E-Mom (The Original Short Story)

This is a short story I wrote for my Creative Writing Class. I know I have LAPIS to be thinking about, but I am really into doing something like this . . . much more John Green than normal but still lol XD

Enjoy :) 

~Maddie

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“This is a new start for us. Make the best of it.”

That’s what Dad said when we arrived at our new house. I won’t lie when I say I was a bit leery at first, but I suppose for him, I would get over it eventually. We were once again “escaping” an awful life, one consumed by my dad’s alcohol addiction, which he swore he’d break this time.

Heh, how many towns must we go to until that statement would be true?

I dreaded to start at yet another school. I had already come to the conclusion that I’d live my life as a bartender somewhere. Or maybe I could be a show girl in Vegas? Who knows, I’d always been told I was a pretty girl. Dad told me once that I am basically an exact image of Mom. That would explain why he hardly looks at me for more than a minute.

Though I will admit that she was beautiful, I’ve seen pictures of her.

Dad didn’t like to see the pictures, which is why I didn’t truly understand the comparison until I was about sixteen years old. While unpacking during the eighth move, while we were still down by the turn of the Mississippi, I accidentally found a photo album; Mom and Dad’s Wedding Album. The man I saw in that photograph, dated May 14th of 2014, was something I’d only dreamed my dad could look like. There were no groves in his forehead, no bags dragging his eyelids down, not one trace of grey in his sharply cut ebony brown hair. He had been quite handsome, with a softer squared jaw and a big grin, which made his smoky blue eyes seem even more dazzling. I turned the page, and there was a picture of the three of us; Mom and Dad in their wedding attire, and I in a poufy pink dress, barely a year old. 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how I was in the picture; Mom and Dad had me before they took their vows. My Grandma told me right before she died that she hadn’t been mad about it, as she knew from the moment my Dad walked up to the front porch to pick up Mom on their first date that he would be the one. I asked how she knew, and she said with an almost toothless smile, “A man whose smile can cure a hurting heart is one worth keeping.”

Unfortunately, time and sorrow had worn that smiling man away, and left a shell of a struggling human being behind.

I once again focused on Mom to distract myself. She looked beautiful. Her hair hung loose around her face, the natural blonde curls framing her slim but rounded cheeks perfectly, as well as accented her deep hazel eyes. Her smile was warm, and although I know that what I was looking at was simply a processed piece of paper, the sight brought a strange sense of comfort over my heart. She warmed me, simply by shining that wonderful smile.

I carried the picture of Mom with me every day after that, and whenever I felt confused, I’d pull it out, and as if Mom was really there, I’d speak to her. I’d tell her about really anything; how much I hated math, what Kim Foakler had done to piss me off yet again, how Dad wouldn’t allow me to go to Hannah’s sleepovers, that Dad had yet again broke his promise, how she should scold Dad for his actions. The conversations always made me feel a bit better, though the only thing I hated was that she never replied. I never would receive the advice a mother is supposed to give her growing daughter.

Though, what more can you expect from the dead?

I shook off the entire thought and continued on with my useless life of school, as I always did. Again, I saw no use in it, but Dad would be completely devastated if I dropped out. He had dropped out when he found out that Mom had been pregnant with me so that they could have an income to take care of me. Though, now because of that sacrifice, he can’t get a good job. Well, that’s at least what he always says anyway.

So, I started my senior year at East County High School, right by the suburb Dad and I lived in, in good old Indiana. I apparently was born here, well, in Indy that is, but Dad didn’t really tell me anything else. Anything that is about, or reminds him, of mom makes him sad. I did as I always had; I went to the main office, turned in the send home documents, filled out a few others, got my schedule, and continued on to my first hour class.

Walking in, I felt no sense of nerves; I was a pro at being the new kid in school now. Though, as I walked through that threshold, I did feel a bit of excitement. Without Dad knowing, I had auditioned for the advanced mixed choir, and had somehow managed to get in. I entered the class room, and as normal, the choir teacher paused, then addressed the class, “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is our newest member. She will be singing soprano. Please be sure to make her feel welcome.”

Their eyes traced every inch of me, over my fitted band tee, dark wash skinny jeans, and accent, not to mention thrift-shop bought, converse. They inspected my hair, my face, my figure, probed me with just their stare. 

