Far Too Gone

Prologue

Growing up I was told how to live my life. My mother taught me how to be a "proper young lady" and my father taught me how to work incredibly hard to get to where I want to be in life. My parents where what you would call "traditional" or "old school". But to me it wasn't an "old school" way of living, it was my normal.

I knew for a fact that the way I dressed, or what I chose to do in my free time weren't considered appropriate for girls my age but I knew that it wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

I mean let's be completely honest here whoever you were in high school, however you dressed, who you dated none of that will count, what counts is what you make of yourself after. At least that's what I've been told my whole life.

I was the girl that went to church fresh and early each Sunday morning, I had family meals every single day where my mother made sure we always said grace. I had a seven o'clock curfew every weekend and five o'clock during the weekdays. I was never allowed provocative clothing, every dress I owned came just below the knee. All of my shirts could never show my midriff. All of the collars of my shirts at most had to be 5 inches from the base of my neck. I was not allowed to wear shorts nor tank tops. Any skirts that were form-fitting or came higher than just above the knee were simply out of the question.

Based on this my day to day outfits consisted of a t-shirt and skinny jeans and if I was lucky my mother would allow ripped jeans. On formal occasions, my mother would generally choose my dresses because she was fearful of me mistakenly picking a dress far too showy for her taste.

My father was if you could believe it, was even more, strict than my mother. Any and all of my grades had to be above ninety percent or higher to meet his expectations. If his expectations were not met, the punishment would be awful. I once got an eighty-nine percent on a test and I was grounded for two months, no phone, no computer, television if I was well behaved. Where I always was because I was fearful of my father doing the same to me, as he did to my older brother.

My brother was not a bad kid, but he was not necessarily what you would consider the "golden boy" either. That spot was reserved specifically for my little brother. My brother wasn't a bad kid, but he didn't agree with the idea of religion, Christianity to my brother was a form of censorship. It prevented you from acting on impulse, from acting on your actual feelings due to fear of sin. Christianity to my brother forces conformity on all who believe they were condemned to hell because they didn't have faith in God.

Unlike my brother, I was quite different. I did as told, although my faith could be much stronger in comparison to my parents and younger brother. I got the perfect grades, wore exactly what my mother thought was appropriate. I have never had a sip of alcohol a day in my life nor have I ever done any form of drugs. I was also very well behaved. I was what you would consider the "perfect daughter".

My older brother was just a year older than me while my younger brother was two years younger. My little brother Elijah was much like me, well behaved and did very well in school. Yet, he had the advantage I never received, athletics. He was only a sophomore when he got on the varsity football team. My older brother Oliver, or Ollie as I call him on occasion, was just as gifted in athletics as Elijah, but his high school football career was short-lived after the biggest mistake he could have made being the son of our father.

During his sophomore year, it was the end of the season and a couple of the players wanted to throw a party in celebration of their big win. My brother went actually taking me with him, as that was the only way he could convince my mother and father to allow him to go, well that and promising to be home by eleven-thirty on the dot. His friend came to pick us up, and by the end of the night, my big brother was wasted beyond belief. He couldn't walk straight, his words were slurred and his breath reeked of alcohol. We got home after I ended up having to call a cab home and using the money my brother had left in his wallet to pay for it.

By the time we got home, it was two in the morning and my parents were sitting in the living room waiting for us to get home. I actually didn't get in any trouble, but to be fair I was being responsible, I didn't drink and actually got us home in one piece. My parents understood the reason for being late was not my fault and most definitely my brother's as he was drunk as a skunk.

After that incident, my father obviously got angry with my brother. My brother was shipped off to boarding school at an all-boys preparatory academy. As of now, he is currently enrolled in college as he had graduated a year ago.

Now is my time to start a new and see where life takes me. I just got my acceptance letter to Columbia. Of course, I went Ivy do you even know what my father would do if I hadn't. My older brother actually goes to the same school. Although Oliver made a mistake, he was still very smart and was accepted to a couple of Ivy leagues. He will be a sophomore in college as I will be a freshman, and I'm praying that what happened four years ago will not be repeated.

The difference is now we are adults and mommy and daddy have no say in what we do anymore. Well, they technically won't know what we do now...