Happy Accidents

Leah

*LunaWrites' Part*

“Calm down, Leah,” my dad said over the shoulder of the driver’s seat. “It’s just a suit, we can get you a new one.”

“It’s not just a suit! It’s THE suit, my suit.” I fumed from behind him.

“You know Le,” my mom chimed in, “I’m disappointed in your behavior. I taught you better.”

“ME?!” I coughed, “Why the hell are you upset with ME?”

“Language,” my father grunted, trying poorly to disguise his ‘tee-hee my child just cussed’ grin. I found myself trying to fight a smile as well.

“That poor girl offered to help, and you just left her there. It’s not like she did it on purpose.” my mom continued, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand.

“HOW DOES THAT MATTER?” I bellowed. “That doesn’t change the fact that everything is ruined! She screwed it up, and YOU’RE mad at ME.” Tears threatened to spill over my eyes, but I fought it with everything I had. I didn’t need to be salty on top of everything else.

“Leah Elaine, I’m no-”

“Meg,” my dad cut her off in his low, husky way. “Let it go, this clearly isn’t a good time.” My mom huffed and shoved a strand of hair out of her face, but didn’t push the subject.

When we got back to the house only minutes later, I blew straight up to my room. I didn’t process the spotless cream carpet, the perfectly made bed or even the expertly arranged closet space. I went straight for the far corner, to the only thing that disturbed the faux, catalogue-style tranquility. I attacked the punching bag straight on; who really has time for gloves anyway? I assaulted indiscriminately, punching and kicking over scorch marks and slashes and stab wounds.

I felt a strong sense of familiarity come on. Just as it had countless times before, my anger was more encouraged by the bag than tamed by it.

Punch

Of all the people she had to spill her damned cake on, why’d it have to be me?

Kick

Who does she think she is?

Knee knee knee

I was a colossal idiot to wear that tie to a funeral anyways.

Elbow

How was this fair?

Bodyslam

But then again, when had my life ever been fair?

      I gave the bag one last shove and stormed away from it, panting. After I had changed into my oversized gray pajama pants and my A.A. Milne-style Winne-the-Pooh sweatshirt, I peeled the sugar-encrusted clothes up off my bedroom floor to survey the damage. The black jacket and pants were relatively unharmed, but my button down was completely ruined. I groaned, it had been such a good find. I bent over and picked up my dress shoes; completely coated with a gritty combination of beans and frosting. I actually chuckled a little. Of all the ways for these shoes to go, this was their downfall.

I steeled myself and looked at the tie clutched in my left hand. My stomach lurched into my throat; it was much worse than I’d thought. It was saturated front to back with watery cake. It wasn’t black so much as a murky, dark brown. My frantic scrubbing in the funeral home bathroom probably didn’t help the situation either.

I thrust it to the ground, fighting back tears as my last hopes of salvage disappeared. I threw myself onto the bed, covering my face with my hands and taking comfort in my peach colored quilt. Knowing that there was no use fighting it, I closed my eyes and let the memory flood over me.

The scene came as if it was yesterday. Me, with my finely-pressed blue dress and shiny hair, sitting on a bench outside of a set of great, wooden doors. My parents were on either side of me, muttering generic comforts that I distinctly remember ignoring. Sam was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of me, drawing soothing circles on the top of my foot with his fingers,clearly unaware of what was going on.

Little me sat on that rock hard bench, staring down at my little brother, freaking out. The panic in my chest rose and fell, as steady as breathing.  I’d be puking if it weren’t for the fact that I’d already heaved all that there was to heave. The heavy doors next to us swung open to allow for a tall man in a dark gray suit. He approached us and whispered something to my father, who nodded curtly. My mom took Sam’s hand and led him down the hallway. I sprung off the bench and started to follow, but my dad shook his head. I had to stay, and my one source of sanity was shuffling away from me.

That’s when I really lost it. The fear was no longer pulsing; it was a constant imposition that only got stronger. My throat constricted and I started gasping for air. My mom repeated the generic comforts, this time backed with volume and intensity. It was no use. My little mind was stuck on repeat, “I’m going to have to go in there and see him and speak and I’m going to have to go in there and see him and see him and see him and see him.”

Thinking back on it later, I realized that if left uninterrupted, I might have gone on like that forever. Thankfully, someone thought better. The man in the suit squatted down and breathed deeply and dramatically. I mimicked him and he smiled at me.

“You must be Leah,” he said softly. I nodded and bit my lip. “That’s such a pretty name. Are you ready to go in?”

“No,” I squeaked, shaking my head vigorously.

“Yeah,” he nodded sympathetically. “I don’t think I’d be ready either. But you know what?” he asked playfully.

“What?” the tiny Leah ventured.

“Everyone gets scared sometimes, even me. But if you go in there and tell the judge what happened, just like we practiced, everything’ll be okay. I promise.” He offered me his hand for the journey inside. I looked down, letting tears run over my flowery blue dress.

“What if I get too scared?” I whimpered.

He pursed his lips, considering. “Well, if that happens, look at me or your mommy, okay?”

I stomped my foot, sure that he didn’t truly understand what I was going through. “But what if I can’t find you?!” I screeched.

My mom started to say something, but the lawyer held up a hand to silence her. He brought his hands to his collar and undid his black necktie. “This is my special tie. I was wearing it the first time I ever won a case. And when I get scared, it helps me.” He held it out to me. “Take it up with you, and if it gets too scary, squeeze it as hard as you can.”

I took it into my tiny fist and squeezed. My mom said something to the man about making sure to return it after the testimony, but he just shook his head.

“Ma’am,” he said simply. “Your girl needs it far more than I ever will.”

I sighed and pushed myself off the bed. I gathered my clothes and threw them in the general direction of the laundry room. Who knows, I thought, Mom’s worked miracles before. What’s a little cake to stop her?