The eyes judge before you know they are; only one who’s constantly on the pedestal would fully understand that.

Fortunately for me, the batch seemed to be approving that time, and it wasn’t long before they were trying to make me feel welcomed.

Well, except for one girl. She seemed pissed to see me from the moment she and I first made eye-contact. The girl I sat next to, Abigail, a bubbly, hyper extrovert and talker for sure, gave me a synopsis to me during the water break. The girl, named Caitlyn, apparently viewed herself as the premadonna of the group. She was quote, “The Main Attraction”, and apparently she hated new people, because new people meant that not everyone loved her and viewed her as a star, which obviously no one really did, they just didn’t want her wrath pointed at them. Abigail then threw in that on top of that, that apparently she felt threatened by me. The thought that the over groomed, self declared leader of the choir feeling threatened by me made me laugh.

What is this, Mean Girls? High School Musical? Are we five?

After that, I didn’t think too much of it. She could get mad all she wanted, I was there solely because I like to sing, whether it be a main part or even the shortest harmony part. It didn’t really matter as long as I was part of making the music. Besides that, I am not a hateful person. I don’t care enough to even carry a grudge. Living with Dad taught me that there really isn’t a point to it.

The rest of the day went as followed; Painting, Astronomy (I like stars), English, and then the dreaded Algerbra 2-2. I’d failed it two years in a row and still couldn’t make myself get it. Call it my “I don’t care” attitude, but I honestly gave up on even passing that at that point. I knew what was waiting next was Geometry, and if proofs were really as bad as I had heard, I was content with what I already knew I sucked at. I distracted myself by focusing most of my attention of choir and lunch, where I had found a few girls from my classes that I felt good enough around to sit with. They were fun girls, especially Abigail, who I became closest to. I enjoyed all of their company. 

Though, out of the corner of my eye, I was pulled to a small group of guys sitting out in the courtyard. They were playing an assortment of instruments; guitars, basses, ukuleles, and drumsticks on a hard folder. The music they were playing drifted into the cafeteria, making for wonderful background to the peaceful hum of chatter and ease. For the first month or so, I only gazed out, mesmerized by the talent of the unseen guitarist, who was able to spin amazing melodies that I could only dream I could do myself. For quite some time, I had wanted to learn, but we didn’t have enough money for lessons, much to buy a good guitar. I didn’t tell anyone though, allowing myself to be content by listening to the fantastic sound of the unknown player. Around the start of October however, Abigail decided it was time I left my comfort zone.

“You’re gawking, just go say hi to them!” Abigail laughed as she pulled me out of my seat.

I was dumbstruck, so much so that I wasn’t able to stop her from leading me to the sliding doors until my foot barely passed the line between interior and exterior. I halted us, and glared over my shoulder at her, annoyed. “Butt out!” I hissed loud enough for only us to hear, “I just like guitar.”

“If you just liked it, you wouldn’t always zone out,” she answered smartly, “Now, get a move on before they start to stare. You actually dressed nice for once, so now is a perfect opportunity.”

It was true, I was wearing a nice pair of faded skinny jeans, a purple babydoll top under a cropped black pleather jacket I had recently bought from the local Plato’s Closet, purple flats, and had even straightened my hair and wore a little mascara. It was nice for me, and since I had a presentation to do in English that following class period, I had tried to appear decent.

That aside, I gave up to her strong willed stare, and she gave me a little push forward. One final look back and she was smiling with her thumb out. She was a handful, but her heart was in the right place. I huffed at her, and then turned back, walking cautiously towards the group. As I drew close, the guys stopped playing, causing my palms to become a bit clammy as their eyes all set on me. Though, it was then and there that I finally got the opportunity to see the one boy I could never see from where I sat, the one now directly across from me; the guitarist. 

His hair was a bit darker than mine, the dirty blonde locks cut close until above his ear where they steadily got longer. His eyes were a cool brown, which were somehow comforting, but seemed mysterious. His complexion was tanner than mine, though I wouldn’t say by any means that he appeared to an outside person, or a real athlete. His build from what I could tell under his store brand a v-neck and regular jeans was average, though more toned than the others sitting with him.

