I'm sitting in my 2nd-period room, copying down notes about the Pre-Revolutionary Era.        Miss. Applebomb relaxes behind her large wooden desk, switching the slideshows on the powerpoint, reading each slide.
  History never amazed me. I never really understood why we needed to learn about our country’s past, or how our country won the war that “changed” it all. I value math-It’s the same in every country. And there’s only one right answer, black or white.
    But lately, I’ve been failing history, math, and gym. Who fails gym? Me, apparently. I don’t have the energy to dress out, participate, or waste my energy pretending I’m the next gold-medal winner at the Olympics.
    I even gave up on trying to look good for the school. My attire usually falls around a black tee-shirt, jeans, and a pair of tennis shoes. My hair is always down, makeup always ceasing to exist.
  My shortage of effort is because mother’s life expired in a car accident because of her sickness, two months ago.  Dad almost lost his job, too. He was absent for several weeks, laying in bed, watching reruns of House, beer his only friend.
    I should’ve lost my ability to attend school altogether, but seeing him moping around, only made me want out of the house even more.
  Heading to lunch, I make my way to the corner of the cafeteria by the trash cans. The students here gravitate away from me. I bring my lunch to school every day to avoid the long lunch lines. Murmurs pass my table. Ugly, stupid, and lazy consume my thoughts. If only they knew my situation, doubt they’d care though. Around 9 pm, I poke my head into father’s room. He’s covered up with his navy blanket, fast asleep. The corner of my mouth frowns. It never gets easier seeing him going through his grief.

   Mom and Dad were soulmates. They hardly argued unless it was playful.  In the mornings, I’d wake up around 5 am, catching dad stealing all the cream for the coffee. When I came back in to make myself breakfast, he’d show up with a whole new bottle in hand, placing it on the counter.
   Every morning, he knew if he didn’t buy a new creamer, she wouldn’t have her coffee, that she wouldn’t be fully awake to drive, and maybe smash into other vehicles. The irony!
After work, mom would show up either with dinner or a new book for father. He loved books, but never more than her. Dad never told mom the book he wanted, she just knew. That’s how well they knew each other.
  I aspired to marry a husband like him one day and be the couple they were. I always believed they were each other’s “happily ever after.”
    After tiptoeing to my room, I fall onto my bed.  Reaching for my alarm clock, I set the alarm for 6:30 am. I stopped waking earlier because dad doesn’t have a reason to drink all the creamer.
   Between failing and bullies, I lost myself. I don’t have a purpose, a drive. I’m in between people right now. When I see my reflection in the mirror, the girl looking back at me is unrecognizable.
    I was so sure of myself before mother passed away. I wanted to be a Neurosurgeon. If that didn’t work out, I’d be a Clinical Psychologist. Harvard was my dream school if I was accepted. Mom always encouraged to make my dreams come true. She was my personal cheerleader. But after her, I lost interest in medical school. I’ve given up on trying to be anything, really. What’s the point?

  Blame in my heart begins to grow as big as an avalanche. I clench my teeth and ball a fist. If my mother didn’t have the brain tumor, maybe she wouldn’t have been blind, leading her to swerve into the other car. Mother was always a safe driver before she was sick. 
  I turn to my side, hoping to push down the feeling of wanting to throw up. Thinking about her accident makes me sick. Growing up without a mom is not going to be easy. And if I have to sit around and see dad drinking his pain away, I’m going to lose my mind. A tear trickles down my face. Where did it all go wrong? Where?
    My eyes burn from the light beaming from the window. I’m awake 30 minutes before my alarm. I flip onto my back and pull the covers up to my chest. I’m sluggish like a zombie.  Trying to fall back asleep, my mind races with all the possibilities of what it would be like to have my mother at my wedding. To see my mother excited about her little grandbabies. To see her proud that I graduated college, and went with my goal as a Brain Surgeon.
  After breakfast, I hop on my greyhound bike and peddle. Grey clouds cover the blue sky.  It might rain. Soft thunder drums in the distance. Riding faster, I pray that I miss the rain.
     Passing by a bridge, rain sprinkles on my hair. And a red Nissan car jams into a silver Honda, causing it to crash into the ledge. The front of the Honda is split into halves, and the hood is in a V-shape. I gasp when I notice who gets out the car. The guy rounds his car, inspecting the damage. He sprints to the driver’s side of the Nissan.  Anger, confusion, and fear paint his face. The Nissan blows smoke from the tires, airbag hitting the person in the driver’s seat. They don’t seem to be moving. Whoever it is, has their head pressed against the bag, blood slowly dripping from his or her temple. Smoke fills my nostrils. School starts in 20 minutes, but I can’t bring my legs and mind to match up so I can arrive on time. The poor guy is almost crying, face turning red. He heads to the driver seat to see if the person is breathing. I get off my bicycle and walk slowly to the passenger side of the Nissan. “Is she okay? Let me call nine-one-one for you.”

