When You Left

26

11. 25. 13.

        The worst nightmares are the ones that you know aren’t nightmares. The worst nightmares are the ones that are actually real and not just a dream. The ones that are actually memories that hide away in your subconscious until your eyes close and you drift off. That’s when the memories come out to play; when your conscious goes to sleep and you subconscious is awakened like a sleeping beast.

        I had the worst one yet last night. It was like all of my recurring nightmares rolled into one. But, it started out the same as always. My hand shakes violently as I write this, so it may be intelligible. But, I’m afraid that if I don’t record this somehow, the images will just keep swirling in my head and never stop.

        I could hear my mother’s voice screaming at Archie from the end of the hallway, but I didn’t dare go out there to see what was happening. My mother was on her second bottle of tequila and you shouldn’t get in her way after the first.

        And Archie should have known that by now. But, that night was different. That night, my mom had brought a strange man over to the house and the man wanted to go with me to my room.

        My mom said that was fine, her words slurred, but Archie wouldn’t have it. He got up from the couch, took my hand, and led me to my room, and he looked really angry. And Archie was never angry, only ever placid.

        “Archie, did I do something wrong?” He looked down at me, his fourteen year old eyes soft and too wise for his age.

        “No, Daisy. You could never do anything wrong. Just stay here for a bit, okay?” He kissed me on the forehead and walked back into the living room of the shack we called a home.

        And that’s when the yelling began. Archie yelled at the man to leave, but he wouldn’t. Then he yelled at my mom to make him leave, but she was too stoned to even move.

        And the more both of them resisted, the angrier Archie became. But, eventually Archie gave up on the lumps sitting on the couch and came back into my room. Without even looking at me he grabbed my eight-year old hand and led me past the broken bottles and empty bags of cocaine to the front door.

        With a fleeting glance at my mom, who was now passed out, he grabbed the keys off of the wall and led me out into the bitter cold to hop into our mom’s old Subaru. I followed blindly behind him, still not comprehending the gravity of the situation.

        Archie mimicked what he knew from our mom’s driving, but he could barely see over the wheel and kept muttering to himself. I wish I had paid more attention to what he was saying. But, he looked conflicted. He kept staring from me in the backseat, to the house in front of us.

        He made a snap decision with an aggravated huff and pulled out of the driveway, wheels screeching against the cracked pavement.

        I don’t know where he was headed or how long we were driving. But, just as we were speeding through a stoplight, a car drove in front of us, but Archie was going too fast to stop. We hit the vehicle head-on and our car jerked violently, sending me forward, before my seatbelt jerked me back.

        All I remember is flashing lights and sirens, glass everywhere on the concrete and some pinching my skin, and blood. Lots of blood.

        The last thing I recall before passing out was the sight of my brother’s body having been thrown out the windshield; his upper half lying on the hood and his converse clad feet dangling over the steering wheel. Blood matted his blonde hair and turned his freckled, caring face red.

        That’s when I woke up.

 

I didn’t call you this time,

Daisy