I haven't seen my mother in twenty-five years. I haven't seen my father in eight years. I
haven't seen my stepmother in seven years. I haven't seen my best friend in nine years.
What's the reason for all these horrible, lengthy absences? Me. I wish I had someone
else to blame. Really, I do. But I don't. I don't have anyone but myself to blame for
burning all the bridges that led to my happiness. Well…I did have a little help, but…I
could have defied them. I could have ignored them, contacted him anyway. But I didn't.
Because, in the long run, I'd see him later, right? And why risk two people you care so
deeply about for one you'll eventually meet again anyway? Once my body's started to
rot six feet under the grounds I once walked, I'll be with my best friend again. I'd
explain and we'd talk for hours, catching up and laughing and going on adventures like
we used to. Isn't it morbid to know that I look so forward to death?
Want to know something? The years are starting to add up and every day I
want more and more to call him to me. But I can't. Why? I'm ashamed of what I've
become.
So ashamed.
I have three kids: A seven year old, a four year old, and a fourteen month old. So why
am I ashamed? What if I told you each one had a different father? I just couldn't take
the questions. I was a fool. Each man had offered love, protection, and security. Each
man had lied. I'm a single mother who makes less than enough to support herself, let
alone three children. I can't leave them alone, so I can't get another job. Right now, all I
do is take pictures, and send them in and hope beyond hope that I make some money off
of them. I've got talent; I know that. That's how I'm able to afford this run-down one-
person apartment. But it's just…not enough.
My kids are wild. They hate each other, they hate me…and I probably did that, too.
They scream and shout and kick and slap…and it's killing me. Knowing that I've
somehow corrupted them to such an extent. I want help, but I wouldn't trust a soul
around this dump. My parents? I was just getting ready to go to them. I'd finally
worked up enough courage, swallowed enough pride. I'd told them I was doing well the
last time I'd seen them that I'd been making a good living on photography. It was going
to be so hard to tell them I'd lied. Ironically, I'd just walking over to the phone to call
them when it rang. I picked it up and timidly said hello. My parents were killed in a car
accident. They'd left me two-year-old twins.
I didn't even know they had kids-could have kids! Let alone kids that were twenty-
four years younger than me! And they entrusted them to me. Me, with my booming
career. Me, with my small fortune! The day those sullen kids arrived I swore I would
never again lie. The worst part was that my oldest soon conformed them. They became
wild and hateful like my own. It was like…I never cease to fail. There were tantrums
and fights. I couldn't eat if I wanted them to be even slightly healthy, so, of course, I
didn't.
…Then one day, I finally broke…
"DON'T THROW THAT!" Lydia yelled as her oldest son and one of the twins played
catch with her camera. Her youngest fell off a chair with a loud thump and began wailing
after a moment of wide-eyed shock. Lydia gasped and ran over to him. She picked him
up and looked him over for injury. She growled in frustration when she realized he was
crying just to be crying.
"I AM TRYING TO MAKE A MEAL!" she yelled at them all and rushed over to
separate a twin and her four year old who were hitting and yelling at each other.
"Stop that!" she hissed angrily and grabbed both of them roughly by their collars.
"Your not the boss of me!" the four year old stated glaring before tackling the twin
again. Once again she grabbed him.
"Yes I am! Now stop acting so-" she was cut off as he hit her in the face. She gaped
for a second before yelling at him.
"YOU UNGRATEFUL, LITTLE-" she gasped as she heard something shatter and
knew instantly that she should have gotten her camera back first. She stood and slowly
turned. Her camera lay in pieces on the floor. Glass from the lens was scattered
everywhere, but before she got mad motherly instinct kicked in.
"Get away from the glass!" she told her kids as she went to grab a broom to sweep up
the mess. She came back to see her oldest crying on the floor nursing a bleeding hand.
"What did I tell you? I said GET AWAY FROM THE GLASS!" she yelled at him.
She walked forward to clean up the shimmering pieces, but tripped as two of the children
Chased each other around her. She landed on the glass and cut both hands painfully.
She swore loudly and started to cry. The little monsters around her continued to fight and
run and cry, so she allowed herself to cry louder until her small frame shuddered with
violent sobs. Then she whispered the first word that entered her mind.
"Beetlejuice…" the name sounded foreign to her and almost forbidden, but realizing
that nothing had caught fire, nothing had been struck by lightning, Lydia went on.
"…Beetlejuice…" she said again, only louder. She covered her mouth with her hand
and looked around frantically for any sign of destruction that the forbidden word had
caused. Nothing happened. Nothing. She shook her head furiously.
You can't do this!
But I can.
You shouldn't!
But I will…
With one more look around the room at the bickering, screaming children, she said it.
"BEETLEJUICE!" she sobbed. Because all she wanted was the comfort of her best
friend. She covered her eyes with her hand, and breathed deeply, accidentally smearing
blood on her face. She tried to wipe it away with the back of her hand, but didn't have
time. For in a swirl of wind and lightning, her confused looking best friend stood
before her.
"Lydia?" he questioned, knowing immediately who she was. She looked the same,
only more mature. Her ebony hair was long and hung messily down her back, her eyes
were tired and dark. Even with the blood on it, he knew that face anywhere. She crawled
to her feet and stared unnervingly at him. Then she whimpered softly.
"I, um…I need some help."