I couldn’t tear my gaze from him, and what felt like an eternity, I just stood there staring at him. Like everyone else, I watched his eyes look me over; before he opened his mouth and spoke, “Hey, what’s up?”

His voice fit him well, about middle tone, if not a bit lower, and it was kind, warmness in his Midwest dialect.

“Um, uh, I was just curious,” I laugh awkwardly, trying not to look like a complete fool in front of them.

Another one of the guys, the one wielding the drumsticks, chimed in, “Curious about what?”

My thoughts stumbled over each other as I tried to give a good reply, “Well, you guys play really well . . . I’ve always wanted to learn to play something.”

“I could teach you.”

My heart stopped beating when the guitarist said it, I’m not joking. Without trying, I had put myself in a predicament with this boy I had just met. He stared at me intently, waiting for my response. Slowly, I met his gaze, and once I locked eyes with him, I made my decision.

“Um, y-yes!” I stuttered, my tone a bit too enthusiastic as I smiled.

He laughed, his smile big and bright. Then, he held out a hand, grinning, “Alright, I’m Chance, your new guitar teacher.”

Life after that felt like a blur. I started hanging out with Chance about twice a week after school to learn guitar on my off days of work, and occasionally I’d sit with his group, playing the new things he’d taught me and showing off how well I’d picked it up, though I will say I wasn’t a fast bloomer by any means. Though, he didn’t give up on me, and taught me at just the right pace so I could follow him without getting too frustrated. He was a great teacher, and an even better friend. He even started helping me with other things, like Algebra. Heck, it’s because of him I finally passed! Abigail and the girls eventually started to trail on and on about us as a “thing”, but I didn’t want that. Chance was great, I did like him a lot, and I loved that town, but I wouldn’t be there forever.

Dad was unstable. Due to the withdrawal, he wasn’t able to sleep well, or honestly accomplish anything. He normally spent the day sprawled out on his bed, doing all he could to keep what little food he could eat in his body. I felt awful for him, and guilty that only I had found some peace in that place. 

One day, I had had a bad day. Chance hadn’t been at school, Caitlyn tried to start crap with me, and made me enraged when she said that I was only friends with Chance to get in his pants. Abigail and a few other girls had to hold me back, ‘cause at that point I was ready to pop her head off. Work was, well, work, and when I got home, I found Dad cowering in the corner of his room, trying to hid from me. Then, as soon as I smelled the beer on his breath, I lost it. I screamed at him, calling him out for what he was; a miserable and pathetic failure of a man. Under the weight of my words, he collapsed into himself, though at some point, something snapped in his mind, and he shot up. He took me by my wrists and basically threw me into my room, slamming the door behind him.

He’d come back and apologize, he always did.

While sitting in my room, I noticed an out of place box in the corner. I hadn’t really paid attention to it before, but now it made me curious. I brought it over to my bed and looked through the contents, finding a pile of used clothes, a few sketch books filled with doodles and really sketchy figure drawings, an empty picture frame, and a laptop with its charger. Immediately, my attention was focused on the laptop. Although a good fifteen, maybe twenty years old, it appeared to be in well treated and still usable. And, given the fact that I had desired one for a long time, but again finances had gotten in the way, I claimed it as my own. It wasn’t long before I had it turned on and began to investigate its state. Like I had assumed, it was in good condition, and was quite easy to figure out. I looked through the files that had been previously saved, surprised to find detailed digital artwork and pictures of people I didn’t recognize.

At least, until I found a video folder named “Future Lessons”. Upon opening it, I discovered what appeared to be dozens upon dozens of video files, each titled with a number. My curiosity drove my actions, and I opened file “1”. Before my eyes, a young woman’s face that resembled my own flashed on my screen the person sighed.

“Hello, I’m Nancy Lacer. Though, you know me as, well, Mom.”

I was beyond shocked, speechless as I watched her laugh awkwardly, hers similar to mine. “Ok, I know that this probably seems really weird, considering that at this point, I’m only eighteen and haven’t even had you yet, much less conceived you-” she said, before she covered her mouth, followed by frazzled stuttering, “O-Oh God, I’m sorry! That came out really bad! Let me regroup for a moment . . . Whew, ok. But, yeah, I thought you may want to hear my opinion on some things, ‘cause you’d probably like to hear advice from me while I’m your age and not like fifty and all . . . parenty? Is that even a word?”

