Lizzie Meyers is eighteen years old. She is in her last year of highscool and one of the best students in her graduating class. Her future was so bright, until tragedy strikes. Join her as the unfortunate events of her life unfold and as she tries t...
After regrouping I asked one of the police officer's if she could drive us to the hospital where my parents were.
"Of course. Come with me." she said in a gentle voice.
"Hi. My name is Lizzie Meyers. Ummm, I think they brought my parents here." I said. I could barely make it through the sentence without crying. I felt the tears run down my face as i was speaking.
"O.K. what are their names?" she asked.
"Ummm, Mel-, I paused. "Melody and Frank Meyers," I finished.
"Yes they were just admitted. I'll call the doctor who was attending to them," she said. As she picked up the phone at her desk. I waited there patiently but the anticipation was killing me. "Yes, Dr. Stewert. The daughter of the Meyers' patients is here. She would like to know-, O.K., O.K., alright." she hung up the phone. "He'll be right out. You can have a seat in our waiting room." she said as she pointed to her left.
About ten minutes later a doctor came out and walked toward Caleb and me.
"Lizzie Meyers."
"Yes."
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your mother passed a few minutes after she got here." He caught me as I began to fall to the ground.
No, no, no, please don't let this be true, I thought. My mom was my world. How could I live without her. There's only one answer to that question. I can't.
"But," he continued. "Your father only sustained minor injuries. He's resting now but you can go in and see him." he said placing me on the chair. "When you're ready this is the room he is in," he said handing me a slip of paper. "Just ask the receptionist, Jane, to direct you to the room." Every word he said was slow and soft. He had such kindness on his voice. I did not expect that.
I walked into the room that my dad was in trying to be strong for him and my brother.
As I walked in he looked my way and I ran to him and hugged him. "Oh daddy," I cried.
He held me tight then looked up to my brother and that's when I heard the sobs of my little brother. I was so concentrated on my hurt that I maybe should have consoled him more. After all he went through the whole thing. He was there.
I turned around and hugged him. Then my dad hugged the two of us. And we just sat in the bed mourning the loss of my mom.
Seven Months Later
"Caleb get up it's time for school," I whispered.
I was trying to get him up but without waking my father up.
"Is dad up yet?" he asked.
"No and if you hurry up we can wait for Tyler outside so he won't beep the horn," I replied.
Thirty minutes later we were standing outside and Tyler pulled into the driveway. "Hey," he said.
"Hey," Caleb and I said in unison as we got in the car.
The ride to school was quiet. I really wasn't up to talking I was thinking about last night.
My dad had become a drunk after my mom died.
After she died I locked myself in my room and didn't go to school or eat or did anything for that matter. I just secluded myself. And my brother was left to fend for himself.
But one day I heard crying and screaming coming from the living-room and I went downstairs to find my dad holding my brother by the neck against the wall and elevated. When I saw that I immediately jumped on my dad's back and fought for him to release Caleb, who was gasping for air.
And that sort of got me out of my funk.
The previous night
"Hey Lizzie can you-"
"WHERE IS MY FOOD!!!" I heard my dad yell from the kitchen.
"Caleb give me a second I have to go calm dad down," I told him.
"Oh there's no calming him down. He's still drunk."
Of course. Now I have to go deal with him on top of everything else I had to do. Why was this happening to me?
I walked down stairs and didn't pay attention to his slurred rambling.
He had settled down once he saw me in the kitchen.
"Here's your food," I said setting the plate on the table.
I walked back upstairs before he started up again or before he struck uo a conversation.
An hour later as I was doing my homework. BAM!!! My door slammed open.
"Get out of bed!"
"What?!"
My dad had busted through into my room and dragged me out of bed by my hair. "I said get out of bed!" He repeated as he dragged me down the stairs. I felt my leg bones were going to break with every thud on the steps.
He stood me to my feet.
"What did I tell you? Huh? What did I tell you about the dishes?"
I didn't answer because I knew he wanted the dishes done everyday after dinner and they weren't done.
"Girl you better answer me."
I still didn't answer knowing that I should have.
And with one swipe of his hand he smacked me clear across my face and knocked me over. My head hit the kitchen table behind me and I fell to the ground.
"Now look what you made me do." He said as he walked away.
When I opened my eyes all I saw was red. And my eyes stung. Then I realized blood was in my eyes. There was no pain from where the blood came from, I just felt the searing pain from the slap he gave me. My mind was racing but I stayed quiet. Suppressing my tears and heartache and choosing not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me defeated.
So I stood up wet a paper towel and started washing dishes.
Twenty minutes later as I finished up in the kitchen I saw my dad fast asleep on the couch and I felt this overwhelming feeling to call the police on him. But then I thought of all the responsibilities that would fall on me. Because as abusive and hurtful as he is, he still works and pays the bills.
Present Day
"You seem a little preoccupied." said Tyler.
"Did you do something different with your hair?" he asked.
That night after I cleaned my self up for real I cut myself lash grazing bangs. So no one would see the huge gash on my forehead. And I tried to cover up the slap mark, that had gotten worse over night, with some makeup. But if you looked really close you could see the swollen elevated hand print on my cheek.
"Yeah. I just wanted something different for my hair." I said.
I looked at the window and we were all silent for the duration of the ride.
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