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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, religious institutions, persons or varmints, living or dead, past or present, is entirely coincidental.
Text Copyright © Isabel Curtis
Cover art copyright © 2015 Joana Kruse
Proof reading by Julia Gibbs
All rights reserved. Visit the author at isabelcurtis.weebly.com
BEFORE LIFE HAPPENED
Isabel Curtis
First Published June 30th, 2015
Second Edition January 20th, 2016
All rights reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1523286157
ISBN : 1523286156
Nobody can save you but yourself
and you’re worth saving.
- Charles Bukowski
For you,
Feb. 12th
Dear Diary,
I haven't written in a while, sorry about that. My life has been busy fucking itself up. I came back home yesterday from the hospital. I've been in a coma for two weeks after the car accident last month (by the way, Mom and Dad died in that crash).
I can't believe I just put that in brackets. This coping thing is going pretty well. They say I'm in denial or something.
Whatever.
I just wish I could sleep until forever. Or until they invent a time machine. Reality sucks.
I'm stuck in bed 24/7 under strict supervision of my brothers, who all of a sudden seem to have no life.
This is really annoying.
H.
PS. These broken ribs are killing me.
ONE
It was pretty early when Hayden Wilson woke up that morning, and yet it seemed like everyone in the house was already alive. Actually, scratch that. They were simply awake.
Being awake doesn't necessarily imply being alive, and being alive does imply being awake. Don't you agree?
So, everyone was awake.
But she still didn't feel like getting up and facing another day. Plus, her body was still hurting from the accident, so the less she moved the better. Well, it was a plausible pretext anyway, so that's what she told everyone. We even need good excuses for staying in bed all day; go figure.
She spent the next half an hour just staring into the emptiness above. Staring at the ceiling is very engaging, especially when your mind is so messed up. And it had been her favorite hobby for the past month: I guess that's what you do when you've got to shut the world out.
Then someone knocked on her door, interrupting her inactivity. How rude. "Hayden?" It was James, her oldest brother. "You awake?"
"No."
He sighed. Everything was already too hard, she made it all worse. He opened the door anyway and walked inside her small room.
"I'm sleeping. Can't you see?"
"Not really," he said, while opening the shutters and letting the sunlight invade the room.
"Oh come on! What's your problem?" she said, hiding her face under the blankets.
"Mrs Selling's here. We gotta talk."
"I don't wanna see Cruella de Vil."
"Cut it out, will ya?" he said, moving the blankets to the side. "Come on, I'll help you get up."
Standing up was hard and painful, but not as much as living had become, so she didn't whine about it. Sometimes, no matter what you are going through, complaining just feels totally unrighteous. She was alive after all. I mean, awake. Better than dead, perhaps.
"Please, kiddo, be nice to her," he said while handing her the crutches. "We need her on our side."
"Yeah, I know," Hayden said, walking out of the room followed by James. They headed towards the living room, where Mrs Selling was waiting for them. The house wasn't big at all, but it took Hayden a while to get there, whether because of the crutches or the lack of desire to face the social worker, we'll never know.
She entered the room, where her two other older brothers were busy in what sounded like the usual meaningless conversation that people engage in just to fill the silence.
"It's pretty cold outside, uh?" Mike was saying. "Yes! Unbearable... oh there you are, Hayden!" Mrs Selling got up to greet her in a very polite manner, but Hayden knew better than that: she wasn't going to let Cruella fool her. We all know that even if someone acts nicely it does not mean someone is nice. We are all walking masks.
"Hello, Mrs Selling," Hayden said, as she slowly sat down at the table. "
How are you doing today?" Mrs Selling asked, resuming her seat.
"I'm fine. Thank you." I don't know if politeness equals fakeness, but they surely coexist ninety percent of the time.
"OK, uhm, great," she said while taking some papers out from her briefcase. "There are some things we need to discuss all together."
"I'm assuming it's about Hayden's custody?" Will was always the obvious one.
"Yes, correct," she replied politely, or falsely if you prefer, still looking through some documents.
"I thought we already solved this issue," said James.
"Yes, we did, James, and do not worry: I have not had any second thoughts. Hayden will stay under your custody for now."
"For now?"
"Yes, Hayden." She turned to look at her. "This is a temporary solution. It is up to you to make it permanent. That's why I've asked to talk to you too, today."
"I'm listening," Hayden said. This conversation was not starting well.
"Hayden, I know you are going through a hard time right now but you need to be aware that harder times will come." Making someone feel better was definitely not her talent. "...And you have to be strong. You have to do it for yourself, and for your brothers. It would be such a shame to separate the four of you." She paused, probably waiting for her words to sink in.
