June 2018
It is two o'clock in the morning, according to the flashing neon green digits of my wristwatch, and I am unable to sleep. The town outside my window is still and silent, looking peaceful at this time of night. While the world outside my window with its cracked screen seems to be without spirit, on the other side of it, my side, is a whole other kind of lifeless.
I hear the front door of my house creak open, with the sound of two people stumbling through it, laughing. Great, I think to myself, it's my parents. They're finally home. For years, this has been their routine––coming home late, no earlier than midnight, and staying up all night, often doing more drugs.
For years, my parents have been the mental slaves of drugs, mostly cocaine and methamphetamine. Neither are properly employed, turning drugs into their illegitimate source of income, as well as their way of life. It's gotten them into a dysfunctional downward spiral that is kept inside a crumbling house. Things have been at their worst in the last year. In their minds, since I'm now in high school, their work with me is done.
I am also not simply describing the falling shingles, the chipping wall paint, or the tornado of clutter that lays inside. I mean emotionally. My parents' brains have been fried from years of this lifestyle. They've cut me off from their lives, and have isolated me from nearly everyone else in my life too, including my grandmother.
I haven't seen Grandma since I was eight years old, as I've been banned from seeing her for a reason that is still unknown. They moved houses around that time, so that she wouldn't follow us. My parents have the address written somewhere, but I've never been able to find it. Believe me, I've spent countless hours searching every corner of my house, through a tornado of clutter, in desperation to find it. My grandmother was one of two people that I've always felt I could rely on.
The other person is my aunt Jessica, the one person that I can still count on now. She's a sophisticated, selfless pediatric surgeon with a heart of gold, the polar opposite of her sister––my mother. She often comes to pick me up from home when things with my parents are rough, and takes me to the hospital to spend time with her. She's the one person that my parents haven't stolen from me. They don't even notice half the time when I go off with her. It's when they do notice that I pay the price.
My parents continue to chuckle from the living room, fried out of their minds. The sound of laughter is one I can hardly ever associate with joy anymore, leaving happiness to be a rare feeling for me. With the emotional distance and abuse from my parents, loneliness has never been an unusual feeling for me.
Frustrated, I begin to tell myself––Okay, come on Candice. Fall asleep. I try to drift off, but my mind wanders to dark places. Things are at their worst for me when everything else is quiet and I'm left alone with my thoughts. The constant whirr of my bedroom fan doesn't help either, as it spins rapidly, similarly to my mind.
Giving up, I turn on my lamp and sit up from my bed. I tilt the light to face my wall, which contains a map of my town, Kirkley. I observe it as my eyes wander to the less occupied part of the map. Thousands and thousands of acres of Boreal forest lie there, most of it all being far away from society. In my worst moments, I've often dreamt of leaving everything behind, starting a new life somewhere else. I have many days, almost more often than not, where I'd wish to simply disappear into the woods, almost like a fairytale.
It seems stupid for a teenage girl to fantasize about this sort of thing, so childishly, but the truth is, this has always made me happy in a world of despair. It has let me imagine I'm somewhere else, even for a moment, and even if I know it isn't real at the back of my mind. If nothing else, it gives my heart a moment of pause from the hate that I have come to feel for my parents, who have hurt me the most.
Flicking out the light, I try to focus on the world outside my bedroom, outside of this house. I check my watch several times throughout the night after each unsuccessful "attempt" at sleeping. The last time that I see on my watch is four forty-one, where the date of June 29th is shown. I finally feel myself starting to go numb, almost as if I were under the influence of a drug as well, trying to let a false euphoria take over...
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My alarm from my watch begins to beep, startling me awake almost instantly. I turn it off, wishing that I had been able to sleep more last night. Today is my last day of Grade 9 and I'm writing my final exam, in my best subject––science. I get out of bed and begin to get ready, by brushing my teeth, washing my face. I then put some makeup over my pimple-covered face––not that anyone would notice. Finally, I tie my blonde hair in a ponytail and get dressed. I gather all of my science notes and books, stuffing them in my malfunctioning backpack and closing my bedroom door.
