The Illusion of Life

My name is Rebekah Donaldson, I am fifteen years old, and my parents won’t talk to me. I am an only child. A spoiled, rotten child, I admit, but my parents won’t talk to me. I’d rather be with them, when they’re not talking to me, than to not be with them at all. I would rather sit around, listening to them not talk about me, than to sit around, knowing I could never see them anymore.

  I am awake. I wake up. I am leaving my room, I smell supper cooking, I have to tell my mother I am not hungry. I haven’t been hungry in a long time. I walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table. We eat in the kitchen now, ever since the accident. I don’t eat, I’m never hungry.

“Mom,” I say, “I’m not hungry.” I wait for an answer, though I don’t expect one. “Mom? Did you hear me?” I repeat myself. “Mom, I’m not hungry.” I watch her at the stove. “You don’t need to set my place.” My mom isn’t paying attention to me. She puts a plate in front of me. I sigh. I’m not hungry; I haven’t been hungry in a long time.

I get up and, now, I am walking into my family room. Why do we have a family room, I think, we aren’t even a family anymore. That’s because my parents won’t talk to me. I sit down next to my father, who is watching TV, far too intently than what is necessary. He watches a lot of TV, in our “family” room, lately.

“Dad,” I say, “Mom is making supper, I think it’s almost done.” My father made no indication he heard me. “Daddy? Why won’t you talk to me?” I know it’s useless to talk to him. He won’t even look at me anymore.

I sigh, and walk away. I go back upstairs. I am stupid. So, so stupid to think that maybe the next time I say something they will too. That doesn’t stop me. Each and everyday, I talk. They don’t… they won’t, but I do. I wonder, each night, what they are mad at me so much for. I sit every night dreaming, no, silently wishing they would say something, anything, to me. They don’t…they won’t, so I sleep. I sleep again, now.

I am awake. I wake up. I wake up to yelling. Screaming. My parents, they’re fighting. They’re yelling. Screaming. They never yell. They never scream. Now they do. Why? I can’t hear them. I don’t want to. Still, I open my door. Maybe they will say…yell…scream anything to let me know why they are mad.

I hear my mom yell my name, but she isn’t calling me. They’re talking about me? Nay, they’re screaming, but it’s still about me. Why? I walk to the top of the stairs.

“Sarah, listen to me,” I hear my father say, “You have got to get…”

“I can’t!” My mother is yelling, cutting off my father. “I don’t want to! I won’t!”

What are they screaming about? I think, Why on earth are they yelling?

“She’s gone, Sarah. There is nothing we can do.” My father is saying, in a loud, stern voice. “I wish there was. God, how I wish, but, Sarah, it’s over. Nothing can be done.”

“I know, but why? She was…” I hear my mom start crying.

Why? Why is she crying? Why?

I walk downstairs, into the kitchen. I don’t see my parents. I thought they were here. I hear my mom crying. My dad shushing her. I feel them. I don’t see them. Where are they? Why can I hear them, I can’t see them?

I walk into the dining room. We don’t eat there anymore. Not since the accident. I tip-toe across the room. I don’t want them to hear me. I want them to yell, now. Scream, even. Just so I know where they are, and what they have been talking about. I can’t find them. They’re gone. They’ve stopped crying and shushing. They’ve stopped breathing. I can’t even hear them breathe. I go back to my room. Why did she cry? Why? I sit on my bed. Why did they yell? I don’t get it. I lie down. Where did they go? Why won’t they talk to me? I sleep.

I am awake. I wake up. Yesterday is behind me. Sorry, I’m lying, it’s not. Why was my mom crying? She doesn’t cry, she’s strong. Yesterday has gone and passed, but I am still dwelling. I never dwell in the past. I do now. Why? Why doesn’t any of this make sense? Who is they girl they were talking about? Who is “she”?

I walk downstairs. The TV is on in the “family” room. Why do we have a family room? We aren’t even a family anymore. Bacon is cooking in the kitchen. The smell, it’s nauseating. I’m not hungry. I haven’t been hungry in a long time.

I walk past both rooms, entering neither. I walk to the front door and reach for the doorknob. I stop. Where am I going to go? I look out the window. Everything is calm outside. Inside, though, it’s confusing, troubling. Not only in my house, but, also, in me. The whirlpool of my most excruciating emotions are swishing, and turning, like a merry-go-round. Around and around, making me dizzier than I already am. I am so dizzy. My head is spinning from all the confusion and hurt inside. I’ve got to get out.