She continued on to explain that she will make one hundred videos, each focused on a different topic, and that I was to watch them in order before I went to bed. The video ended with Mom waving with a big smile on her face, laughing as she said “Good night Sweetheart.” Once the screen went black, I sat completely paralyzed for a few minutes, unsure of how to react to the God sent that was Mom . . . my E-Mom. Immediately, I started the first video, and Mom’s face came on, and she went into talking about respecting parents. She talked about her own parents, Grandma and Papa, and how she had to deal with their rocky divorce. Her jokes made me laugh, and her words brought me comfort and understanding.

That night, I was the one that apologized to Dad.

That day forward, my routine became natural to watch the videos of Mom. I only told Chance about the videos, and even a few times, he watched them with me. He liked her, said she was a bit crazy, but still fun and caring. That made me happy.

As the days continued, Mom’s videos gradually became more serious. She appeared unwell more often, but she passed it off as a cold, and spoke of a topic like normal. It was also around that time that my life also started to turn in a serious direction I wasn’t prepared for. Chance asked me to Prom as his date. The question hit me so suddenly that I didn’t answer immediately, which made him lose his confidence. He laughed awkwardly, and then started to walk away, but in my confused state, I pulled him back, and before I understood what was happening, his lips covered my own.

I went from prom date to girlfriend candidate in mere seconds. Chance was looking down at me so serious, but nervous as he held me close. So perplexed that I could barely speak, I asked him to let me process what had just happened and think it over. As I thought he would, he fell slightly, but abided by my wishes. That night, the laptop and Mom sparked to life, and as if she knew events of my day, her topic was boys and relationships.

“Sweetheart, boys are stupid at our age. Their hormones are going wild and they are barely able to make wise choices on food, let alone on how to deal with girls,” she said bluntly, before a small smile formed on her face, “But, saying that, there are some good guys out there. They’re hard to find, but it’s easy to recognize them . . . Honey, when a boy is able to make you smile on your worst day, when he’s easy to talk to, and doesn’t push you into anything you’re not ready for . . . you’ve found a keeper.”

Her words make me feel safe, and I smile as she says a final thing that sets my decision. “Listen to both your head and your heart, but in this case, let your heart be the main factor, because it knows what you want, and what you deserve,” Mom laughed, “Don’t be afraid, risks are a driving part of life.”

I became Chance’s girlfriend the next day. Like Mom said, he made me happy even on days when I felt like I was nothing, and opened my mind even wider than he had as my best friend. I learned so much about him after that, about his mother’s drug problem, about his bouncing from family member to family member, and how turning to playing was his way of coping. We were a lot a like, and I understood why I had been drawn to him. He played guitar and I sang along to his melody, healing each other in a way. Without realizing it, I had fallen for that mysterious guitar player. I knew it, and he fell for me. That’s why I trusted him.

That’s why I gave myself to him.

The news somehow got to Caitlyn, and she spread it all across school. I didn’t care, neither did Chance, and we went on with our business, our fingers interlaced even tighter as we walked the halls. Caitlyn wasn’t pleased, enraged to the point that when I got the final solo, she tracked Chance and I down as we drove to my house, and she rammed into us. Luckily, neither of us was injured, and Caitlyn was taken to Jail for her obvious attempt to kill us. But that wasn’t the worse part of the week by a long shot. 

The news of what Chance and I had done reached my dad, and when Chance and I walked in the house that day, Dad attacked. Drunk and enraged, he took Chance by the collar and threw him to the floor. Scared but protective, I threw myself on Dad, and pulled him off before he could lay a fist on the guy I loved. Bad choice: Dad took my arm and threw me off of him, before he threw his fist at me, hitting me square in my jaw. I was knocked out almost instantly; Chance’s panicked voice shouting my name fading with my consciousness.

In the black void that followed, Mom’s last video returned to my memory, and replayed. It started differently than usual, startling me as I saw Mom crying, fresh tear trails running down her face. Her nose and eyes were red, and she sniffled, before she made eye contact with the camera. Then, in a meek voice, Mom said plainly, “I’m sick.”

