The Parade

Chapter 4

Saturday. Oh, the weather is beautiful and the girls are racing around the sidewalks. Little rockets in high-waisted shorts and flower crop tops. Everyone is happy.

What a perfect day to stay inside and regret my life choices.

Mom wants me to go to Albertson's and Dad wants me to do my chores and Elizabeth wants me to drive her to a movie but I don't do anything. I sit on my bed, with my laptop. All day. I don't eat. Mom is worried about me, I can hear her through our vents. She has every reason to be. But I am not changing. For anyone or anything. I am this disaster.

Would I change for myself? Because innocent Emmanuel is pleading me to. Pleading me to seek help and change for the better. Go to college, marry a pretty woman, and live in a home with a white picket fence, two kids, and a Golden Retriever. Innocent Emmanuel is ridiculous. I'll be hollow forever.

I knock on my chest. I swear, I can hear an echo. Empty. Hollow. Sad. My vital human organs replaced by my black-void personality. Which brings the question, how am I alive? The answer; I'm not. Just surviving, and barely that.

How sad it is to describe my life like that.

I can hear my parents chatting about me downstairs. Mental. Crazy. Therapy. Handful. Help. They won't put me in therapy. I won't let them. I have school. Can't do therapy.

As my thoughts avalanche in my brain, I hear footsteps. Not Elizabeth's soft, quick, sneaky footsteps, but the rhythmic beats of my parents. Heading towards my room. Why?

The feet end up on my white shag carpet. Hands tracing my walls. Tight-lipped mouths.

I'm so done for.

"Would you like some hot chocolate, darling?" Mom asks. Not a good sign.

"Sure," I respond. I do love hot chocolate.

Both of them go downstairs, but not to make hot chocolate. I hear hysterical sobs. Words like can't and must.

Mom and Dad walk back into the room. No hot chocolate. How disappointing.

"Honey...I love you. I want the best for you. As does your father. We need to meet your needs but...we just can't. You're going out of control," Mom lets out a loud and quick cry, like a roll of thunder. "That's why, when you go finish school, we're sending you into a mental rehabilitation center."

All my strength suddenly leaves me. "Rehab?" I croak. My voice cracks like I'm in middle school again.

"Yes," Dad says, no emotion in his voice.

"It's called Stevenson's Mental Rehabilitation Facility. It's a great place. You'll be moving in. Your own room," Mom shoots me a sticky sweet smile and gazes around my room. "Pack everything."

"What about college?" I almost cry, like a whiny asshole.

"Stevenson's offers a full scholarship to the school of your choice once you're better. Mental stability is the first priority," Dad says, checking his watch. He guides Mom, a full-fledged weeping monstrosity down into her bedroom. I see him smoking a cigarette in the backyard. Asshole. He said he quit.

I feel it. Like a tiger in my chest, roaring, begging for a way out. Striking at my ribcage. Hurt. The tiger bursts into a million pieces and flows out my eyes. Dull, brown eyes full of regret. Hot, wet tiger tears rolling down my cheeks. Sticky rivulets on my face. Drought. My world crumbles down on me, but the weight is completely bearable.

The first thing I do once I'm done crying is dying my hair black. I hold in my hands some Manic Panic ripoff in Jet Black Baby. It says "For Gents" on the side, but no man I know wants to be called Jet Black Baby. I scrub it in a fold the tinfoil over to let it dry. I'm going to look like a freckled vampire.

The outcome isn't terrible. It gives Mom a mental breakdown. Elizabeth raises a perfectly penciled eyebrow in my direction and goes back to her laptop. Euca sniffs it, and I'd say she likes it. With a little gel, I can comb it over so it looks like a tidal wave. I wonder if anyone at school will notice. But, then again, nobody ever does.