Chapter One: Why? [edited]

Huntingdon County schools are letting out for Thanksgiving and everyone, except me and a few townspeople, are going out of town.

It was cloudy this afternoon with a gray sky. The news said we were expecting rain some time today but it hasn't happened. I enjoyed this kind of weather, it let me relax and think. It was clear our biology professor Mr. Hillman was excited about his vacation away from us. It’s the last block of the day and the topic was anything but organisms. The school is hyped up about leaving town and visiting relatives or going down south where it’s warm. I was lost in my thoughts leaving a faint whisper of the lecture, which became babble in the back of my head. I began to sulk because my best friend was spending the holiday in New York this year.

I sighed. It was alright for me to stay behind. I never did get into the festivities of the holidays after the accident. Since then I always believed as the year slowly came to an end, there was a curse against me. It manifested itself in any range of events that would lead me to becoming more and more isolated. Bad luck rained over me like a summer storm waiting to flood.

“Emma! Hello?” Ashley leaned over the isle waving her hand at my eyes.

Huh? I shook my head as I looked over. “Oh—what’s up?” I asked.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to New York?” Ashley pleaded with puppy-dog eyes.

Ashley James, my best friend, probably my only real friend. We’ve been around each other since grade school. She sported brown, pin straight hair that covered her hazel eyes with fair skin and always smelled like vanilla and sweet pea. Her body was ideal for most girls in our school and she was the skateboarding queen, besides me. I knew more about her than her own parents would, of course she knew more about me than I knew. It gets kind of scary when we butt heads. Ashley is the only person on the other side of my brick wall; I can’t hide my anger and helplessness because she doesn’t buy into my charade.

“I am definitely sure. I don’t want to be up against your two brothers.” I said letting out a nervous chuckle as the bell rang; I walked out to the parking lot with her and leaned on her Volkswagen. “I promise I am fine. It will be perfect timing to read some books and chill.”

“Alright, call me if you change your mind and I will drive back to get you. And get your grimy hands off the ride, lady!” She demanded as she smacked me in my arm. I walked away laughing, waving behind myself. I was fortunate enough to not worry about gas mileage when I lived just a couple miles from the school.



I’ve lived in the same small house on the corner with the barn house mailbox. The light purple paint was chipping leaving most of wood visible and the fence was a dull white. My father used to paint our home every summer when I was a baby but now he's too lazy. The landscaping was taken care of when Ashley's brothers came home from college every weekend. I stepped on the creaking boards of the porch that supported a rusty, black bench. It was an eye sore to look at the house. A snarl let out as I walked into the house reeking of alcohol and stale cigarettes. My mother cleaned everyday and made sure our peppermint air fresheners were filled. I could almost smell the familiar home if I discouraged my nose to inhale. I tried keeping up with it for a year but it didn't seem to matter.

I was handed over to Thomas Gram, the third, after my mother passed away. My grandparents on my mothers side were resting in peace and my father's parents-- I never met them. The man I neglect to call my father. I detested him for not changing his cruel ways. My mother refused to report him or fight back. She knew he would win. He and I never met eye for eye. I always stood up for my mother when he got testy and he hated that I didn’t back down.

“Ugh, just like a piece of shit.” I murmured glaring at him on the sofa. The last time I spoke to Thomas was the night before the accident. My mother and him were fighting when I came home from Ashley's house one night and I chimed in. He didn't like it and started throwing fists. I remember laying on the floor of our living room wincing in pain but he showed no remorse. That was the night I figured he disappeared to get more liquor, like he was avoiding becoming a softy.

Everything in our house is close together; hard to believe that it’s a three bedroom home. The kitchen still has peel and stick wall papers with red, yellow and green flowers and a silver table in the center. The cabinets are bare with dry goods and cereal while our fridge hosted leftover pizza and Chinese food. The food I mainly ate. I grabbed a slice of sausage pizza and ate on my way upstairs to my room.

