Where Dreams Lay

[six]

[six] "i don't wanna lose you now, i'm looking right at the other half of me"

-justin timberlake

I think it's funny how just this morning I was at home, with both Mom and Dad in the same room, and watching them try to control Casey, Joey and Luke. Casey and Luke were fighting. Mom was trying to get Joey to eat his breakfast. Dad planted a kiss on Moms cheek before he left for work. I was just standing there, like a piece of flesh living in a world full of problems that needed to be solved. I'm still not sure about what exactly happened a few hours ago, and it's aching inside of me as I wait for information.

    Just this morning I was talking to Aiden and I thought today was going to be a normal day. Just like the ones I have everyday, but no. Today wasn't an ordinary day. It was full of tears and screaming and confusion and drama. Today would end soon, as the clock ticks on beat. Tick, tick, tick, tick . . . mocking me as every second passes, reminding me that the day is still going on, and it will keep going on, until it reaches that twelve. It's going to be a long night.

    It can't be that bad right? You see, all I know is that Dad and Mom got into a car accident. The emergency people were called, and I'm sitting here in the Hospital waiting room, pacing back and forth, starting to get dizzy. Margret has bags under her eyes as she supports Joey on her lap. He's been sleeping there for the past hour and a half; her legs must be killing right about now.

    Casey refuses to sleep. She's just lying her back on the seat on the chair, dangling her head off the end, and kicking her legs on the back of the seat. She's humming something, but usually when she hums to a song, her smile is full and beautiful. She's not wearing a smile right now; her lips are pursed in a thin line.

    Then there's Luke, who's been banging the vending machine for the past five minutes. I gave him a few coins to buy some chips, and apparently, they didn't come out. Now he's furious, and when Luke gets mad . . . the whole world becomes aware.

    The minute hand reached the eleven, meaning five minutes to midnight. Five long minutes until March 15th would be gone, and never to return.

    "Paris honey, come sit, you've been pacing for an hour." Margret quietly pushes for me to join her, but I don't want to. I can't just sit and wait. I can't stay still, because if I take a seat, my mind will go crazy, thinking of the negative possibilities. If I keep up—my eyes, my brain, my body—awake and alert, it will be easier to find a distraction.

    I ignore Margret, even though I know she's just trying to help, but what's sitting going to do for me? Nothing. So I keep pacing back and forth, walking up and down the halls and looking to see if any police show up to tell me anything, because I am desperately waiting for them. For anyone, really, to tell me something about what happened. I've gotten bits and pieces of information, and I quickly realized that it's not enough to fit together a proper explanation. It's not enough to tell me what condition my father and mother are in . . . it's not enough to calm me down even just a little.

    I keep my head down as I walk, but then someone places their hand on my shoulders, stopping me from pacing. I look up from holding my bottom lip, (force of habit when I get nervous) and notice it's a cop—the same one who took me here.

    "You seem stressed." He says, keeping his rough hands on me. I shift away immediately.

    I want to say, No shit Sherlock, I'm stressed. Care to tell me why?

     But I don't, all I do it look into his eyes, and nod slightly.

    He breathes in deeply and exhales. This is bothering me so much right now, you don't even know. His actions, the way he speaks is bugging the shit out of me.