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Sunday 4/14/11 - Monday 4/15/11

It was around two am when i started to get worried. My mom usually stumbles home by now. I was sitting at my kitchen table waiting, looking out the window hoping for once to see her walking down the road. Many thoughts raced through my head. What if she was dead? How would i cover that up? The police would find out that she's a drunk and i've been the one writing her signatures on everything. I'd be in so much trouble. Despite the fact that the only time i saw her was when i was helping her walk to the couch or with her pounding hangover, i would still miss her. I had already lost my Dad and what now? Am i gonna lose her too? 

I woke up with dry tears on my face. I must've have fallen asleep on the counter waiting for her to get home. My arm was red from resting against the table all night and my jeans were cutting into my stomach every time i took a breath. Just as i was about to make breakfast for myself, i saw a car pull up to the driveway. The lights shined through my house as my curiosity got the better off me and i swung open my door. There i saw it. The reason my mom was acting so strange lately, leaving early and not coming home till late. The reason was in a black leather jacket and a Sudan. The reason was a man with a light beard and short, dark hair that curved to the sky in front of his face. He had a smirk on his face as my mom kissed his cheek goodbye and stumbled into our house, shoes in hand. My face twisted in disbelief and anger. She pushes passed me to get into the house and i slam the door shut.

I practically yell at her asking her who this stranger is and why she decided it was a good idea for him to take her home when i know for a fact they are both intoxicated. She shrugs giggling and sitting on our dining room table. "Relax Cassandra, he's a friend. It's none of your business anyway." She pulls her purse from her side and rummages through it until she finds her cigarettes. She places it between her lips and lights it. I watch the fire flicker from lighter until it disappears. I walk up to my room enraged and not believing her, but for some reason still giving her the benefit of the doubt because I love her.

Tomorrow i have school so i start doing homework until she leaves once more to go right back to the bar. It's around one am when i walk down the stairs and see that she is already gone. It's hot in my house because two months ago our heater broke and she never cared to fix it. I open up the door assuming that the chill of the early morning air will help, but instead i find a glass bottle on my front step with a red ribbon tied tightly to the cap. I picked up the bottle and see the label. The ribbon has a mini card attached that says it's to my Mother and from "W.". Alcohol splashed inside the bottle as in closed the door, feeling the tips of my fingers beginning to freeze. I set the bottle on the counter and lay down on the couch. My head is on the armchair and i turn it slightly so the bottle comes into view. I stare at it for a while my mind being blissfully blank. Sadly and not unusually, I begin to think and my brain goes places that i can't stop it from going.

My Dad was a tattoo artist. I remember he used to come home showing pictures of the art he done on someone's body to my mother and she would smile and hug him for the awesome work he did. I also remember on cold rainy nights when my mom was to tired to cook and my Dad had a craving for food, we would go out and drive around until we found someplace we didn't recognize and we would eat. I rememver the way him and my mother used to look at each other, as if nothing in the world could ever go wrong if they had each other. The one night my mom was driving home from their friends house and my Dad was playing around and making my Mother distracted. Not even two hours later, he was pronounced dead. For a long time i blamed her. I blamed her for not paying attention and i blamed her for not being there for me when i needed her the most. Sometimes, i blame him too. I hate to admit it, even to myself, that i could blame my father for his own death. If only he could have been serious for two seconds so she could have kept her eyes on the road. He left me here with a psychopath that would only notice i was missing if her food supply ran out.

I don't crythis time like i usually do, but instead i get angry, I get angry over this whole situation. I was born into this family and had no choice over it. Why do other people get to have perfect lives while im stuck here taking care of the person that's supposed to take care of me. Why do i have to question everything i do. My life is messed up beyond repair and i just wish for one thing in my life to be normal. I fall asleep on the couch that night not caring if she comes home or not.

I wake up to the alarm on the stove going off and i run upstairs quickly getting dressed and rushing out the door. I grab my bag and walk to the end of the road and wait for the bus. I hate buses. There are so crowded and everyone is so loud. I walk up the small steps and sit down in the first open seat. I watch out the window as my eyes try to catch things before the blurr away from the buses speed. In a way, this is like my life. Everything happening all at once and more things appear before you know it, yet somehow it never ends. I hide under my hood until the bus pulls to it's last stop and i get out. My school is filled with boring tan walls and people who would watch you burn alive for their own entertainment any day of the week. The cafeteria has dark wood from the floor to the ceiling, giving the room a dark and unappealing feel. I sit down at a table, yet again made of wood, and pull out my book. I start reading until the bell rings signalling that first class is about to start.The halls are littered with old posters that no one stops to pay attention to, but teachers still insist on hanging them up. I pass people in the hallway looking at their faces, understanding that they all have stories behind their eyes.