alexisssmbyers
College Student & Writer. Check out my website: https://medium.com/@alexisbyers398
alexisssmbyers
College Student & Writer. Check out my website: https://medium.com/@alexisbyers398
College Student & Writer. Check out my website: https://medium.com/@alexisbyers398
College Student & Writer. Check out my website: https://medium.com/@alexisbyers398
“Can’t a man get some privacy in this place?” he attempts to slam the office door in my face, but I place my boot in the crack.
The rest of the department has been acting weird lately, and I know that something is off. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s unsolved mysteries. I refuse to leave the department until I figure out why they’re acting in such a manner.
“Wendal, what are you up to?” I snarl so he knows I mean business.
His face twitches into a maniacal smile before he replies, “nothin’, chief. I’m just glad you’re leaving is all.”
By god, I’m not leaving until I figure out what in the Hell they’re scheming about. Barbara has been avoiding me all day, so I know she knows what’s going on. She was never one for secrets.
I search the entire building but cannot locate her. The only other person I can think of who would spill the beans is Monique, but she’s not here, either. I’ll just have to figure it out on my own.
If I remember correctly, Steve was speaking to Wendal last night after we made our rounds. I’ll question him. Even the hardest nuts crack under pressure; I always know where to press.
Slamming my hand on his desk, I ask Steve upfront, “what in Christ is going on around here?”
“Wha’d’ya mean, Chief?”
“Don’t play dumb with my boy. Whatever y’all are scheming ends now,” the sternness in my voice gives way to anger. “I will not leave this department until whatever childish games you kids are playing is brought to light. Hell, I’ll even arrest you myself if I have to.”
My voice carries until Wendal and Barbara frantically enter the room.
“What exactly is going on,” Barbara snaps.
“You tell me.”
We hold eye contact until she breaks, “we were just planning you a retirement party, Chief. I-it was supposed to be a surprise.”
It feels like my entire world was set aflame. I am part of the reason for the destruction. I now find myself sifting through the ashes trying to find something to salvage.
Everyone is gone. They always find a reason to leave, and maybe that’s my fault, too. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to stay; I’m no fun whilst in this state.
Maybe, this is all there is for me. I’m fated to live this bleak existence. Maybe, it’s my destiny.
Metal coiled into circles. Entrapment, fated. Designs made of rust remind me of the crust that my sister hated.
How did I get here? Why am I so trusting? ‘It’s just how it is, dear.’ The phrase, testing my ability to remain in a state of mind that resembles sane.
I can imagine the other women who have been trapped here by these men.
Were they as terrified as I am? Were they petrified by every slam of his fist?
I must go.
I cannot allow him to talk me out of it this time; it’s for the best. I will not allow him to stifle my needs this time around because I know he can’t resist.
I must go.
If I’m ever going to find myself, I must get out from behind his shadow. He’s been hiding me there like a child for years, and I cannot take it any longer.
I must go.
The weight that my voice carries is not heavy enough to drown out his manipulations. I love him, and it’s killing me. It’s literally killing me.
I must go.
In order to save myself, I must get out of here. I mustn’t give him an opportunity to stop me. I’m wasting time contemplating what he’ll do when he comes home and I’m not there.
Why can’t I bring myself to leave?
New passions leave the door open for possibility Old lessons remind me of past casualty.
Life anew leaves me curious like morning dew makes me furious about a spot left on my shoe.
Opportunities left untaken. Choices kept me shaken.
Are my abilities enough to chase these possibilities?
My heart rate picks up as I’m waiting for my turn. After seeing them give Jill a Carolina Reaper Cheeto, I dont know what to expect for my taste test. She guessed what it was immediately, but it took her 30 minutes just to be able to talk correctly because her tongue was so swollen. I’m anxious.
“Guys, you know that I’m allergic to peanuts, right?” The blindfold feels tight on my face.
Katie laughs, “relax, Eliza. We know.” It does little to console me; she’s the most maniacal one of the bunch. I have my epinephrine pen, but still.
“Okay, Eliza, it’s all liquid! Are you ready?” Abbey asks innocently.
I swallow and try to remember why I’m doing this. Games are not really my thing, much less ones that require me to be blindfolded. My voice shakes as I reply, “ready.”
A soft hand guides mine to a cup nearby. It’s heavy as I pick it up, and I can’t place the scent of the liquid inside. Swallowing my fear, I take a sip. It’s ice cold but burns when it goes down my throat. I taste cinnamon, and I feel dizzy. It couldn’t be, right? We’re only 14; where would they even get alcohol?
“Is it some kind of alcohol?” My brain feels fuzzy.
Giggles confirm my suspicion, and I think back to what my mother was drinking the weekend before. “Is it Fireball?”
“HOW DID YOU KNOW? Oh my God, guys, Eliza is an alcoholic!” Katie screams and the room erupts in laughter. She clears her throat and spits, “Oh, never mind, it’s her mom that’s an alcoholic!”
