my head and sometimes she would lie next to me holding me until I fell back asleep. Then there were the really bad nights where we would just hold onto each other, so hard, so full of pain, crying until we both would fall asleep from exhaustion.

  This went on for so long I could barely lift my head from the pillow, the weight of my depression onerous. All I wanted was to stay in bed and be left alone. I was numb. I would volley between crying and numbness. That is how I spent all of my days. My behavior was really starting to make my mom nervous. She started watching me cautiously, I’m sure she believed I would do something rash, something irreversible. I just didn’t care about anything anymore and she knew it. Now I was breaking her heart – again.

  I remember being happy. I used to be a normal teenager. I used to be a lot of things.

  I remember, a long time ago, there was a time when I was so carefree just the sight of the sun shinning when I woke in the morning lifted my spirits high enough to feel like I could fly. I remember when the sound of the rain would sooth and calm me.

  My parents cherished me. I was whole. The three of us were inseparable. Everywhere we went we went together. Vacations, movies, dinners out, it was as if we were connected at the hip. I was always smiling then. I had a lot to smile about.

  I was never the outgoing type, but I did have friends. I was a normal teenager.

  My friends and I went to the mall. We hung out, had sleepovers, and dreamt about the future. I remember being silly and laughing a lot. We’d talk about marrying our favorite movie stars. I was going to be Mrs. Robert Pattinson. I had the perfect life.

  Now I have nothing.

  Now I care about nothing.

  No one - except the one person I hurt the worst and continue to hurt - my mom.

  Now I live with the constant guilt. Knowing I caused all the unhappiness, we were forced to live with. I caused the accident that took my mom’s best friend - and mine - away forever. I was toxic. I was horrible.

  Me.

  It was us before that night.

  Then me.

  I ruined my family.

  Me.

  My mom took on the task of trying to get me back to normal. She made it her mission to pull me out of this depression. She took me to see all of the best doctors and therapists, determined to do anything she thought would help me. She wanted her daughter back, and she would fight tooth and nail to make me whole again. What did I want?

  I didn’t want anything.

  I wanted to be left alone.

  What I can tell you is I was sick and tired of talking to people. The Doctors my mother kept taking me to, the school psychologist. I was tired of the all the different diagnoses; post traumatic stress disorder, survivor’s guilt. I wanted to scream to the high heavens, ‘JUST LEAVE ME ALONE’. No one knows how “I” feel. The more I talk about it, the wo
rse I feel.

  Why couldn’t anyone see that?

  Things started to get bad. Real bad. You could literally cut the tension in our home with a knife. It was the lowest I have ever been in my non-consequential, selfish, future-killing life. I knew in my heart, I would never be the girl I once was. I was like an icicle melting and soon would be no more than a puddle on the ground. It was a living nightmare, like a movie playing the same scene over and over again; only the story having the same ending every time each day, bloody and horrible, devastating, empty.

  I pretty much turned myself off and wouldn’t return any of the calls from my friends. They would ‘visit’, bring me cards and stupid little gifts, and attempt to engage me in conversation. The sad looks I saw in their faces annoyed me. The fact that they still went on about their lives as though nothing happened made me increasingly angry. Knowing that they jumped into their cars and flitted place to place, when I couldn’t look at a car without getting into a full-fledged panic attack pissed me off. The fact that I had to get medicated before going to see yet another doctor that couldn’t help me infuriated me. They all made me so angry and to top it all off, they became increasingly impatient with my not “getting better” sooner.

  Eventually, they all stopped coming by. Stopped calling. Stopped annoying me. And I got what I wanted. To be left alone.

  ***

  One day, to my mothers surprise, I actually left my house and walked all the way to the mall. It was quite a hike, but to me it was worth it to get away from the constant surveillance. My mom was so hopeful when she saw me leave, she actually thought maybe, just maybe, I was starting to come out of my self-destructive phase. But what did I do, I walked for hours aimlessly, stalking ‘boutiquey’ little shops, trying to find something to do to make me feel alive again.

  I went into an “exclusive” shop, you know, the kind of shop the little rich spoiled girls bought their clothing in, where they would easily spend a cool $180 for a pair of jeans, and $90 for a tee shirt.

  I’ll never understand that need. I may be messed up, but I would never live for spending money. It wasn’t me, nor will it ever be. Anyway, I got this stupid idea. I wanted to take something. You know, steal it. So I grabbed this tee shirt. A stupid, ugly tee shirt. I walked behind the store display and I shoved the ugly thing into my jacket, all the while thinking this was easier than I thought it would be. I walked to the back of the store, to the little revolving rack that held all the little dangly earrings. I slipped a pair, not even sure what color, into the other pocket of my jacket. Well, I guess I wasn’t so sleek. I got caught.

  A portly, balding security guard came up on my side, grabbed my elbow and led me into the back of the store. Right into the office with the two-way mirror overlooking the stage where I just put on my worst performance ever. A thief. I didn’t even want the shirt. It was ugly and I would never have worn it. I really didn’t want anything. All my actions did was prove I was truly worthless.

  Mall security called my mom of course, as well as the police. After all, this was a very, very serious crime. Heaven forbid some silly, stupid, spoiled rich twit would go without that tee shirt, or ugly earrings.

  My mom arrived to “bail” me out. I was sitting in a chair while the fake cop stood over me bragging to me about all the girls he has caught doing the same stupid thing I just did. My mom just broke into pieces and began crying and I was reminded, once again, of all the hurt I’d inflicted upon her.

