Finding Andrew

Chapter 8

He holds me closer so I can’t move. But I can’t breathe either. My throat is constricting and my heart is beating too fast. I think I should cry, right? Something bad happens, you cry. It’s normal. Obviously, if my summers going to be like it has been for the last few days it’s not going to be normal. I don’t cry. I stare straight ahead. I don’t remember starting to breathe again. I don’t remember the anger that boiled up from the tips of my toes. I don’t even remember yelling at my Mom when she walked in. I do remember her slapping me across the face. Hard. “What the hell?” my mom said quietly, after James walked out. “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I say, folding my arms and sitting on my bed, starring at anything but her. “Who do you think you are? Yelling like a lunatic and waking up Ethan?” Mom asks quietly, clearing enraged. “Who do you think you are? Telling me Phil,” I cringe at using his first name, “Is my father my whole damn life?”

My mom’s face falls. “Who… Who told you?” she whispers, hiding her face in her hands. “James. Grandma told him,” I say, my voice clear of any emotion. “I’m so sorry Elizabeth, I really am,” Mom says, wrapping me in an awkward embrace, “I didn’t want you to wonder why your father didn’t stay.” “Why didn’t he?” my eyes fill with tears. “Look, I know you have a million questions right now, but I think you should sleep on it. Before we both say something we don’t mean. Want me to send James in? They’re not staying over tonight, so we all can catch up on some sleep…” Mom asks quietly, kissing my forehead. A million questions? I have way more than that. Say something we don’t mean? How about not saying something really important? I just nod, because I’m too tired to fight with her. I sit up straight until she closes the door quietly. Then I slump over and burry my face in my hands. James walks in, and sits beside me on the bed. “Want to talk?” he asks. I shake my head. He stares at the wall, and I lie down.

He rests his head on my stomach. “This doesn’t change who you are,” he says. I nod. “You’re the same person you were three hours ago,” he says. I nod. “This won’t change who you will be,” he says. I nod. We sit in silence for a couple seconds. “Don’t let this change who you will become,” he says. I nod. “Just say something,” he says. I sit up slowly, “One person can only take so much heart break. You can take blow, after blow, after blow. People can only get hurt so much, James. I’m broken. No one can fix me. My best friend is missing and my father is John Doe. I’m a lost cause who’s taken one too many blows. I’m so very, very sorry if I’m not in the mood for talking right now. You being here is great, but if you want someone to talk to, I’m not your girl.” He stares at me, for a long time. I stare back, because really, I have nothing left to loose. “I’m sorry,” he stands, and walks out. I roll up into a ball, and hide under my covers. Then I fall to sleep.

 

I had a dream. It was disturbing and comforting at the same time. I was running. I was out of breath, sweaty, and running from something dangerous. Who, or what, ever it was, was still approaching rather quickly. I tripped, and someone drag me in the opposite direction, and I catch a glimpse of my—Phil and my mom. The stranger helps me stand, and I gawk at him. He had no face, but he is tall and muscular. He nods and walks away. I’m left there, alone, trying to figure out who that could be. Then I transform… into a baby. I start crying. The faceless man comes back to comfort me. My Mom, younger and tired- looking, comes over and takes me from the faceless man. “Andrew,” my mom says, “I’m sorry.”

In the morning, I stay in bed. I don’t have anyone to get out for anyways. Emma walks in, and sits on my bed. “You’re being a stinker again. Yesterday you were happy,” she says. “Sorry,” I say, not really meaning it. “Do you need a cookie? Or a hug? Or James?” Emma smiles. “James and I had a little fight last night,” I smile sadly. “About what?” Emma asks. I shake my head, “Teenager stuff.” “I don’t ever want to be a teenager,” Emma folds her arms. “Oh no, don’t say that. Being a teenager is great, some parts are bad, but every other part is great,” I say, poking her stomach. “Like what?” she asks. “Like having a boyfriend,” I wink at her. “Patrick is my boyfriend,” she shrugs. I smile, “I’m going to take a shower.” “Okay,” she stands and skips out of the room. I lie back down and try to go to sleep.