Molly Johnson

The First Mistake

I remember the day February 4th in 1981 it like it was yesterday. It was my sixth birthday, the house was full of different family and close friends. It felt like the house came to life, Queen was playing from the main foyer while everyone chatted up a storm with some sort of alcoholic drink in their hands. My dad, who at this time worked as a successful fitness coach, squatted down in front of me while holding a silver metallic box with a large red bow on the outside. As a kid, my eyes widened with excitement. "Here you go baby, happy birthday", he would say with a genuine smile. I swiftly grabbed the box out of his hands and ripped the lovely rose bow off the top. I looked up once more at his anxious face and then continued to open the box. I pulled out the layers of red tissue paper and then, there before my eyes appeared to be a light blue teddy bear with a bright yellow shooting star on its stomach. "They're called carebears. This one is called wish bear", he itched his moustache then continued to explain, "Ask it anything and soon your wish will come true". The widest grin on my face appeared, I gave him the biggest hug and then saw him leave to the kitchen where mum was talking to another lady wearing a white, slim dress - probably one of my dad's clients. I looked at my bear and gave it the tightest hug while whispering a wish into its ear. Before I knew it, the house would go dead silent. People rushed to the kitchen where a loud smash of glass echoed from. Screaming from my mum was heard. Concerned, I rushed to the screams; pushing everyone out the way, even going between some peoples legs. Sitting there pushed to the marble countertops was my mum with thick, red blood pouring out of some cuts in her leg. She would be crying in pain and agony as that same lady in white seemed to be covered in her blood, holding up the broken glass, crying into my dad's arms. As it turns out, my dad was having an affair with the lady in white, Betty, and my mum wasn't the happiest when she found out. My dad was holding the lady back, while people rushed to call the police, the ambulance, the anything; I fainted. The next thing I remember is walking out of the house I once loved with a leather suitcase in hand to a cab. My dad would be giving me the most empathetic eyes, crossing his arms as I hopped in the yellow car. He never officially said goodbye, he was completely silent - maybe it's for the best. Mom had bandages around her legs for months and was still left with scars of the horrible night.

When I was seven, I was old enough to understand the concept of bullying. Kids would pick on me because I wasn't as sociable as everyone else. I was the type of kid to sit in the back of the class and mind my own business. It was three days before our Christmas break, the school flourished in decorations and classes didn't consist of learning but instead, colouring in pictures of Santa Claus or doing word searches with 'holiday-themed words'. I was sitting outside of the classroom in the heat, eating one of my snack bars when a kid comes up to me - Mathew Scott. He decks me right in the bloody face, how cruel can a seven-year-old be? He doesn't do anything else, only has an expression of realisation and then runs to the playground of his friends cheering while my nose is still leaking fresh blood. This wasn't my first experience with bullies, spitballs, notes, backchat, I've had it all before. I went to my teacher Mr Brooks with a mixture of tears and blood streaming down my face. He hands me a tissue and says he doesn't believe a word, sends me to the principal's office and I'm suspended for three days. After this, I changed... I was never the same Molly Johnson.