I make my way into the kitchen, where my mother is sitting at the counter with a mug of instant coffee in her hand, as well as a zombie-like tired look on her face.
"Good morning, Jill," I say, unenthusiastically. For years I have called my parents by their first names. They've lost the respect that the parental titles merit. "Fun night last night?" She scowls at me.
"Don't give me that! Your dad and I had a long day at work yesterday," she replies impatiently, rubbing her temple wearily. I roll my eyes as I open the fridge, only to find it nearly empty. "Did you go grocery shopping last night?", she asks me.
"No, I couldn't. I had to study for my exam last night. Besides, I don't have enough cash to pay for this week, nor do I have a car." Jill bangs her fist on the counter.
"I told you! Your father and I got work to do! We're busy!", she snaps. She stares at me, frowning, as her baggy eyes squint like an old witch. Her teeth are minimally exposed in the sunlight coming through the window, revealing their rotting state.
"Yeah right, work. I totally forgot," I scoff. I grab a granola bar from the counter, checking its best-by date. It's eighteen months expired, but with nothing else in the house, I stuff it in my bag. My mother stands up and grabs my wrist aggressively, almost digging her dirty nails into my arm.
"You're lucky if I let you come home at all, with that mouth," she snarls, her veiny eyes widening. I release myself from her grasp and walk out the door. I don't need to stay and take more of her. She thinks she scares me, but little does she realize how used to her tactics I am. Besides, I have something more important on my mind.
Walking to school has always been a more tolerable part of my day, as there's nobody there to ignore me. I get to walk through some of the nicer parts of town, where I see my favourite restaurant––The Stoneycreek Diner. I also get to pass the park I often go through, which includes a more pleasant view of the woods that stretches for several hundred kilometres north on the edge of town.
As I breathe in the fresh air, I put my earbuds in and listen to some music. I like to walk slowly in the morning, to be in a peaceful solitude for as long as I can. Today is nice and sunny, with the late June heat coming in and my school year mercifully coming to a close. However, I often find that my schoolwork brings me a much needed distraction. It takes my mind away from my home life, and even from the people in class.
With the childhood that I have had, I've never been good at making friends, leaving me to have never really had any before. The truth is, it can be extremely lonely. It also causes issues at school––mainly of having to see hundreds of faces of people who don't know or understand me on a daily basis.
I reach my school twenty minutes before my exam. I enter the lobby and see kids in groups, helping each other study. People all around me are saying to their friends how stressed they are, how they're "going to die" if they fail this exam. I ignore them and find a quiet spot next to the wall to put on my hood, open my science binder, and do some last minute review. I study chemistry first. No problem there. I then look over ecology, electricity, as well as astronomy. I know I'll be fine.
Studying also has me wondering about my future. What will I do with my life, and where will I end up? While I have my heart set on one specific career path at the moment, nothing in life is set in stone.
Fifteen minutes later, the bell rings and we have five minutes to get to class before the exams start. I pack up my things and speed walk, as my class is far from here. I see a group of kids up ahead, who have been trouble for me ever since I started high school. When they reach me, they purposely bump into me, leaving me to drop my binder. The group chuckles as they keep walking.
"Watch where you're going, Ghost Girl!", says one of the girls, with platinum blonde hair. They call me Ghost Girl because of my silence, and how almost no students know my name. When the girl looks back, I raise my middle finger, high enough for her to see it, before making my way to class.
I arrive as my teacher greets me.
"Good morning, Ms. Buchanan. You may sit in the corner. Oh, and Candice, no hoods on please!" I say nothing back as I remove my hood, revealing an awful bedhead. I sit down in the corner and pull out my pencil case. Within a few minutes, our exams get handed to us. "Students, remember. No cell phones out during the exam, and your answers can only be written in pencil! You have seventy-five minutes, starting now!" Nobody answers her as we all begin writing.
