Silence
Once I got up this morning I put on my clothes in a rush to try to catch my bus. Although my mother could honestly have cared less. Still sleeping, she wept. She cried in her sleep when she had dreams about when I was born. Asking if that stings? Yes, it does.
Everyday I came back from school she would give me the look of why were you such a huge mistake? Trust me I know. It’s something I would tell you just to make you cry even more but I will save that for later.” and “I wish I would have never had you. I have never loved you anyways, and I never will either!” And then I go straight to my room, huddle up in the corner, and cry. Until all my problems seem to disappear. Although it never seemed to work so I would just continue to live my worthless piece of shit life.
Although this school day would be different and I was going to make sure of it. I was going to talk to my counselor and find a way out of this. After my dad’s death, my mom has been acting like I never existed. She constantly tells me that if I were never born then my dad would not have become a police officer to make money and die from protecting his best friend Ben I called him Uncle Ben because they were so close. I thought of them as brothers.
When, my dad had first joined the police force, Ben showed him around and showed him the basics, trained him, and everything. When dad brought him to the house for dinner one night I saw the instant connection between him and me as if we were family, and dad saw it too.
After that my dad and Ben became best friends. Although, not long after is when the tragedy happened. My dad and Ben went to go stop a bank robbery downtown. It was just the two of them and they called for back up. But, while they waited for the back up the robber pointed a gun at dad and Ben. Ben pulled out his gun, and the robber pulled the trigger. But his gun defaulted and he pulled it again, but by that time, dad knew what was going on. While Uncle Ben struggled to pull out his gun, dad stood in front of him and before the robber or Ben noticed my dad was shot in the head.
Ever since then my mom has always given me dirty looks. She always tells me that she wishes I w never born. When we went to my aunt’s house for Christmas, everybody was opening presents and I only had one. I was still grateful because it was the only time I had ever even gotten a present ever. It was from the whole family. Then I opened it and it was just a card that said, “Here is no money and no present just to show you that you are not worth it”. –Mom and “It should have been you. You should have died and not your Dad!”-Aunt Tiffany and the rest of the family just signed the last part of it. “We all hate you and wish you didn’t exist”. –Your “Family”
You know what… I knew they all hated me but did they really have to go as far as saying they all wish I died instead of my dad and that I didn’t exist. The pain hurt so much but the only thing I could do was deal with it. I was already used to hiding my tears anyways. In fact, I was so used to it that it just became a habit. I seemed to hide all the time. I hid everything. Not just my tears. I hid my heart, my screams, my tears, and my soul. I couldn’t tell anyone anything. Every time I did it would come back to me.
Every time I ever told anyone anything it backfired on me. I couldn’t say anything to anyone anymore because I was always scared. Scared of it getting out or coming back at me. I just couldn’t take any of it anymore. So then I just stopped talking completely. I didn’t say anything at school, at home, anywhere. I wouldn’t even answer the questions the teachers asked. I was done. I gave up. I was done talking, done thinking, done breathing. Unfortunately I was very able to make the last part come true. I almost thought my so-called family was fixing up a plan to do it themselves.
Maybe they weren’t though. Maybe they were just being mean and hoping I would end it myself so that they didn’t have to do it and let it trace it back to them. That way no one would ever think that they did it. But, if I did end it then, they would win. I did not intend on letting them win this war. I may have given up on practically everything, but the one thing I was not going to give up on, was winning this war. This is a war that if my dad found out it was going on, he would want me to win. And when I do he will be very proud sitting up in heaven watching over me.
I know that they all hate me, and I hate all of them, but I will not let them win. I refuse to let them win. To make a little girl, who is in there own family nonetheless, feel like she is worthless. I will find a way to make a difference. I will not stand for it. I am going to give a voice to those who don’t have it. “Country strong and country brave. Bound for the country in every way. Where does she go? In any way she wants. Because she will find her way back no matter where she goes. Why? Because she is Country Strong.” That is what my dad would have said. He wrote that little poem when we were at the park once. He had a notebook and a pen and was just writing non-stop. I asked him what he was writing and he said you would see.
He read that poem to me on his deathbed. After he got shot in the head he was taken directly to the hospital. He was lying down in the hospital bed and telling everyone how much he loved all of us. He started with me and read that poem. He said, “This is what I was writing at the park sweetie, it’s for you.” And he handed me the paper he wrote it down on. He said, “I love you Flare”. Then, right as he blinked and was about to turn to face my other, he didn’t open his eyes, and the machine showing his pulse line went completely flat.
The doctors all ran in and ushered everyone out of the room. I panicked and asked my mom what was going on. She said, “You’re dad just died and he gave his last breath to you…” and she looked down in disappointment and anger. I asked, “What do you mean he gave me his last breath.” “It means he’s dead and he wasted his last breath to tell you that he loved you instead of me” she replied. She started to cry and I hung my head in depression. When the doctors came out they said, “we are truly sorry for your loss but we can let you see the body before we have him buried.” I tried to run in, but mom pulled me back immediately and yelled, “No, I am going to see his body. You got his last breath, so I deserve the last goodbye.” She yanked me back by about five feet. Then she ran into the room and left me in the emergency room.
By the time my mom came out, she already started sobbing. I tried to walk up to her and comfort her but she pushed me away. Then, she continued to walk and when the rest of the family went to comfort her she didn’t even touch them. They all hugged and mourned over the loss. Then, Uncle Ben came out and took me back to the room dad was in and let me see the body before it was going to be buried.
“Why are you letting me do this I mean it’s not like I can’t see him at the funeral?” I asked.