   “Come on, please, breathe.” He’s checking her pulse, not acknowledging my presence.
He lifts her head up and places it on the headrest. I freeze in place. My lungs lose oxygen, heart pumps a hundred miles an hour against my ribcage. My mouth is open wide, my eyes staring at the detail of my mother. I can’t bring myself to speak. Why is my mother here?
    I attempt to touch the car door to run inside, but the door is transparent, my hand sliding right through. I step back, still not realizing completely what just happened. A tear escapes my lashes, my hands numb, heart falling onto the concrete and being stomped on. “Mother…”
  There’s no way I’m going to school today. I’ve had enough of my trauma.  I unlock the door and push it open. It swings and bangs the wall.
    “Dad!” I yell. No response. I force my way into his bedroom, angry, heartbroken, and exhausted.
   I spin around the room and see him propped up on the couch, drinking a bottle of scotch, and staring into space. Even though he is in agony, I need answers. After a beat, he says “Hey.” I sit down beside him.
   “Dad, how did mom die? The real story.” He stares at the ceiling for an eternity, and then begins to speak, “She had stage 4 brain cancer. Her vision was blurry, dizzy.  But she was determined to buy me a book that night. She forgot it when she came home. She was so forgetful. So she drove to the bookstore, but before she made it,” He pauses, “She smashed into another car.”
     “I miss her.” 

“It’s been hard for me too, baby. But I can't imagine what it must be like for a girl to lose her mother figure.”
   I hesitate for a moment. But it needs to be said, “Do you think you could sober up...forever?”
He sets the bottle down, “Done.” A smile crosses our faces, and I can’t help but hug him.
  I head to bed on a Friday night and realize that it will be hard without Mom, but I at least have Dad now.
  Earth is spinning in countless lefts. I attempt walking forward, but I lose my balance and fall to my knees. I lay my head down on the soil. Dizziness overtakes me. The planet slows down and I’m able to stand again. Pine trees cover the surface. Fire engulfs the bark and leaves. Birds are chirping above the disaster.
   “Anna?” An eerie voice calls my name. I must be hallucinating. The wind blows the fire back and forth, making sparks fall onto the dirt.
  “Anna, is that you?” I don’t recognize the voice. But I make my way towards the cry. Turning a short right, I identify her. My mom. Dressed in her ivory wedding gown. Her hair is pinned up in a bun, with a veil hanging down her back. She’s barefoot, and some dirt is scattered across the lace at the bottom. She’s beautiful. My mother is back. I’m scared, confused, and I just want to run into her arms and have her make everything better.
   But it’s not my mother. She steps closer, and her face shapeshifts to a gooey green, nose growing, moles forming on both her cheeks. Her arms enlarge into gigantic boulders, and her feet resemble bricks. Fear takes hold of my heart; I can’t catch my breath.
   A scabbard forms around her midsection. She inches her way to where I’m standing, growling at me, hand firmly on the handle of the sword. I stumble backward. Tripping over my own feet, I land on my bottom, the earth scratching my palms. She pulls out the sword and points it at my face. I squint my eyes tightly.

   ‘It’s not true. No, no, no, no. I need a weapon. I have nothing.’  The monster points the sword closer to me.
   Instead of finding a weapon in my hand, courage is placed in my heart. I rise and hold my hands up in the air, in surrender. “Okay, okay. Enough.” I softly say. She begins to lower the weapon, but I don’t trust the beast to give up so easily. Whatever it wants, it’s not ready to give up. “Just tell me what you want!”
    Grumbling, she shouts, “Your heart.” Oh, joy. Think. Think.  Then it comes to me, a plan.       My hands begin to shake. I swallow a lump in my throat. 
“Look, living alone in this forest, being the only one of your kind must be hard. I understand what being an outcast means, what being alone is.”
     The monster stares coldly into my eyes. I do understand loneliness. Since mom was taken from dad and me, I don’t have anyone to confide in. My method seems to be working because she drops the sword. Clunk!  I except the thing comprehended.
    Without a word, she runs off. I take that as I’m safe. 
I arise at 9 am, the weight of chest lifts off my shoulders. The nightmare must’ve been all I needed.