The exam is easy enough, with nothing I haven't covered in my extensive note taking and studying. Since I focus all of my energy on school, my grades are in the nineties range. However, it doesn't make me as happy as it should, especially since my parents likely wouldn't be able to afford to send me for any further schooling. I finish the test in thirty minutes. I raise my hand and my teacher comes over.
"Are you sure you checked everything, Candice?", she whispers.
"Yes, I've looked over it twice. I'm confident I did everything right," I whisper back. The teacher gives me a corny "thumbs up" as she collects my paper. "May I go home, Ms. Bradwell?" Ms Bradwell looks at the clock hesitantly.
"Alright, you may go. But don't tell anyone I'm letting you leave early."
"I won't. Thank you."
"Just make sure nobody sees you," she calls. Oh, I won't. I'm good at that.
"I won't," I reply, leaving the class. I walk to the nearest stairwell and head out the door.
I decide not to go home right away. I instead walk to my favourite park, where I can sit and gather my thoughts. This park is perhaps the nicest thing that my town has to offer. It is bright and gets lots of sunlight, while many parts are nicely shaded by a variety of trees such as pine, birch, oak and hemlock.
I reach the park, as I am passed by by several running children along with mothers who chase them. Everyone is happy. That's a memory I haven't had with my parents since I was about that age. I find a shaded bench that faces the playground as I sit and relax. After a few minutes, I hear a scream from the playground.
A child has fallen from the monkey bars and landed on her face. She starts crying almost instantly, understandably––it was a high fall for one of her size. Her father comes running to the playground from his bench and picks her up. He holds her as he tries to soothe her. I watch him from afar as he starts to kiss her limbs and bounce her on his knee. I notice he's well groomed and properly dressed. He seems to take care of himself and lead a nice life. He gradually calms his daughter down, as he then makes her laugh. Seeing the girl giggle makes a tear build in my eye.
My father never did any sort of thing like that for me. In fact, I haven't had a meaningful memory with him in a long time. I wipe my eye and leave the park. I keep walking around as I calm myself down and take some deep breaths. These moments are normal for me, however I tend to be calm and emotionless when I'm at home. Crying around my parents is pointless. I've learned to keep it all in, whenever necessary.
I reach an intersection and as I wait for the light to turn, I see a bird in the distant forest that starts on the other side. I've never been in that forest before, however I know based on maps that you could walk through it for days. I see the bird flap its wings. I believe it's a woodpecker. How free it looks, being able to go wherever it wants, with nothing holding it back. The light then turns green, causing me to re-focus on the road as I cross the street.
After almost an hour of walking, I reach the grocery store, in case I get in trouble for not doing it. I feel myself angrily inserting items into the buggy, mumbling under my breath about how I shouldn't have to, let alone with my own money. As I reach the cash register, a cashier begins to scan my items, as I place them in plastic bags.
"That'll be $50.41," she tells me. I look through my wallet to see what I have left. Only forty dollars in cash.
"I don't have enough," I tell her sheepishly. "Is there anything I can return?" The cashier looks at me with a sort of false sympathy, then smiles.
"Sure, if you take out one or two items, it should work." I look at the items in front of me.
"Alright, I'll give back the box of granola bars, the white bread....and the milk," I sigh. She takes them back, re-scanning them. I hand her the cash I have, leaving as soon as I can.
I make it home at around four-thirty, exhausted from carrying the groceries. The plastic is burning dents in my hands and weighing down my arms. I see my parents' car in the driveway, wishing that it would've been gone for a few more hours. Taking some deep breaths, I open the front door with struggle and stumble through the door.
The smell of weed fills my nose almost immediately, repulsing me. As I abruptly drop the grocery bags on the floor, I place my sweater sleeve to my nose. There's almost nothing I hate more than that smell. Yet, it is almost everywhere in my house. As a result, I stay as far away from my parent's stash in their bedroom as much as possible. There's nothing that could draw me near it, or to even enter that room anymore.