I hauled my backpack onto the desk chair and looked around my room. My room was the same as it was three years ago, dark purple walls, mattress and box spring on the floor, and a wooden dresser in the corner. I never harassed my parents for a television; I have been content with reading as long as I can remember. There were a few books on the floor and clothes I didn't wear to school this morning lounging on the dresser. I turned on the small desk lamp that my mother got me for Christmas when I was fourteen. I started to read on Jack London's The Call of the Wild. I've read the book at least five times but it always upsets me when Buck had to leave his master that he loved so much. I could only relate when he got beaten and missed his master more and he had to join a new pack, as I had to take on my father's lifestyle and lose my mother. I am Buck. It was the perfect comparison for me.

I felt my eyes become heavy and unfocused midway through the book. My head started to slip off my hands before collapsing onto my arm.



The dream was vivid like I could have rewound in time. My mother in the driver’s seat smiling but crying silently, you could almost see the fear in her careful expression. I may have been fifteen years of age but I knew what was going on. It wasn't another mother-daughter shopping spree at the thrift store. Not caring about myself, I knew the pain he caused her. We stared into the windshield as the rain pounded down on the bed of her old pick up. It was dark and too dangerous to be driving around the bend of the back roads.

“Ma, slow down.” My young voice spoke. “I don’t think he’s going to come after us. He downed a bottle of Jack.” He couldn't even stand up. I put my hand on hers as she came to a steady stop on the side of the road.

She looked at me with her blood shot eyes and bruised face. “I am s-so sorry, baby. I know we should have left years ago. I just couldn’t do it.” She spoke with a crack in her voice as she laid her head on my lap. My mother and I always had a tight bond. The only times we fought was when I tried telling her I'm right and she was wrong.

Stroking her head, letting my fingers tussle with her hair. I hushed her under my breath, comforting her. “It’ll be okay.”

I sat stiff as a board, careful not to make her move. “I love you, ma.” I whispered, still staring ahead at the dark road, shielding my eyes from a bright light.



Around midnight I woke up startled almost falling off out of the chair. What the hell? I scrambled to my feet and ran down to the kitchen.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” I screamed standing in the doorway staring at Thomas who was drenched in sweat and covered in wood chips.

“These damn cabinets won't stop squeaking!” Thomas yelled as he started tearing down more shelving inside them. You could tell his was plastered.

“Okay! It’s in the middle of the night! We’ll deal with them during the day!” I barked, I was the one who was really going to be fixing them. I got his attention as he backed me into the corner of the doorway.

“Don't raise your voice at me! I can do what the hell I want." He roared while he sprayed spit on my face.

"Someone has to, you are out of control and the neighbors will get suspicous."

"You sound just like your oversensitive mother.” He laughed. I could smell the whiskey on his breath—that was enough to set me off.

“What was it this time... Jack, Bourbon, or Crown Royal?” I knew whatever it was had control over him. I never seen him brave enough to get in my face. I doubt he would be nice about my remark. He back hand me across my face, busting my lip open.

I pushed him as hard as I could, never to mind about his massive body. My hand was turning white from the fist I held. There was so much fire in my eyes ready to combust. Storming pass him, I yanked my jacket off the coat rack and stormed out the back door to the woods. I could still hear him laughing hysterically.

I didn’t know where I was going, all I knew was I never wanted to go back in there; at least not tonight. The wind blew into my jacket briskly as if someone had pushed in full force. My feet started to get tired but I kept pushing, telling myself just go to the graveyard. It was close to where I was standing. I kept mumbling curse words under my breath, wiping the blood from my mouth while moving toward a stone sign. Riverview Cemetery. I was sure I had made it because the wind let off an eerie feel as it calmed. I fell to my knees at the sight of a familiar tombstone.

Here lies:

Chrissie Gram

Beloved Mother

& Daughter

March 5, 1969 – January 6, 2007



The visions of her funeral whisked across my mind. My aunt was by my side gripping my hand while the pastor spoke. To not much surprise my father never showed up to the viewing or the funeral. I sighed feeling the cold stone against my hand that wasn't tucked in my jacket. I felt myself arguing voiceless with my mother as if she were in front me. Why? Why? Why? I asked over and over, hoping for an answer. The late night cold became blistering on my skin and the damp ground soaked through my pants. I went numb in pain and anger. I refused to go home as I curled up next to her grave and cried myself to sleep.