Joanne's Short Story:1st page

 Short Story: 1st page 

I spend my nights looking at the same People magazine from 5 years ago, imagining what life would be like with friends, fashion, and tv. It’s not that I’m unhappy living with my mom, but I feel so lonely all the time. I live in a trailer park in a remote campground by a river. Families occasionally pass by for a bathroom stop, or maybe even to spend the night, but no one lives here except me and my mom and an old man named Mr. Nelson. The longest amount of time I have had a friend is one week. Ever since my dad died two years ago, nothing has been the same. We used to travel all over the country, backpack, and camp but now I barely leave the campsite, and my mom barely leaves the trailer. I work at the Food Mart in the gas station just on the outside of the campsite, and my mom and I live off the little money I make. Before my dad died, my parents both home-schooled me but now I just re-read old textbooks over and over again.

            I don’t understand how my mom is almost three times my age, but handles my dad’s death with such little maturity. She has become reliant on alcohol, which is the nicest way to say it, and has become a completely different person. I cope with his death by drawing by the river, which gives me a sense of peace, better than any kind of therapy could give me. My mother often offers to take me to a therapist when she’s drunk, and I have to remind her that we can barely afford three minimal meals a day. Her emotionally drained expression, short temper, and sloppiness makes my stomach sink every time I see her. Whenever I imagined my life in the future when I was little, I would have never pictured this.

            My mom hasn’t slept in three days, and I’m beginning to worry. She is usually very restless at night, but all she has been doing for the past few nights is drink more, and have imaginary conversations with my dad. As much as it makes her temporarily happy, it kills me to see her like this. I hate telling her all over again that dad is gone, but it’s the only thing that makes her go back to bed, usually, after about an hour of painful whimpering. I shouldn’t have to grow up this fast. Sixteen year olds shouldn’t have to go through this; but how would I know what is normal for a “regular” sixteen year old?

            Somehow my mom found some sleeping pills and started taking them without me knowing about it. I started thinking how it might be a good idea, because she might actually sleep, which would hopefully decrease the drinking at least at night. Over the next few days her attitude has actually improved a little, so I haven’t said anything about the pills yet.

            After my shift at the Food Mart, I headed to the trailer to get my notebook and my colored pencils. I briefly said hi to mom, and then quickly walked to the river. I haven’t been to my normal spot in a few days, and it feels good to be back. I propped my back up on a tree truck, and my legs balanced my pencils and notebook on the log. The fresh smell of pine, the sound of rustling leaves, and the current of the river calmed me down a bit. With all the stress and difficulties I have to deal with, I’m thankful that I have this place of peacefulness to come to.

            As I am opening my pencil box, I hear a loud crash. I yell to my mom several times, but I didn’t hear her respond. I frantically climbed off the log and ran across the bridge. As I pulled open the old discolored door of our trailer, I could feel my pulse in my hands. I turned the corner past the clutter, and saw my mom lying on the floor, her hands covered in wounds dripping with blood and a broken vase with shards of glass scattered all over the floor.