My Life In My Eyes

Early Mornings

My thoughts that wonder throughout my mind makes me more and more irritated and distressed as I try to think of a better way to solve this one big mess. If mom goes to jail, where am I going to go? I consider many possible ways where this story would end up, and I'm not liking almost any of them. I look outside my window of my bedroom (after a long night at the hospital recovering before the doctors gave an 'ok' to go home) and see large, dark green bushes that barricade my view to the peonies and gerberas my mother planted 2 weeks ago.

My mother is still in the hospital where as I am home alone and will be for the rest of the weekend. As I get up from my bed after the whole night unable to get even a near second of sleep, I make my way downstairs to make some breakfast.  Nothing sounds pleasing to me at the moment because my mind is too filled with these overflowing thougts that I wish I could just get rid of. And of course, I cannot. Instead, I go open the front door where the summer morning breeze hits me. I check for mail, and there is definitely mail waiting for me. While I'm picking it up, I notice that it's sent from the police station and it's for my mom. It was sent last night . Oh no.

I inspect the envelope carefully. My final descision was to open it up to see what the police have concluded in which consequence my mother will received. But, the letter is too lenghted out and filled with information I am not familiar with, so I try to find the bold words that states her punishment.

ISABELLE FINLEY WILL RECEIVE 270 DAY IN PENITENTIARY GROUNDS. YOU HAVE 72 HOURS TO CONTACT LOCAL GOVERNMENT FOR POSSIBLE BAIL.

Nope. Nope. Nope. I cannot live by myself for 270 days! And I could even go to jail along with my mother's jail time extending if I am caught living by myself with no parent under the age of 18. But then, where am I supposed to go? Then all at once, it hit me.

— — —

I jab the numbers into the home phone and wait for an answer, if there will be any answer. Finally, he answers.

"Hello?" I softly speak.

"Yes, how may I help you?" he replies back. It has been so long since I've ever talked to my father. I think the last time I have ever communicated with him was when I was 4, and it was on the phone. I guess today is my lucky day.

"Uh, yea. It's um... Alexa." I say almost inaudibly. I could not ever imagine me calling my father. This nervous feeling inside of me wells up at each word I speak, and I don't really know why. I mean, even though I have never met him in real life, he is my father. Maybe, another part of me is nervous about the phone call because he's probably those types of actors that don't even care about his family. He probably doesn't even know I exist.

The line goes silent, not a single word.

"I... I need your help." I begin slowly, carefully tailoring each word to try to sound as normal as possibble.

"Alexa, is that you? Of course I can help you. What do you need?" he asks in a concerned voice. I don't even know where to begin. All these questions just chaotically spin around my head, too difficult to grasp one and ask.

"It's mom."