Temporary Home

Chapter 3

I went into my room as soon as I entered the house, slamming every door I had to open, ignoring every question I was asked. I flopped onto my bed and plugged my headphones into my iPod and listened to the first song it came to. “What Hurts the Most” by Rascal Flatts, it reminded me of them, but I listened to it anyway. But the next two were worse, they were “If I Die Young” by The Band Perry and “If You’re Reading This” by Tim McGraw. As soon as those songs were over. I went into a flashback of that fateful night.

The rain had started to fall even harder as we drove down the road.  We had just come back from the appointment from the doctor for my mother. Her leukemia has been getting better. So, we were allowed to take her home. My dad was driving, my mom was in the passenger seat, Kenny, my brother was seated directly behind dad, and Alexander, my other brother, they were twins, was directly behind my mother, leaving me in the middle. We were singing along to “If I Had You” by Adam Lambert. Alexander, Alex, shouted to turn it up and my mom turned around confused, so I signed what had just happened in Sign Language to her. Alex started singing loudly, and off key, when Kenny joined in, singing loudly too. My dad laughed, and I quickly signed to mom what was going on and how they sounded and she began to laugh too. Just as the last verse came, a large bright white light appeared in front of us. I quickly sat up in my seat straighter, hitting my dad repeatedly on the shoulder, trying to get his attention. But, it was too late. The car had already crashed into us. I jerked forward, hitting my head in the seat in front of me, the airbags burnt my skin, but did not protect me from my seatbelt locking so fast, from the impact of that idiot that had to be going well over 100 mph, that it cut my neck, just below my throat, that I was thrown from the car, a good couple yards from the car. But the distance was not enough to stop my ears from hearing the terrible screams of my two brothers, my father, and the sound of deaf screams from my mother, all trying to get their seat belts undone, but failing because they were still locked. I tried to stand up and help them but I could not move my legs or my right arm. My left arm had a ton of blood on it, from what I do not know, but I tried to pick my legs up with my okay arm, but my legs were filled with excruciating pain. I screamed. I remember seeing the man who hit us get out of his car and stumble away, completely unscathed. I yelled at him, I yelled at him to get back, to help my family, but my voice was soon drowned out by the sound of terrible screams of being burned. I could tell everyone had died. I watch in terror as the cars burst, sending flying pieces of glass and metal everywhere. I tried to crawl away, but I could not move, not even from my legs and arm, but from terror. I had just watched my family die, and I was laying here, helpless. My mother was finally getting better. We were all going to be together again. I had requested that we get ice cream instead of going straight home, which would have resulted in us going the other way home, not even having to go down this road. It was all my fault. I was so caught up in blaming myself, that I did not even realize I should have covered my face until it was too late. Millions of pieces of metal and glass flew into me. I screamed, even louder this time. Not just from the pain, but from everything that happened. I felt more shards hot my face, still not being smart enough to stop blaming myself for long enough to shield my face and head. Pieces cut my ears, inside my ears, my forehead, my neck, above my eyes, and my eyebrows. The next thing I know, is I saw red and blue flashing lights, and I heard a medic say, “Five in victim car. Three kids, two adults. One female adult, deaf, status: dead. Male adult, driver, status: dead. The two male teenagers both are dead. All died instantly when the fire started, from blood loss and the fumes and the impact. The other child, female, is here, unresponsive, cut everywhere, limbs broken.” All I had time to do before I blacked out was scream, “NO!!!!” 

I woke up later in the hospital and I was not told anything about may family until they told me what was now wrong with me. I already knew what happened to them, but I wanted to hear it from someone official. I was told I had to severely broken legs and my right arm was broken, my left arm had a large gash on it, from my upper arm, down onto my wrist. They did not know where that came from. My hearing had lost about 65% of its original hearing ability from the glass and the impact. I have millions of scars all over me, varying in size from the glass and metal. I would cut my hair so it covered the top part of my head. And I would have to wear long sleeves more. That was a suggestion, but I wanted to do that, I can not see myself as me looking like this. The airbag had burnt my forehead a little bit, but that was okay. I was then told my whole family was dead. I already knew that, but for the first time in my six years of my life, I cried. For a long time. I was forced to love with my uncle and aunt for a while. It lasted six months. They gave me a room the size of half a small bathroom. And my uncle beat me, blaming me for the death of his brother. I agreed, I deserved this. The neighbors heard everything, I was forced into foster care, like I am now. 

