Chasing Lyric

Chapter One: The Problems in Late May 1986

"Lyric; like the voice of a song," My mother would say. I liked how it was unique, no one else at school had the name; no one else but me. All the other Jessicas and Lisas... but no Lyrics. I was a sweet girl for most of my life, until I turned about fourteen, and I began drinking. It was uncontrollable for the most part, it started at a party. Things were uncontrollable in my life, nothing was interchangeable until it happened, and even then; I lost hold of everything. My father had been abusive since I was a kid, and it got worse when I turned to alcohol to solve my torubles. My father told me I was useless, stupid, ugly... and I believed him for the most part. I was almost sucicidal. From the time I was fourteen I was dazed and confused. And that my friend, was interchangeable.

I always considered myself the shy one, who was seen; not heard. I was abused and I never had spoken to anyone of it, anyone until I ran away. I never had been brave enough to do it- but oneday I did. It was a sunny morning in late May, 1989. I was never sure of the date, but it was definately May; late May. My eyes were glazed from the previous night's partying. I woke up around lunch time, the house was painfully hot. My dad had bought a cheap handheld battery-operated fan from the dime store. I let it gust with all it's might across my face but it felt like a teardop into the ocean; the heat was still overpowering. I poured myself some orange juice, into a nice tall cup with ice- just the way I liked it. I took a long sip. It was cold, but not refreshing for some reason. I heard a muffled curse and sauntered to the window. Outside, my father was bent over shoveling in the field. He always dug holes in the field. he had about fifty. He'd been digging them since I was a baby. My mother used to join him sometimes, although she complained the entire time. Sometimes he'd holler at me to grab a shovel and start digging, telling me to call if I hit something. Apparently there was a legend of an ancient burial site beneath our lame plot of land, but it was only a legend. One that old women told to little children when they came to visit them in their old folk's homes. Now, the holes looked pathetic- like and obsession gone wrong. The sweat dripping from his brow displayed his true belief that there was more than dirt in this field. I shook my head. I pulled the refrigerator door open. Empty. Just a piece of steak- and if I ate that I'd be in trouble and my father would be as hungry as the crows that pecked at the rotten corn seeds in the barn. I had a bag packed. My aunt's old suitcase. it wasn't that big, like a purse but stronger. It had flowers on it, shades of pink, coral and blue. It was very pretty- too pretty for me to carry to wherever I was headed- but it was a heirloom. If I left it behind my father would surely sell it too. Inside I had a a shirt and a pair of socks. That was it. That and my mother's necklace. The one she used to wear everyday until she dissapeared. It was a gold locket, and I'd stolen it the night after she left, in fear my father would trade it for a round of whiskey. I couldn't cry for my mother when she was gone. I just sat and stared out the window and pretended that I was happy. I, a four year old little girl just sat by the window and imagined a whole parallel universe where everything was better. I didn't talk for weeks. I was silent. I felt like a mime. But less magical and more awkward. The pieces were falling apart ever so slowly. I trudged along the road, despite the smothering heat; I headed further off to nowhere.

Chapter Two: Life On A Highway

I had been walking for about an hour when I heard the sirens. I had been turning around every five minutes or so to take a good look at my house, sitting so perfectly on top of the hill. Our city was completely flat. Where we lived we didn't have neighbors for miles. I'd never really met anyone when I was younger. It was nice sometimes. Our house was private. I felt sorry for it; yes- I felt sorry for a house awkwardly enough. It stood so perfectly straight even though it had to watch probably the city's most troubled family grow up. I thought I could even see the holes in the field from here. Holes full of empty promise. What was my father looking for? I imagined my father calling me and then phoning the police when I was nowhere to be found. When the police came for me maybe I'd go home with them. Maybe my father would pick me up and swing me around in the air and call me his angel like he used to. I felt so relieved when a cloud shaded over the sun, making the sky look overcast. My house was getting smaller each time I turned to look, and when I heard the sirens, the house was so tiny, I couldn't even make out the color of it's torn roof. I jumped into the ditch next to the highway, pushing my suitcase down ahead of me. The good thing about living in an empty town was that sound travelled really far. In some cases this being a disadvantage. I saw two police cars slow down- I was sure they'd seen me. They came to a hault three meters ahead of where I was crouched down in the tall bulrushes. My feet were being soaked from a stream that was flowing down the ditch. Two men got out of their cars. My heart was pounding so hard, I heard it in my ears. BOOM. BOOM. I felt like the officers heard it too.