All About Tabitha

Grayson

I seen her again.

Third dream this week, only this time I caught a glimpse of a smile while she played piano. Her strawberry blonde hair wafted through the blue water as she swayed with whatever melody she was making. I couldn't hear it. I just heard my screams for her and eventually woke myself up because of them.

Getting up was the second hardest thing to do this morning, right behind holding myself back from breaking my dad's jaw.

I don't want sympathy but I also don't want my father to scream at me about faking my night terrors. I've visited countless councilors and psychiatrists who've told me the same thing. You've got ptsd, the night terrors are a symptom of it, but that means nothing to my dad. It's an excuse in his book, a way out of his beloved company that I was destined to run one day but according to him, I couldn't do such a thing if I was, and I quote, fucked up in the head.

"You bring your problems onto yourself, Grayson! Just stop fucking thinking about her and maybe you'd get better!" I slam my fists against my bathroom door.

"Fuck off! Go to fucking work-"

"Don't talk to me like that- I'm still your father!" I scoff, my eyes almost rolled to the back of my head as I jumped in the shower.

"Please. Get grip, old man." There was about 3 minutes of silence before I heard the front door slam, felt it, too. The house almost felt like it rattled. Jesus, and the guy says I have anger issues. What a fucking joke.

So far, today was like any other day. A month into my senior year and I can already tell how it's gonna go. My dad and I will fight, I'll go to school, chuckle here, smirk there, flirt with Rachel, get a detention, come home, fight again, then go to sleep. Once I graduate, Sayonara. I'm fucking outta here. I know I'll miss my friends, well some of them. Ryan, my best friend, is moving with me to Oregon when we graduate. The rest of my friends have plans to go to college off in different states. Anywhere far from our families. You see, we've all got family problems that we're all just dying to get away from and when we do, we have this idea that all our problems will go away; I've been through enough therapy and support groups to know that's not reality. Once you got problems, you always got problems. It's no longer about solving your problems, it's about learning how to cope with them.

Throwing on some jeans, a t-shirt, and my chucks, I grabbed my backpack and headed to school. As I made my way down my driveway, I passed by the car that my dad got me for my 16th birthday. To this day, I've refused to drive it. Stubborn or not, I'm not gonna use something that'll be held over my head every chance my dad gets. Instead, I hop on the motorcycle I bought with my own money that I earned myself. It was something I was extremely proud of. I worked 10 summers, 6 days a week, 12 hours a day to afford my bike and still had money saved in the bank. I guess it's something I'm a bit grateful for, though I'd never admit it out loud, my dad teaching me how to save and invest money. It started out with him taking any and all money I made and putting it in the bank without my consent but in a way, I'm glad he did.

My dad was a piece of shit but he had his moments where I appreciated his help.

Once I got to school, I was about to park in my usual spot, a shady part in the far corner of the parking lot, but someone beat me to it. A small, bright yellow Volks Wagon that had crusty flowers hand painted all over it. Are those eyelashes on the head lights? Dear God. With another eye roll, I park next to the car since it beats parking in the clusterfuck of students who don't care about other people's possessions and would ram their door into someone's vehicle without giving a shit.

Yeah, no.

First period is Math which I'm pretty solid at, I'm actually smart, believe it or not, at most of my subjects. History is hardest, in my book. I just can't seem to care about the past which is ironic because I seem to be stuck in my own past, that's why I have most of the problems that I do.