Everyday I drive past the building that I once called home. 91600 Ranton Avenue. Fidel Mountain, California. And I wonder why I'm not in there. Surely I am in my room reading a book or in the kitchen eating, or in the living room playing piano. When we drive by, I strain my neck to see the house, and even after we have passed by, I find myself looking backwards. The place that was, and still kind of is, my home, is now nothing more than an abandoned bulding. The ruins of a family that was once happy. Sometimes I think that maybe if I stand on the driveway one more time, then everything will be okay again. The last time I stood on that driveway, I had a 911 operator on the phone. The last time I walked on that sidewalk, I walked with police officers. Maybe if I go ring the doorbell, someone will answer the door. Maybe they're in there, waiting for me to come home. And dinner will be ready, hot on the table. And we would sit together and eat together and simply be together. The last footstep I stepped in that house, I was running. Running, without a thought, instinctively. Fear, adrenaline, shock, and horror coursing through my veins. But maybe this is all a dream. Maybe if I go back into my room, and lie on my own bed, and fall asleep, I will wake up and none of this has happened. Or maybe I would never wake up ever again. And to be honest, I wouldn't mind that so much. Because if i wake up, I'll be back in a stranger's bed, in a stranger's house, with stanger children. When I wake up my mom would still be dead. When I wake up I'll have to face another day at school with stranger faces, people who don't even know or care about me. People who are completely oblivious to the sorrows of life and instead prefer to dedicate their life's energies to instagram, drugs, clothes, shoes, games, and shit, you name it. And even if i make it through the day, there's gonna be another day after that. And a day after that day. And it keeps going. Time keeps going. But why? It should have all stopped. Why is it still spinning? How can it still spin after what happened to me? To my mom? To my sister?
reason #9
abandonment
why don't people want to listen?
they assume im talking to a therapist
and that it’s their job to handle me
me- something that needs to be handled?
why does no one want to listen to my story?
i feel abandoned
left behind on a dirt road
while the car speeds away
leaving me
and im yelling
wait for me
im still here?
i fell off the horse
and it stepped all over me
trampled me into the ground.
but people expect me to get right back on the horse
as if i never fell off
as if i never got hurt
while everyone else’s lives are back to normal-
this was only a little speed bump in the road
well im stuck
i crashed into a wall on the road
a wall that appeared out of no where
my car’s totaled,
a smoking piece of metal
and im staggering out of the car,
somehow, still alive
somehow, still breathing
but abandoned,
left to die.
YOU ARE READING
My Story
Non-FictionThe true story of me. My mom was the victim of a homocide. Suspect #1? My dear father himself.
