Unbearable Reality

The chilly air whipped through my hair, sending a tiny shiver down my spine. My skin prickled and my eyes began to water, and yet all I felt was numbness. I sat on the roof of the red sedan underneath me, my fingertips clinging to the surface as if my life depended on it. Tonight the sky was blissfully clear, and as my eyes reflected the twinkling lights above me, I felt my will slipping away. The stars danced and mocked me, gathering together in little clusters for warmth and then dancing away, swirling in the abyss. What was happening to me? How could I let something so horrible happen right under my own nose? As more unanswerable questions swirled in my head, I began to lose consciousness. And then, nothing.

“Damn it, you’re going to be late!” I heard my mother yell from the bottom of the stairs. 

I groaned because I knew I had therapy today. Of course I knew I had to go; my life had been a wreck these last few months with the loss of my dad. And yet, I dreaded going. I hated the way Dr. Grossman waited for me to talk, as if I were a dam waiting to explode at any moment. I knew things weren’t okay, but I had no idea how to begin speaking of the trauma I had been going through. Her eyes, the color of emeralds, seemed to taunt me: “Come on Annabell, I don’t have all day. Tell me about how you cry yourself to sleep every night. Tell me how your mother has become a silhouette. Tell me about your attempt. Just hurry up and hand over the money.” 

I pushed myself up and slipped on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, grabbed my keys, an apple, and left without looking at my mother, who had taken up the hobby of staring at the large wooden clock. I started up my blue Volkswagen and drove down to the small white cottage that my therapist lived in. It wasn’t a far drive, but it always felt like a burden, and I began feeling an uneasiness grow in the pit of my stomach. I had nothing that I wanted to say to her. The more I thought about sitting in the stuffy office, staring at the dust particles floating before me, gripping the brown leather chair, I felt the urge to pull over. My mind was spinning and I felt my eyes begin to lose focus. My heart sped up and my knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel. 

Not an attack...not now, please. 

My breathing picked up its pace, giving me an intense lightheaded sensation. I felt sweat beginning to gather on my brow and my mouth was parched. 

It brought me back to the day of...no. I needed to focus.

Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe in…

I woke up in the hospital to my mother arguing with a nurse, who was holding a needle. I tried to speak, but my mouth remained clamped shut, disobeying my orders. I squinted my eyes, but neither of them noticed. I tried to raise my arm and felt a sharp pain shoot down my shoulder. I must have let out a tiny whimper, as they turned towards me. My mother’s eyes displayed no shred of sympathy. Her cheeks were rosy and her hair was thrown into a messy bun, the stray hairs flying as she whipped her head towards me.

“What were you doing? How could you not see him?”

I had no idea what was happening, so I squeezed my eyes shut and pretended to be back in my treehouse, the one my dad and I had built on our old property. The wood had begun rotting from the rainstorms, and we were trying to replace some of the wooden planks. I remember the mold had led to infestations of fire ants, and my dad was spraying pesticides. The treehouse was about 30 feet off the ground, situated in the Sycamore tree in our yard. It wasn’t necessarily large, but we were so engaged with tearing one of the planks off while avoiding the fire ants that we missed the giant bee that had flown in. My dad had this red hat he would always wear, and the bee landed right on top of it. 

“I know, but I was hoping to get her something special this year,” my dad sighed.

It was the day before my parents’ anniversary. My dad prided himself on providing for the family, but after losing his job, he was always beating himself up for not being enough. 

I had looked into his eyes to tell him that my mother would appreciate his picnic idea, when I noticed the bee. My eyes went wide and my dad stared at me curiously. I carefully took his hat off by the visor, put it on the wooden plank we were removing, and grabbed another plank. I smashed the bee before I knew what I was doing, and the underlying plank broke off. The bee, hat, and plank all tumbled to the ground before my dad could process what was happening, as I stared at the hole in the treehouse, holding the now broken plank midair. We both looked at each other in confusion. And then, we laughed. 

“We have to work on that impulsivity of yours. Although for now, I suppose I should thank you,” he smiled.

“You think this is funny?” my mother yelled, pulling me out of my fantasy. I realized I must have smiled, and quickly suppressed it. 

The nurse walked over to my bed. “Do you remember what happened, Ms. Grover?”

I shook my head in earnest, looking from my mother to the nurse. Clearly, the situation didn’t look good for me; it was better to keep my mouth shut. I suppose I had learned a thing or two about impulsivity after all.

“You passed a red light, Ms. Grove. You hit a man, Ms. Grove. The man is currently in the ICU, Ms. Grove.”

Jesus, was she a robot? I shook my head to clear the fogginess, yet I was more confused than before. 

“I did what?”

You heard her, damn it. You fucking killed a man because you can’t pay attention. You fucked up. And now someone is dead!” my mother shouted. 

“Well, actually, Mrs. Grove…” the nurse began to say.

“Actually nothing. The man is in ICU because he was hit head-on by you and your car, which I should mention, I am selling today. You’re not to drive anytime soon, as you’re clearly too immature and selfish. As a matter of fact, you can’t drive because you’ll be in jail.”

My mind was still groggy, and I realized they must have been pumping opioids into me. Jail? I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. All I wanted to do was curl up and sink into the bed, allowing the darkness to overtake me. I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to. 

Some of my memory fails me at this part. All I know is that I must have fallen asleep because I remember waking up in the middle of the night. No one besides my bedmate was there. It was only a matter of time before the sun rose and the police came to question me with my mother glaring at me in the background. I couldn’t face them, especially her. I knew what I did was wrong, but I hadn’t the slightest idea how it had happened. Everything was fuzzy, and I felt like I was in a nightmare. 

This isn’t real. Heck, I could get up and leave and no one would notice. And then, I’ll wake up in my bed with my mother yelling at me to get to therapy. And I’ll take my Volkswagen. And I’ll sit there in uncomfortable silence. It will all go back to normal soon enough. I just have to wait for daylight.

I remember wanting to test this theory. In my heart, I believed it. So, I took out my IV (which was insanely painful, but it was only a dream of course) and snuck out of the hospital. This task wasn’t too hard, as there was no one at the front desk. Despite the hospital being ten minutes from my house, I somehow stumbled in the front door (I still had my keys in my pocket) and grabbed the keys to my dad’s red sedan. The rest is a blur. I must have still been under the influence of the drugs. 

I just wanted to escape. God, let me escape. I drove with the wind whipping my hair back. I pulled over to the side of the road that overlooked a beach, a place I used to sit with my dad as he told me stories of his army days, secrets I vowed never to share. 

The stars were exceptionally bright that night. I remember feeling tears run down my cheeks, although I wasn’t sad. Just numb. 

I tapped the pencil on my lips. What else? I scoffed. Nothing really matters at this point. No one will read this stupid crap anyway. I tore the paper to shreds and threw it out the bars lining the window over my bed. 



The stars shone beautifully- taunting me, just as they had that night my life changed forever. Whenever I looked up at the stars with my dad, we would challenge each other to see who could find Orion the fastest. I always won. Ironically, Orion was nowhere to be seen tonight. Perhaps my window blocked it from view. I felt like the beating heart of the sky was missing, and so I turned away in disgust, tears streaming down my cheeks. Tonight, I felt more than numbness for the first time. I was angry at the harshness of reality, the unfairness of it all. Most of all, I felt alone.