"What do I have to do?" Hayden asked.
"Well, first of all: don't get in trouble. Things are pretty tough around here and I don't want to see you doing anything stupid; that would go also for your brothers, but they are not underage so I can't force them to do anything. Although I am assuming they will be perfect role models for you."
She looked at them intensely before moving on. I guess she knew about their criminal records. Nothing big, but still.
"I have no intention of getting in trouble." "I'm sure you don't. But sometimes trouble comes knocking at the door."
"I won't open it." It seemed like the right answer to Hayden, until she saw Mrs Selling's awkward smile. "Next thing: keep up the good grades. School is important."
"Yes, I know."
"You could get a scholarship and maybe go to college one day." She said this with a bit too much excitement, so now the awkward smiles were of the opposite party.
"Right." Thinking about the future was just something Hayden had no intention of doing right now. Getting by each day is already challenging enough, especially when you are stuck in the past. "Hayden." Mrs Selling was looking at her, and she sounded even more serious now. "Do you feel like you need a psychiatrist?"
"We can't afford one."
"That's not what I asked," Mrs Selling said, "I asked you if you think you need one."
Have you ever heard someone say, 'I need a psychiatrist', or a crazy person admit he's mad? No one admits to needing help. It's just how it goes.
So obviously she said, "No, I'm f
ine."
And obviously, they believed her.
"OK, great. I think we've covered everything," Mrs Selling said while handing some papers to James and Hayden. "I need you both to sign these forms, so we can make the custody official." Hayden signed without even reading the papers. This meeting had to be over soon. James read quickly through the documents, probably pretending to understand the terms, but not really grasping the full meaning behind that responsibility.
Guardian/noun
1) a person who protects or defends something;
2) one who has the care of the person or property of another.
Protect. Defend. Care.
How are you supposed to teach a teenager all there is to know about life, when you are still learning too? He was not sure he could do it, but he was sure it was the right thing to do. And he was going to try his best. It was his little sister after all, he couldn't just give up on her.
He signed. He was twenty-seven and had just become the legal guardian of a sixteen-year-old girl.
Losing their parents had changed everything. But it wasn't the end, it was just the beginning of something new. Whether the future was going to be good or bad, it was totally up to them.
Feb. 13th
Dear Diary,
Cruella de Vil came to visit me this morning. Well it wasn't a friendly visit, obviously. She came to tell me how to behave and stuff. Like I care.
I don't know why everyone keeps asking me how I feel. I keep saying 'I'm fine', what else am I supposed to say? People ask but it's not like they really care, and those who do care don't have the power to make me feel better. So I just go with “fine” until one day they'll hopefully stop asking. Besides, I'm not totally lying. Did you know that 'fine' in Italian means 'the end'? I guess that's just how I feel. Finished. As if the world, my life, has just come to a halt. I'm 'the end'.
James went off to work, things are pretty busy at the restaurant lately, and he's being doing double shifts for the last few weeks, and it'll probably be like this until forever. I don't know if he's doing it because we need money or because staying at home is hard on him. I guess both.
Mike went to the campus, he has a big exam coming up and apparently the library is the only place where he can concentrate. I think he just hates this house as much as we all do. Mom and Dad are still everywhere, but nowhere. Does it make sense? Will is hanging out with Magda I don't know where, they haven't been spending much quality time together lately (that's what he said) so I just told him to go: I want people to stop worrying about me.
I am not depressed, why does it always have to be depression? I'm just fucking tired of life.
I simply don't understand how everyone seems to be moving on from where we left off a month ago, while I'm just stuck. It's like having an off day every day.
What's wrong with me? Guilt is burning me from the inside out.
H.
PS. It's Valentine's Day tomorrow. I want to abstain from life. Can I?
TWO
Hayden was still home alone at six-thirty pm, and she knew her brothers were not going to be back anytime soon. She didn't mind though, she wasn't any company lately anyway. But they all kept calling to check on her on a quarter-hourly basis, which was getting on her nerves.
The phone rang.
"You seriously need to stop calling."
"I'm just making sure everything's okay."
This time it was Will.
"Don't you have anything better to do with your girlfriend?"
"I'm headed to work actually."
"Night shift at the gas station?"
"Yep."
"Well, okay. Just stop calling so often. It's a small town after all, you'll know pretty soon if the house is on fire or something."
"Very funny."
"Come on. Relax. I'll see you in the morning." "Okay. Bye. Love you."