I grab the doorknob, and open the door. I start to run. I’m not caring that I left my front door wide open. I look back and see my parents standing in the doorway. Just standing and staring, with strange, bemused expressions on their faces. I’m in the street now. I feel myself falling, falling. I have fallen. I look up and see a car. I want to get up, but my legs, they just won’t move. They don’t hurt, they’re numb. The car comes closer, closer, closer. I can’t move. I want to. I need to. Why can’t I? Closer, closer. The car…it looks as if it’s an animal. Creeping, waiting for the right moment to attack. Closer. It’s coming. I can’t move. Help, please, help! Am I screaming? Yes, I have been. I didn’t notice. Now I am thinking, why? Why me? I cover my face. The car doesn’t see. I scream. I am screaming.

I am awake. I wake up with a jolt, because I remember. Everything. I remember everything. I don’t want to. I don’t want to remember any of it. I don’t want to remember!

I rush downstairs. I search for something. Anything to prove I am crazy and I imagined everything. I’m running through each room. I yell out for my parents. Begging them to say something…anything…even just one word.

“Please,” I am saying,” Please, just say something!” Over and over.

I feel tears streaming down my face. I am crying. I am bawling. I am wailing.

“Please!”

I rush into the kitchen. No one is there. I run into the “family” room, but, again, no one is there. I am running through every room downstairs. There is no one. No one anywhere,

I run, as fast as I can, upstairs. I hear yelling. I can’t find anyone. No one at all. More yelling. Screaming. I stop at my parents’ room. My dad opens the door. He is yelling at my mom. He turns around and is staring right through me. He doesn’t see me. No one sees me. He goes downstairs, and I hear the front door slammed shut. I hear a car start. Our car, pulling away. My dad is pulling away. I hear wheels screeching. The clashing of metal. The screaming. Is that me? Soon, I’ll hear the sirens.

My mom runs down the stairs. She heard it, too? I wasn’t imagining is? I wasn’t remembering? I follow my mom outside. Oh, dear, God!

I am awake. I wake up. Fear overwhelms every crevice in my body. The last thing I remember from yesterday was seeing my mother run to the wreckage. Hearing her screams. Her pleads to God. Then darkness. Pitch, black darkness.

I try to stand. My legs are weak. They are weak from fear. I am weak with fear. I sit up, and look about my room. The wallpaper is the same. My posters are the same. My hardwood floor still has that paint spot, that I decided to keep. If I go downstairs, maybe everything will be the same. Everything will be back to normal.

I stand. I walk into my hallway. I walk downstairs. I don’t smell food. Just as well, I’m not hungry. I haven’t been hungry in a long time. I remember why. I walk to the kitchen. No one is there. I walk to the “family” room. No one, at all.

Fear consumes me once more. Filling my bones and muscles with shivers and shakes. I run to the door, and open it. There are no wrecked cars. I sigh.

Now, I think, they would have cleaned up. Oh, God, where are my parents?

I am walking upstairs. I hear footsteps behind, and I turn around. My aunt walks right through me. Runs right through me. I run after her, but she beats me to my mother’s bedroom. Screams. Loud, horrifying screams. I slowly walk through the doorway. I see my mother lying on the floor, covered in blood from the stabs she inflicted on herself. A piece of paper next to her has the edge of it streaked with my mother’s blood.

My aunt runs downstairs. I hear her rambling. She’s on the phone. I read the paper. A note.

A note she left behind.

Two months ago my daughter died. She was my only daughter. She was my only child. I was desolate without her. My husband was always there beside me. Never leaving, comforting me. Last night he died. My last hope in the world died in my arms last night and there was nothing I could do about it. The two most  important things in my life left me. I have nothing else to live for. There is only one thing I want now, and that is to be with my family.

Tears are falling from my eyes as I am reading. I look down at my mother, and I see darkness. Pitch, black darkness.

I am awake. I woke up. I walk downstairs and go into the kitchen. My mother is reading the paper. She looks up as I walk into the room, and smiles at me.

“Rebekah, go ask your father what he wants for breakfast.” I hear my mother say. My mother is talking to me.

I walk into the family room. I find him there reading a book. He looks up as I walk into the room, and smiles at me.

“Rebekah, go tell your mother I’m not hungry this morning.” I hear my father say. My father is talking to me.

I walk out of the family room thinking, we’re a family.

I walk into the kitchen and tell my mother, “We aren’t hungry today.”

“Neither am I, Love.”

We aren’t hungry. We haven’t been hungry in a long time.

END