You Can't Choose Your Friends

The Phone Call

I woke up to my cell phone ringing. The wonderful song Smile by Lily Allen was music to my ears. I reach to my bedside table and pick up the phone lazily.

"Is this Allison Copper?" A lady asks on the other side.

"Mhmm." I mumble, siting up. The lady's British accent terrified me. Americans don't get British phone calls.

"You were on Drew Copper's emergent contact list." The woman sounds sad, "I'm afraid to be the barer of bad news." I'm wide awake now.

"Is he okay?" I ask. Stupid question.

"He got into a car accident." She sighs, "He's in a coma."

"And my parents?" I'm on the bridge of tears.

"I'm so sorry." The woman sniffles. I'm overcome with grief. So early in the morning. My parents had gone and visited my brother who was at some fancy British college this earlier this week. They would've been back at the end of the month. "Are you still there?"

"I'm in America." I tell her through my tears, "Can I come see him?"

"Yes." The woman sounds troubled, "There's a social worker here. Your brother is an adult and can take care of you but... I don't know the full story."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." I hang up, staring at the blank screen. This can not be happening. No. It was just a dream. I punch myself in the leg. Nothing. "No." I gasp, sobbing. My long sleeved shirt is soggy and soaked from my tears. I can't even begin to describe my pain. The sadness overwhelms me as I collapse off my bed and into a pile on the floor. I hear a doorbell ring. Once. Twice. Three times before the guest opens the door. It's our neighbor.

"Oh honey." The old woman comes into my room before lifting me up and on to the bed. "I bought your tickets for you." She strokes my head, knowing I won't answer. This lady, Mrs. Turner, has always taken care of me. From the moment I feel of my bike in front of her lawn to now. "I'll pack your bags." She sighs before picking up the duffel bag from my floor and taking a bunch of clothes of the hook. Her lips are still cold from the December air. Break had started yesterday. Yesterday. I had everything until today and now it's all gone. My family is gone. Mrs. Turner keeps talking. "I had a best friend back in Britain. She got married to a no go scum bag. I was her maid of honor. Terrified, I was. An end of an era." Mrs. Turner finished packing all my shirts and went to working on my pants. She soon just got angry and took all my fora wets out and dumped them into the bag before slamming them on the floor. "This isn't fair!" She shouts. I look up at her. "You didn't deserve this. You got good grades and always did kind things. You never got arrested. You were amazing and this horrendous pile of scum is just dumped on you!"

"Mrs. Turner." I squeak, "Please."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry." She waves away her anger.

"I don't know how I'll survive." I admit, still sobbing. My pillow isn't a pillow but a soggy clump of fabric now. "I can't. I won't."

"Don't you dare say that." Mrs. Turner snaps, "You can. You will. You'll have a fortune in your name and me."

"I don't care about the money." I sniff, "I just want my family back." The tears stop. They just... stop. They don't come anymore as I begin to talk. "I want to wake up in January to complain about how they didn't leave me enough money even though they did. I want to steal dad's coffee and eat moms bagel. I want to call Drew every Saturday. I want them to be there when I graduate next year. Everything I wan is impossible."

"Drew is alive-"

"Yes. He is. But he won't ever be as happy when he gets the phone call. Dad won't steal the phone to talk about football for an hour long. Mom won't ask for it just to ask if he's okay and if he's seen some hot British actor anywhere. Nothing will ever be okay avian when I call. My mom won't wake me up at two because I overslept on Saturday. Dad won't stay up with me to watch pointless TV while talking about pointless things. Everything I know. Everything I knew will be gone. How am I supposed to live with that?" I begins to shout at the wind, "How in the hell am I supposed to go on knowing mom won't be there for my wedding!? How am I supposed to survive know Daddy won't be there to tell scold my boyfriend for taking me home at twelve o' one just for kicks? They won't even be here for my first boyfriend and I don't know how to live with that!"

"Your flight leaves in an hour." Mrs. Turner butts in, wiping away the River of tears down her cheeks.

"I can't see him in pain." I ball my hands into fists, digging my nails into my skin, trying to distract myself from the pain. It doesn't work. Emptiness fills me as I sand and zip up the overpacked bag. I just couldn't understand.

"I'll drive you." Mrs. Turner picks up the back pack full of valuables and the smaller necessities before gently dragging me though the maze of my house. I didn't feel the necessity of opening my eyes, so I didn't. I let her lead me out the door and into the small, silver volts wagon. I sigh and start to cry again. I cry all the way to the airport. By time were inside, my face looks like a blotchy balloon, but the tears are gone. I would give my soul to be going to visit, like I was planning to do as a surprise. "Okay, darling, I can't stay with you from here on out. You have to do this by yourself." Mrs. Turner leaves.

I'm on the plane in less that a half an hour. People are staring at me. The file with a blotchy-ballon face and the bag that looked like a dead body. I wonder how this looked to other people. I bet half of them thought I juddered my friend and the other half thought I had a dead dog inside. I just plug my earbuds into my phone and listen to music until the flight attendant tells us to run off our damn electronics. Maybe not exactly like that, but basically. I wait for the signal to turn the back on after take off. People hum to themselves, other converse. No one is aware of the empty being nearby. Aka, me. The signal comes and I plug in my ear buds and turn on the sad songs before closing my eyes and falling asleep.