I carry the bags to the kitchen, as I see my parents sitting on the couch, each with an open bag of chips.
"Oh, she's here," mumbles Jill. She taps my father on the arm, alerting him. "Richard." They both turn my way from the couch, each of their eyes red.
"Did you go grocery shopping?", asks Richard. Almost proudly, I place the groceries on the coffee table in front of them. Their eyes follow me in a haze.
"I did," I say. "I got butter, instant noodles, eggs, instant coffee, diet coke, and some chips." My parents swat through the items that I listed, briefly inspecting them.
"Did you get the milk?", asks Richard. I then notice the open box of cereal on the counter, with some of its contents spilled on the table. My lips purse.
"No, I...couldn't," I reply.
"Why not?", he asks impatiently. I feel a burst of anger form within me. I take a deep breath to repress at least some of it.
"I didn't have the money! I was ten dollars short, so I had to return some items. I told Jill that I needed more this morning. Besides, it's a one hour walk since neither of you will drive me, let alone pay for it yourselves! You're the adults!", I snap, amazed that I didn't yell. I then realize that I said more than I had planned to at this moment. However, that doesn't make any of it a lie, nor did I not want to say it. Richard aggressively throws his bag of chips against the floor, spilling its crumbs on the dirty carpet.
"What did you say?", he asks, gritting his teeth. They display a similar colour to those of my mother's––brown and yellow. I stare back up at him.
"You heard me. You could do it yourselves, since you have the money." My father then slaps me across the face. I take a few wobbly steps before regaining my balance. I look to my mother, who simply gives me a glare from the couch, munching messily on her chips like a gremlin as she watches. Richard stares at me with his blood-shot eyes, his face reddening.
"Don't disrespect your father ever like that again. I work hard to provide for you, and you think I don't care!"
"It's true! You don't! You are gone sixteen hours a day selling drugs, and getting high with Jill at two in the morning, leaving me all alone!" At this point I'm yelling at him, which he deserves. He hits me again, harder.
"Next time you talk back, you get the ring!" he replies more calmly, before storming off in rage and slamming his bedroom door. My mother simply gets up and whips her bag of snacks at me, spilling the crumbs in my face and hair, before heading off in the same direction.
While my parents no longer continue to scare me, it doesn't make our interactions any less painful. My father hasn't mentioned the ring in a long time. The ring is a punch to the face with his hardest ring. He's given one to Jill before, which I witnessed. I'm surprised that she wouldn't have left him then and there. They seem to have become a force of evil together, with their souls hardened by the substances they consume.
I remain frozen for a moment, holding my face. They haven't been this upset in a while. I have one option left in times like these––my aunt Jessica. I take my phone out of my pocket, sweeping the chip crumbs from my hair. Rubbing my left cheek, my shaky fingers find her contact and call her. I place the phone up to my right ear as it dials.
"Hi Candice!", answers Jessica, with her sweet voice. I take a deep breath, in fear that if I say too much, I will simply crack.
"Hi, I'm....sorry to bother you, but...." I pause, trying to control myself, "could you please come and get me? I need to get out of the house for a bit."
"Of course, honey. You're lucky. I finished up my last surgery for the day. I have some work to do in my office, but I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Have you eaten?"
"No," I reply reluctantly.
"Did they lay a hand on you again?", she asks. I don't answer her. I don't want to. I hear her sigh on the other line. "Alright, I'm leaving in a minute. Wait outside on the driveway, and if you need to, at the end of the street. We'll get you something to eat, too."
"Thank you," I reply. We stay in silence for a moment before she hangs up on me. I follow her instructions and grab my stuff. As I head for the front door, I see a pile of crumpled cash, no more than twenty dollars, in one of the front table drawers. I stuff it angrily in my pocket before unlocking the door quietly and heading out.
It's not like my parents would even notice that the cash is gone. They hardly notice their own daughter.