“I am letting you do this because you’re not going to go to the funeral.” Uncle Ben replied.
“What do you mean? Of course I am going to the funeral. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I overheard your mother talking to Aunt Tiffany saying that she couldn’t believe he gave you his last breath and not her. Then, she said, there is no way she is going to that funeral. I won’t let her take the last goodbye too.”
“Why would she do that? I mean he’s my dad she can’t really do that can she?”
“Unfortunately, she can. Because of your fathers passing on, she now has full custody of you.”
A disappointed look appeared on my face. I can’t believe she wasn’t going to let me go to my own father’s funeral. Seriously, this is my dad that just passed on and I don’t even get to go to the funeral. This was an outrage. I couldn’t believe her. Why would she keep me from seeing my own father in his coffin before he was buried?
I was so angry until Uncle Ben decided to take me for his plus one. When my mom found out, she was vivid. The look of fire in her eyes made me melt. Although I really couldn’t understand why she was so upset. After the funeral, my mom told Uncle Ben that we would not be talking to him ever again. When he asked her why, all she said was, “because you brought my daughter to the funeral of the man I loved who wasted his last breath on her. I didn’t want her to attend and you brought her behind my back. Therefore we will not be talking to you anymore Ben.” This made him very upset, so he wrote down his phone number and secretly handed it to me before he left the funeral. Luckily for me, my mom never found out I had it, or about the fact that I still do.
But after Ben left, is when I became silent. Now I had to find out how I was going to talk to my counselor at all if I was trying to get out of this situation. So when I went to school I tried to start a conversation on the bus that I almost missed. But no one would talk to me. I couldn’t believe I was going to be that kid at school who always sat alone. It had been like that ever since my dad passed away. Before he did everyone would talk to me because they all thought he was so cool because he was a police officer. Now, no one would even bother to look at me. Not even the teachers.
So if the teachers did not even look at me how was I going to get their attention to talk to the counselor? How was I going to get the counselor to look at me? How was I going to get the counselor to talk to me? How was I going to get myself to talk to the counselor? So many questions, no more time?
Once I walked through those double doors though, everything changed back to me being silent. I could not even utter a single syllable. The words just got caught in my throat and I couldn’t say anything. In my head I thought to myself, here we go again.
And of course I was right, because I went through the whole day not saying anything and no one would talk to me. No one would look at me either. Yet again, I went to lunch and no one would sit with me. None of the teachers would look at me or talk to me. It was the same school day I always went through. Everyday I would look in the mirror and say to myself, “look at you Flare. What is wrong with you, you are 15 years old and you still don’t have the nerve to get anyone to talk to or look at you. You have to get out there and say something. You deserve to be heard, but to be heard, you have to speak, or just leave everything unspoken and be ignored.”
I would yell at myself all the time for never having the nerve to get people to talk to me or look at me. But why? Why couldn’t I get anyone’s attention to speak and be heard? Did I just not have the nerve? Or did my voice choose not to be heard? I needed to find a way to gain the nerve to speak up. I needed to be heard. But how?
During school, all my classmates started to talk about me. They were saying things like, “She wears the same clothes everyday” or “She smells putrid” and last of all but not the very least, “Her nickname should be Silence.” That last one always hit me like a ton of bricks. Why should my nickname be silence? I wasn’t silent and as if they really knew why I was. I could talk, I could speak, but I just didn’t have the nerve. Although, after the teacher explained our English assignment for the day, we had to split into groups of 4 people and I didn’t have a group to go into so my teacher placed me in one. The girls were snotty.
They started to talk about the questions we were supposed to answer, and then asked me what I thought and I didn’t say anything. So then they started to taunt me. Saying things like, “Come on Silence, say something.” I wanted to talk back but I didn’t have the nerve. Until, someone passed me a note that said, “Are you really going to let her say that?” I thought about it for a moment and then said to myself, “Am I going to take that?” I decided I wouldn’t and decided to speak.
“Come on Silence answer us and the questions…” one of the girls commented before I spoke.
“Shut up! I am not going to take this anymore!” I shouted as I quickly stood up.
“Flare! Please lower your voice and sit down!” Mrs. Robinson said.
“No! I will not sit down! I am not going to stand for this anymore!”
“Stand for what?” Mrs. Robinson asked.
“Them, People, Everyone! I am so sick of people always making comments about me. And I am not going to stand for it anymore!” the girls in my group that made the comments looked really shocked that I had responded or talked at all. I saw the shocked looks one their faces and smiled. Then I continued.
“What, surprised I can talk. Well yeah, I can. And I am done with your little comments about, come on Silence answer us. Well guess what I didn’t want to answer you and I am not going to. Because you’re all just snotty little brats and I am done taking your bull….”
“Flare! Stop right there young lady!” Mrs. Robinson screamed.
“Okay… but one more thing,” I turned to the girls “Screw you bullies because I am done taking your crap.”
“Flare, this is a disgrace and that kind of language will not be tolerated in my classroom!” Mrs. Robinson replied, “I am writing you out a referral and sending you to the principle’s office!”
“Fine, send me to the principle’s office, I could care less!” I yelled
“Then go on down, I will send a phone call to announce your coming.”
I grabbed my things, looked at the girls, and left the classroom. I walked down to the office and sat there until the call came in and a student came down with my referral. It was the girl who passed me the note. As she walked out she slightly winked at me and gave me a thumbs up. I shook my head in appreciation as she walked away. Then the principle asked me to step into his office. I walked in and he gave me a stubborn look and asked me… “So tell me Silence, what happened?” here we go again.
