Finding My Normal

Ch 10: Nightmare on Sang Street

"Sang!! Sang!!"

"Pooh Bear wake up, you're okay."

I realize my parents are shaking me, trying to wake me up and I slowly open my eyes to see them hovering over me with worry in their eyes.

"Booger was it the same dream again?"

"Yes, Dad"

"Oh Babykins, I'm so sorry. Having to relive that day over and over again must be horrible, I just can't imagine. I'm going to call Dr. Roberts, see if he has any recommendations."

"Mom, no! I don't want to see anyone. I'm fine."

"Sang, this has gone on far too long. And now that you are venturing out of the house it shouldn't be a problem to meet up with a professional to help you with these nightmares. Also you need closure for your family's death, Babykins. You've never dealt with that."

I think about how much my parents don't know. They think my nightmares are only about the accident; about how both my parents died on impact and Marie's body was never recovered. They don't know about the connection between that day and my last night in foster care. They don't know about the unanswered questions that haunt me. My dreams started turning those questions into nightmares- a reminder of everything I don't know about that day. For all the questions the police threw at me that day, I now have one of my own-What scared them into ruling my family's death as an accident instead of pursuing whatever leads they had?

"Mom, please. I haven't had the nightmares in a long time. This is the first in like two weeks. I think I was just nervous about tomorrow or something."

"Okay, but if it continues I'm taking you, no excuses. I'll make your favorite breakfast for today, maybe you will feel better after that."

My parents leave my room and I'm surprised Dad didn't complain about Mom feeding me chocolate chip pancakes for two days in a row. He must feel bad about my nightmare. Once I'm sure they are all downstairs I crawl over to the small attic door and dig out the book I keep in there.

It is a first edition copy of Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. The only thing I have left of my old life and the only thing that contains the answer to my parent's accident. As I open the book it automatically flips to the page where I have pressed the rose from that day. A single red Chrysler Imperial rose. It was once a deep red color and has now faded to a light rouge. The edges of each petal have shriveled and curled a bit, the faintest tint of brown is visible. I pull out the note that was left with it, "Sang- We will be back to get you soon. Happy Birthday". I have read the note so many times it is worn out and creased, about to fall apart.

The police thought my parents had left the note. That they had gone to run an errand and were going to come back to pick me up for my birthday. I had assumed the same for years. I put down the note and picked up the dried rose again and started thinking about all those questions the police asked me at the station. At eight years old I didn't understand why they were asking me such strange questions after they had already told me the deaths were an accident. They were making it sound like someone did this to them.