I woke up screaming, that is the farthest I have ever gotten in a flashback before. I never was able to finish the dream or the flashback, I usually woke up screaming before Alex even died. I can not stand living without them. Especially my brothers. We would always play football and soccer together in the yard. We would even go to the movies on Friday night and see a terrible movie, just to make fun of it after, for example, some crappy chick flick, or something like that. I always went to their football and soccer games, and they always came to my singing and dancing performances. I had never really thought about it until now, I missed them so much, that I can not even cope with missing them. I just pushed all my feelings down, and now, they are all bubbling back up. 

They tried to get me to talk to a therapist right after the accident. I laughed, remembering how that went. I wonder if therapist had to go to a therapist after the one session. I would not talk, so he tried to make me, and I started throwing things. I was only six at the time! I may have cut him a couple times, and that was when he prescribed some pills for me. I had to take depression pills, but only for a little bit, and now, anytime I am overwhelmed by sadness, I have a bottle, and I am allowed to start taking them again. They made me happier for a while, but then I got tired of them, so I stopped. I told therapist that too. He told me I had PTSD, which I did not find out until later, meant that I had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Great, another thing to add on to my list of problems. Not only was a trouble maker, sarcastic, a brat, I had PTSD, depression, and anger problems. Wonderful.

A loud knock at the door broke me out of my thoughts. Slowly, I walked over to the door, unlocked it, and opened it to see Dan standing there. I stumbled back a bit, surprised. I was expecting to see Char or Rob here. But Rob must still be at work. 

“Are you okay, Annabeth? I heard you screaming and I came up here to talk to you, but your door was locked. I knocked for a while, but you didn’t answer. Anyway, what’s the matter?” He asked sincerely, clutching a comic book to his chest. 

Despite myself, I smiled. “Um, Dan, I’m okay, just a nightmare.”

He did not seem convinced, and ran into my room and jumped on my bed. “Well, I’m a good listener. That’s what my teacher told me last year.” He patted the spot next to him. “So talk.”

I walked over and sat down. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“Okay, well, I was wondering.” He rubbed the back of his neck while saying this and looked down. “Could you teach me to say ‘Hi, my name’s Dan’ in sign language. I want to do that on my first day of school when the teacher asks everyone to introduce themselves. It would freak kids out, but make the teacher proud. What do you say?” He asked with the cutest smile.

“Um, okay. Follow me.” I showed him ‘hi’ or rather hello’ first, which is holding your hand, palm out, to your forehead, then simply wave off. Like a military salute, kind off. Then ‘my’, by just pointing to yourself. ‘Name’, I showed him, is, with both hands, the middle and index fingers put together, and then crossing and tapping twice. “In Sign Language, you don’t use small words, like ‘is’.” I told him.

“Oh, okay.”

I finished by showing him how to finger spell his name, Dan. The ‘D‘ is pointing the index finger up, while having the other fingers curled into the thumb. The ‘A‘ in Sign Language is a fist with your hand, but the thumb is on the side. And last, the ‘N‘ is to tuck your thumb into your palm, and then put your index and middle finger over the thumb. “There you go. That’s ‘Hi, my name is Dan‘ is Sign Language.” I said while signing the little part I taught him to do. 

“Thanks Annabeth!” He yelled, making me jump. Then what he did next surprised me. He ran over and hugged me. I froze, I hated to be touched, I remained frozen until he let me go and then left my room.

I looked at the clock next to my bed. It read 8:30 p.m. Wow, a lot of the day passed. I guess it was busier than I thought. I’ll skip dinner, yeah. I’m just going to go to sleep, big day tomorrow, it’s the first day of school for me.

I changed into my pajamas, went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I came out and went straight to bed. I fell asleep instantly.