Suddenly, I remember why games are not my thing. I don’t even really like Katie, so I dont know why I came to her house in an attempt to make friends.
I should’ve seen this coming, really. She knows that my mom has been in and out of rehab since I was 12, and I should have known she would use it against me for a couple laughs. Always the class clown- even at the expense of others.
I take the blindfold off, and gather my things. “Aw, where are you going? I was just kidding.” Her voice sends chills down my spine. I refuse to entertain this any longer, so I slam the door and head home.
I arrive at my house only to find my mom passed out drunk in the kitchen floor. The smell of cinnamon overtakes me, and I have no trouble figuring out what it is this time around.
Today is the day that his letter will reach me. Today is the day that I can finally stop worrying. I’ve never been more excited to visit a post office.
I wonder how the military is treating him. I wonder if he was shocked by my confession. I wonder if he feels the same way about me.
I’m anxious. A thousand “what-ifs” have been replaying over and over again in my mind all night. I haven’t slept since I told him I’m in love with him. I haven’t been able to breathe correctly since I may have just ruined my longest friendship.
That doesn’t matter. What matters is that there is a letter in my P.O. box, and I’m half a mile away. What matters is that he might love me back.
I arrive at the post office only to find that there is no mail for me. Fear courses through my veins, and the “what-ifs” start again. What if he doesn’t love me? What if he is hurt? What if my letter didn’t reach him?
I ponder what could have went wrong as I make my way back home. Panic threatens to drown me when I see two military officials standing at my door. “Miss Winters, we’re sorry to inform you that…”
They leave me with his unsent letter and a thousand questions. I cannot bring myself to open it. Does his response even matter now?
Cars smash together and crumple like tin cans on the freeway until there is a mile-long pile of broken glass and severed limbs.
I caused this.
My heart skips a beat as I dial 911 and rush into the rubble. A child is screaming somewhere in the darkened corner of the dome-shaped pile of vehicles. When I locate her, I observe that she is being pinned down underneath the wheel of a motorcycle. I quickly lift the tire and allow her enough room to scoot out. The bone in her leg pokes out through her skin, and I am forced to carry her out of the maze of crumpled metal.
I caused this.
I place the child- I believe her name is Lucy- on the back of my slightly dented 1980 Chevy C10 and turn back to face the destruction. There is a blazing fire staring back at me and a woman stands atop an overturned 18-wheeler. She says something that gets lost in the distance between us, and an explosion sends her body flying into several indistinguishable pieces.
I caused this.
Lucy begins calling out to me and points at an approaching vehicle. My heart sinks as I locate one single ambulance driving haphazardly over the roadway. The driver reminds me of myself as she is driving without paying attention, and the rig is headed directly towards my truck without showing any signs of stopping. My feet react before my brain, and I find myself lunging toward the Lucy. I’m a second too late. The rig slams into my truck and sends her flying into the ditch until she, too, is buried. Sirens wail as sparks hit gasoline and ignite everything in a blazing pit of metal and chipped paint.
I caused this, and now everything is up in smoke.
It’s a shame to think that I will never graduate college. I’ll never get a degree or kickstart my career. I’ll never- Let’s not dwell on what I’m never going to get to do. Instead, let’s focus on what I’m choosing not do to. I have a brain tumor the size of Texas pressing deep into my frontal lobe. It’s inoperable, and the doctors say that it’s unlikely I will live more than a few weeks. The funny thing is that I suspected this to happen. Everything in my life was too good to be true, and the other shoe has finally dropped- right on my head. No one aside from me knows that I am fated to die before my 21st birthday, and I am definitely not about to tell them. My girlfriend thinks that everything is fine because I told her as much. I know what you’re probably thinking, but what was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to tell her that her nagging me about going to the doctor for the last year wasn’t for nothing? I’ll pass on that one; she can save the “I told you so” for my funeral. I can’t bring myself to tell my parents because I’m not entirely sure they’ll care. The foster system really knows how to pick them. Once I turned eighteen and the checks stopped rolling in, it was “see ya, Jeff!” You can see why I refuse to waste my now limited time telling them. Hell, they’d probably end up finding a way to kill me just so they could get my life insurance sooner. Headlines would read “local college student slain by foster parents for a mere $1,500.” Tragic. There’s not really anyone else who would be affected by my death. Sure, I’ve made friends but not the kind you’d want to say a proper goodbye to. I don’t even think they would attend my funeral, and I’m okay with that. What’s with funerals, anyway? It’s a weird concept: standing around a 6-foot hole and watching a box that holds the corpse of your dead relative be buried. Like I said, it’s weird. I’m standing on the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge looking down into the blue abyss. A bird swoops down into my eye-line, and I catch myself wondering what it would be like to fly. Maybe I’ll be a bird in my next life, so I can fly around shitting on every abusive foster father in the entire world. My hand slips from the guard rail, and my balance nearly escapes me. Would that really be so bad? I mean, I should just kill myself instead of taking the air some other bloke needs for the next few weeks, right? Tell me, what would you do?