Behind My Grey Eyes

Prologue

((Above is Alice))

It was August, three months ago, it was a beautiful day, I was sleeping in. I lived in a small farmhouse with my Grandma and two little sisters; Grace and Lucy. Grace was 14 years old then, she had curly brown hair, and dark brown eyes, she was short and awkward, she also had black square rimmed glasses that she despised. Lucy was 12 then, she was tall, had short, choppy straight black hair, and bright grey eyes, eyes that I've always been jealous of, my own are a more stormy and dark grey.
On August 10th, I was woken up by the phone at 11::15 am precisely, I'll never forget the time or day. I remember climbing out slowly of my brown duvet, slowly going to the phone that was across the room on my desk. I remember digging through all the paper on my desk, lots of books and old papers from grade 10, and other papers for my enrolment into grade 11.

I remember also faintly speaking into the phone, one word, one word that started my depression, "Grace?"
Grace and Lucy had stayed over at a mutual friend's house the night before, the Harrest's sister's houses, and in my sleepy fuddled mind I briefly registered that the call had been from Grace's cellphone.

The voice I heard back on the other end is what destroyed my sanity, it was a warm and loud voice, clearly a woman's voice, but not Grace's. The voice spoke to me in chilling words I've never wanted to hear;" Is this Alice Tristitia? I'm Officer Sanchez, of the Dianla Town PD. I'm calling to tell you that last night, a drunk driver ran over 4 children at Alava Avenue cross walk, they've been identified as Jade Harrest, her sister Chloe Harrest and Grace Tristitia and Lucy Tristitia. We are notifying next of kin immediately and your grandmother was unavailable."

I remember that moment clearly, it's etched in my mind, I'll never be free of those next 5 minutes. I remember vividly that I let out a wet sob from deep in my throat and collapsed onto the brown hardwood floor, clutching the phone and screaming, the voice on the phone, Officer Sanchez, asking me if I was alright. For the next 10 minutes I sobbed, letting out loud screams of pain in between sobs. I was broken from my pain party by a hand on my shoulder.
I remember looking up and seeing a face above me, a Hispanic woman in police uniform. I remember through my tears she said she was Officer Sanchez and she'd come to bring me to the police station in downtown Dianla, BC.

After that, the ride to the station was pretty blurry through my tears.

The next thing I remember clearly was staggering into a small couch areas in the police department area for family of victims, Officer Sanchez supporting me, making sure I didn't collapse for the 4th time.

I remember that as I entered the cold room, a man and woman stood up to meet me, they both looked like they'd been crying, their eyes red and puffy, I faintly recognized them as Mr and Mrs Harrest, the parents of Jade and Chloe.

Mrs Harrest hugged me, crying into my shoulder length curly black hair. I didn't cry, I just stared at the wall behind her, my stormy grey eyes cold, detached. That was the first sign that I had depression.

After that, Mrs Harrest led me to a chair beside her, where we both say together, her blabbering on, I wasn't listening, I was staring at the wall, imagining the last moments of my sisters' lives.

That same coldness for the rest of the month to follow is what led to my breakdown . And it's also what landed me here, in Saffir Beach Institute, for teens who've experienced trauma.