"Ditto."
She hung up, but she was sure it was going to ring again very soon. She just wanted to be left alone, was that too hard to understand?
"Anyone home?" someone yelled from the front porch.
"You gotta be kidding me," she said, talking to herself.
It was George, an old friend of her brothers. "Hayden?" the voice yelled again.
"In the kitchen!" There was no way she could pretend no one was home.
"Hey there you are!" George said, as he walked inside and took a seat. "How you doing?"
"What do you want?" She was just really sick and tired of that question.
"You alone?" he asked, ignoring her bad manners. "Yeah... What are doing here?"
"Oh, uhm, well...you know I was just passing by and..." He wasn't a very good liar. "
Who sent you?"
"...what?"
"Which one of my brothers told you to come by and check on me?" Maybe rephrasing the question could help him out.
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Fine. Then do you need anything?"
"Nope."
Silence.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked after a minute or so.
"No thanks, I'm good."
Silence.
"Okay. Well, I think I'll go now."
"Yeah, you do that."
"Tell your brother I came by."
"Which one?"
"Good point. And nice try. Never mind, I'll text him," he said, smiling.
Smiling.
Hayden had probably forgotten what smiling felt like.
Humans seem to have this innate ability to go more time being sad than happy. And if you don't smile for a whole month no one wonders why, but if you are always happy then they ask you what's up. Some things I'll just never understand.
As bedtime approached, Hayden felt a strange sort of relief.
Sleep was the oblivion she'd longed for all day long.
Feb. 19th
Dear Diary,
I've seen a few doctors this week, they all said my recovery is going great. I'm not on crutches anymore, which is a good thing. The bad thing is that they said I'm healing fast, so I'll have to go back to school pretty soon, which sucks.
Is that all that counts? If your ankle is healed then you can walk again. If your ribs are not broken anymore, then you can inhale deeply again. If your wounds have turned to scars, then you're good to go.
Why isn't there a doctor for the spirit?
Get me a soul x-ray.
Give me heart stitches.
Put my memories into a plaster cast.
Anesthetize my feelings.
Just heal me already.
H.
Feb. 20th
Dear Diary,
My day:
I woke up
I waited for bedtime
I waited for bedtime
I went to sleep.
'night.
H.
PS. What was Natural Selection thinking the day I survived?! Darwin would be so disappointed.
THREE
At the corner of Brooklyn Street the gang was waiting for the Wilson siblings: they had always been latecomers and would always be. Some things just never change, no matter how upside- down your world turns.
Jesse J. was also there: he was the troublemaker of the gang, always in and out of jail; I mean, it's not that the rest of them were saints, but let's just say he was very well-known to policemen all over the state. Tough looks and tough heart, that's how he'd always define himself. And it was a pretty accurate description. George and Alex were brothers, they came from a normal family and had had a good education so far: George was studying to become a doctor, while Alex had just graduated from high school back in June and was now working with his father at the town's biggest grocery store – things were going pretty well for them, despite the hard times.
Nick had been Mike Wilson's best friend since forever, same class for twelve years, same soccer tournaments, same parties, same job at the gas station, same passions, same band, same ev
erything. Except the same girl, I hope. Nick was like a son to the Wilsons: his parents were never around, so he spent most of his time at Mike's place. He cried a lot at their funeral, probably more than he'll do at his own parents' funeral. Mike and Magda have been dating for six years now, she's been part of the crew for a long time, and so is her best friend Lisa.
They had all been sticking together through good and bad times since God knows when, sometimes they fought but they always managed to be there for one another. They were not all alike, but there was something stronger than same family backgrounds or same social status that kept them together: it was just pure friendship. There were other gangs in town, but they were different: if you were rich you could hang out with the Royals, or if you did drugs and other bad stuff you could hang out with the Felons, if you came from a low social status you could hang out with the Brooks and so on. It all depended on what sort of tag you wanted to give yourself – or society had given you. But they were different, they were not together because of whatever common denominator they had, they just felt like family. They didn't even have a name. But they liked rumbles and fights just like all the other gangs, this sort of violence was pretty common around here. "Anyone feel like doing something stupid tonight?" Jesse J. said as he lit up the twentieth cigarette of the day.
"Are you serious, man? You just got of jail!" George reminded him.
"I said stupid not illegal."
"You don't make a distinction between the two, usually."
"Yeah, whatever you end up doing is usually illegal and stupid. Or should I say stupid and illegal?" said Lisa, laughing. She liked to tease him.
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