  She pleaded with the police to let me go, she whispered to them in the corner, sheepishly looking up at me from time to time. They would shake their heads, glance at me, speak softy to my mom. Their looks of pity fell on blind eyes. I didn’t care. I hated them all. I felt nothing. My mom was hurting so bad and I didn’t care.

  What kind of person was I to keep hurting her like this?

  Chapter 5

  I didn’t talk to her during the entire ride home, the whole time freaking out that I didn’t think to bring my meds. I didn’t think I’d get caught. I just lay on the floor in the back, humming loudly to myself with my hands over my ears and my eyes shut tightly. I’m sure I was freaking my mom out too, but I didn’t care. After all, it was all about me. Only me, like I was all that mattered, when I was the least to care.

  We pulled up outside the house and I felt the movement under me stop. I wouldn’t open my eyes in case we were just at a light or something, but then my mom opened the back door and softly touched my shoulder.

  “Amber honey…we’re home.”

  I didn’t even have the courage to look her in the eyes. I simply got up, ran into the house, and went directly to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I steadied myself for what I was sure to be a lecture about the evils of stealing. I didn’t want to see the look on her face. I didn’t want to see the desolation in her eyes. I couldn’t bear it. It would be my undoing. However, she never came in. She left me alone.

  My guess is she just didn’t know what to do with me anymore. Didn’t know or didn’t care how to guide me, comfort me - or punish me. The guilt ate away at me further. I was ashamed of the pain I was causing my mom. I realized I needed to at least climb out of this void and try to take some of the burden from my mom by going back to school and trying to be “normal”. After the little mall episode, I was determined to not hurt her anymore.

  Since I felt nothing, I had to tell myself to act like a typical teenager. So I dug deep and pulled on past experiences of how I acted before the accident. How I acted before I destroyed my family. This seemed to work for a while.

  However, at school this proved to be a little bit harder than at home. All I did was draw horrific little pictures, instead of taking class notes. My grades went straight down; from all A’s and B+’s to straight D’s. My teachers looked at me with that same look I got from just about everyone else. The “I’m so sorry look” which came along with a hefty dose of pity. Lethal combination. I hate pity.

  My mom was really getting desperate. It showed on her face, she looked older and even more worn out and tired than normal. She’d try to talk to me but was usually met with an empty stare. I was drifting further and further away from her, and everything around me, and she knew it. She was scared and alone. I should have felt bad. I tried to feel something but didn’t. There was nothing left to feel, or care about.

  She started going to grief support groups with the thought if she got the right guidance from the people who had been through similar situations, she could somehow use that knowledge to help me, since I refused to go with her.

  She went to four different groups before she found a group she felt comfortable with. That’s the group where she met Tim.

  Tim Everly was a widower. He had just lost his wife to some kind of weird cancer two months earlier. Mom told me what kind of cancer it was but I don’t remember. He was lonely and had no children of his own.

  Tim told my mom he’d married late in life. That Jillian, that was his wife, had talked him into leaving bachelorhood behind. He told mom he didn’t regret a day he spent with her. He didn’t regret one minute of taking care of her while she was ill. Didn’t regret cleaning up after her. Didn’t regret staying up all night if she needed him. In face, he didn’t regret anything about Jillian…except taking so long to marry her. My mom thought he was the most wonderful, caring man she’d met since…she didn’t finish that thought.

  She told me how the group would gather, sit around in a circle, and talk about their grief, how their loss affected them and those around them. Doing this, talking to strangers, mom explained, did help. I know she was trying to prod me gently into going with her.

  Talking about the accident will not make the memories of that night go away. It may have helped her; she did seem to feel better. Good for her. Good for Tim. It’s just not for me.

  Tim and mom became friends. They had a lot in common with one another. Pain. Loneliness. Loss. Tim started to pursue mom on a more personal level, until she finally caved in, and agreed to go out for c
offee. It took mom three months before she said yes. It quickly went to the next step, lunch, and finally, dinner. That sort of sealed the deal, so to speak.

  Mom had been so lonely. She was grieving so long for my dad. She was frightened, lost and very afraid of losing me. Tim came along at the right time for her. She needed someone to take care of her. She needed help, companionship and strength. Tim was a kind person, a really caring person, who was also left empty from his loss. He was just what my mom needed. Tim filled in all those empty spaces like crazy glue. The spaces I made in her life. And she was what he needed as well. It happened fast. They fell for each other, hard.

  I was really angry with her in the beginning. How can she fall in love with another man, just move on and forget about dad? Why can’t she see this was all wrong? Was she being so damned selfish, or was it I who was selfish? After all it was me that took away her best friend, the only man she ever loved.

  After really giving it some thought, and after seeing her so sad for so long, I was feeling so guilty for even putting her in this position. It was sort of a relief to see her happy again. Something good came out of it also, she would have someone else to put her energy into and thereby leave me alone.

  I was relieved to see that mom had someone else besides me to give her attention to and was starting to open up again. She was beginning to look alive again. Color gradually came back to her cheeks and you could see a slight sparkle in her eyes once more. She smiled again. She laughed. It was a sound I didn’t realize I missed until I heard it again. He was good for her.

  Tim was a really handsome man, tall, wide shouldered, very muscular and curly long brown hair that reached his collar. He had warm brown eyes. He was the polar opposite of my dad...who had dark hair and very light blue eyes, and a smile that…push the memory down… way down. Yes, like that. Bury it.