Her eyes filled with tears once more, and my heart panged in sadness. After a moment, Mom composed herself to start speaking again. “I was told that I have been getting sick recently because it turns out . . . I have cancer . . . Cancer, of all things . . ! And I’m going to start treatment immediately, so unfortunately, I won’t be expanding this series like I had wanted to. I’m sorry Honey,” Mom said, wiping the tears from her eyes, “I don’t know why, but this entire time, I’ve felt off about doing this, and I didn’t know why . . . but now, knowing what I have, there’s a chance that when you do see this . . . I may not be with you anymore.”

I felt a knot forming in my throat. Even back then, Mom knew what was going to happen in a way. She continued, “Sweetie, let me say now that if that’s the case, I’m so sorry, I’m not there. I’m sorry I missed so much, so many of the things I as a mother am supposed to do and see, I really am . . . So, listen to me while I can speak; Value your life. You have so much potential to become something amazing. Don’t just sell out and stop caring about what could happen. Life is a precious gift that is meant to be experienced as big as one can make it. Even though I’m basically dying, I won’t stop living. If anything, I’m going to give more meaning to each day than I ever did before. I will get married, and by God, I will have you, and you will be healthy God Dammit!”

I’m taken back by how loud and aggressive Mom gets. Even though she was only a screen, and at the time, an eighteen year old girl with a serious shadow now fallen on her, she was still being strong. She was going to fight until her last breath.

She calms herself, and then smiles compassionately. “I haven’t even met you yet Honey, but I already know I love you. Know that, even though I may not be there to tell you that, I love you with all my heart. I want you to be happy and fall in love and live a life you deserve Sweetheart. Be proud of the life you make for yourself my Dear, I know you can be great,” she said warmly, “Mom will always be there, in spirit, or in these videos.”

Slowly, she started to fade away, and with one last tear falling down her face, she spoke one last time, “I will never stop loving you, even in death . . . Be strong, and live.”

The world suddenly flashed back to life around me, the blackness that had previously swallowed me spit me back out, and when I opened my eyes, I found myself in a hospital room, and unable to bend my left arm due to an IV. It was a bit hazy at first, but I immediately felt a strong grip on my opposite hand, and was able to make out the person looking down at me was Chance. His expression was a combination of shock and relief, a big smile forming on his face as he shouted my name, then wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace, like any looser and I’d disappear. A nurse soon came, followed shortly by the doctor, who explained to me that after Dad had knocked me out, he had gotten in a few more hits to my face and abdomen before Chance was able to pin him to the ground and called 911. I had been in coma for roughly a months due to the head trauma, and Dad was in jail awaiting trial for domestic violence.

Before the trial, I was able to see Dad once with Chance. He looked awful, and when he saw me, a look of guilt and regret came over his face. He fell apart, tears running down his face as he apologized to both of us for his actions. I felt awful for him, but I could no longer show him mercy, I had to do what was best for both of us. I watched him for a bit, and then I asked him to plead guilty. He needed help, and if that meant he had to be behind bars to get it, than that was what would have to happen. Dad seemed to have understood that, because at the trial, my testimony was unnecessary since Dad admitted to the charges given. The judge ordered him to serve four years, as well as attend mandatory rehabilitation to take care of his alcohol abuse. I was also given permission to go see him every other week, and that made Dad really happy, to the point he cried in front of everyone. I suppose he thought we’d be separated.

I now live with Chance, and we’re preparing to move to Bloomington soon so that we can live off campus while we attend Indiana University’s School of Music. Chance wants to major in either conducting or music education, while I’m going to major in music therapy. As of right now, we haven’t discussed marriage, but I don’t have doubts about it. Dad is doing well, he’s apparently making great progress in the rehabilitation program, and is becoming much more like that man in the photograph each time I see him. Last we saw each other, Dad said he’s going to participate in the school program and is thinking of opening a small diner when he gets out. Abigail and I still talk all the time, and it’s become normal for her to call me up to model her outfits, as she’s going to attend Indiana University’s School of Art and Design. Caitlyn on the other hand dropped out of school, why . . . well that’s private. Mom is still with me, I watch her videos whenever I feel unsure about something, and occasionally, when I need inspiration, I put on that final video. That strong young woman on the other side of the screen is my hero, and my loving mother. And, just like she vowed to live her days to the fullest, I take a similar oath.

I’ll live a life she’ll be proud of.