She wakes up every morning to the sound of her phone alarm. She was never scolded for waking up late.
She was never scolded for a lot of things. She showered regularly, did her homework on time, ate relatively well, went to bed at decent hours, and never threw a fit when she didn't get her way.
Of course she's not perfect. She waited until the very last minute to start her homework. She never seemed able to get rid of her sweet tooth. She'd go to her bedroom at night, but stay up reading or watching television. And even when she was upset, stressed, overwhelmed, or downright raged, she kept her thoughts and feelings to herself.
She never really thought about it until things started to change within the household.
She grew up without parents. Never knowing a father and bearing the loss of her mother since she was two years old.
Her mother's parents, Peggy and Ronald, known to her as Gram and Papa, are raising her in her mom's childhood home in the suburbs.
When she was little, she used to think it was magical. As if somehow her mother would bring her luck through the day. But as she hit her teen years she began to see that sleeping in the exact same bed as her mom did ten years ago was not magical at all.
She kept the bedroom the same way it had been since her mom left the room. Keeping old pictures hung and ragged stuffed bunnies on the shelves. The only items she added were her clothes, a television, and little nick knacks that Papa gives. The most prized item that she has is a picture of her mom. Taken on her eighteenth birthday, the same year she passed away. Her mom looked so happy and carefree, sitting across a white, decorated cake resting peacefully on the dining room table where most likely all of her other cakes had sat before her. Her smile beams as if she had the whole world in the palm of her hand; she could do anything, become anyone. She had her whole life ahead of her.
She kisses that photo every night before bed, often telling her mom the notable events that had happened in her day. She spoke aloud. Or whispered for fear that she might wake her grandparents, but mostly because she feared that they would worry over her talking to an inanimate object. She knew it wasn't her mother; she wasn't crazy or anything. She just liked having someone to share with, and liked the idea that her mom always cared about her day.
She's heard her mom be referred to as a hussy or heathen, mostly by Gram's friends. She knew why though. Her mom had sex at sixteen and got pregnant. By some guy that didn't care to stick around.
At least that's what she thinks. Gram and Papa never spoke of him, and she learned early on not to ask many questions on the matter. She assumes that her dad knocked up her mom then fled the scene. It hasn't been confirmed, but she doesn't see any other explanation.
Tonight she's reading a novel, Heart of The Matter, by Emily Giffin. It's an easy read about a father who "accidentally" has an affair, if ever an affair could be accidental. But she reads. She likes the complexity of the characters and how the author shows both sides to the event so that you truly can't decide what is right and what is wrong. Though she knows that adultery is wrong when you get down to it.
She likes reading occasionally, but she's not a bookworm of any sorts. She watches more television and more movies than she thought humanly possible.
She is a fan of all genres except western and historical fiction, especially historical SyFi. Abraham Lincoln is a vampire hunter? Seriously?
She's a big fan of Chris Farley and John Candy. In her mind the list of her favorite movies is never ending. From romantic comedies to classics to SyFi to action to cheesy horror movies to silent films.
However, with all this time watching a tv screen or reading or doing homework, she still makes time for a social life. If you can consider helping Gram host a tea with her elderly pals a social life.
It's not as if she hasn't tried. She just keeps mostly to herself. She also doesn't take part in the current fads, but that doesn't mean she thinks she's better than anyone. It just means she knows that whatever it is, it won't last long.
This is kind of her motto for life. When she's struggling in school, she'll be done in a few years. When she can't seem to bear the mundane routine of her home life, she knows at some point she will move out and move on with her life.
She doesn't get attached to many things in life.
Not to say that he isn't happy with the way things are at home. No, its not an exciting life. She never had a slumber party or a boyfriend, and all her birthday parties guests were either 50 years her elder or a relative of sorts. However, she's more than happy that her grandparents cared enough about her to keep her as a baby.
She is a happy girl. Though she is reserved from others and doesn't allow herself to hope for things, she still laughs. A lot. She is silly and with a good sense of humor. She doesn't let strangers see her true colors, in case they don't understand. And she doesn't let strangers become friends until she feels completely at ease around the other. That being said, she wasn't the most popular girl in school.
But what does she care, it's high school. Generally, if you're crazy popular in high school, you fail at the rest of your life. Just like Regina George. Anyway, after some tough years she ended up schooling herself at home. The books were sent to her house and Gram helped her out when she could.
Although her circumstances leave her many reasons to want to stay in bed all day, she doesn't mope. She makes the most of the days she has. These are the days she should cherish. These days with her grandparents, when things are easy.
Her grandparents were old when her mom was young. Gram had her first and only baby in her later years. It's kind of a miracle that she is still able to handle daily life as well as she does. Gram doesn't move very fast, neither does Papa. And their hands shake when they hold things, which is sometimes dangerous. They don't remember things like they used to, often calling her by the name of her mother. But she can deal with it. She fixes them their meals and leaves them their medicine on the kitchen table on two separate napkins. She does most of the housework herself, too. Papa gardens, and Gram dusts. The rest is up to her. But what's a little sweeping and cleaning hurt anyways.
She's only sixteen, herself. If anything happened to either of her grandparents, she wouldn't know what to do. She couldn't stay in the house anymore, or live on her own. She would be lost. She doesn't have a job, any source of income. She doesn't drive either, only Papa. She relies on her grandparents. And she loves them more than anything in the world.
Which brings us to Tuesday:
She woke up to sound of an annoying ring from her cell phone underneath her pillow. She shuts off her alarm, puts on her robe and checks the mirror. After tossing her hair into a messy bun, she heads into the kitchen to start cooking some eggs for Gram and Papa.
Soon after, she hears the opening of the door to the other bedroom. "Hey, Honey, what do you got for us today?" Gram says as she heads toward the door to pick up the morning paper.
"Just your average eggs, scrambled with bits of hot dog in it, sound good?" she replied.
"Sounds great, dear." Gram opens the door and bends down, attempting to grab the paper and keep the door open at the same time.
The next think she knows, she hears a gasp. She turns to the door just as it slams shut, making her even more startled. She rushes outside seeing her poor grandmother laying helplessly on the ground. Blood is seeping onto the concrete.
She runs in the house to get Papa and the phone to dial 911.
After minutes that seemed like hours, the ambulance finally arrived and led the three of them to the hospital. Papa held Gram's hand the entire way. Never taking his worried eyes off of her.
When they got in, a nurse gave her papers to fill out, seeing as though Papa was in no condition to be dealing with people at the time. She put as much information as she knew down on the sheet and turned it back in, sitting down next to Papa trying to comfort him a bit. She tried to hold his arm and tell him how strong Gram is. How she has always been a fighter. But he can't hear her. He only hears his thoughts and fears. She can see it on his face.
She checks her phone for the time every three or four seconds, hoping that at any moment a doctor will come to tell them something, anything.
After more time has passed, a doctor does come out. He introduces himself but she doesn't care enough to hear it, she only needs to know how her grandma is doing. The doctor goes through all his procedures and all the medical talk when finally her grandpa speaks up, "Just tell me. Is she going to be okay?"
The doctor looks down again at her chart and an expression crossed his face. One she caught only briefly before composing himself again. She may have imagined it, but she would swear she saw a look of grief. "I'm so sorry."
The doctor continues on, but neither of them hears as she and Papa grasp each other and start to cry. She knew that the day was bound to come around eventually. But it was supposed to be "eventually". Not today. Not now. Not when they both needed her so much.
Wednesday:
Back at home Papa makes the preparations. He makes the calls and carries out the items Gram listed on her will. He calls all their friends and every surviving family member willing to make a visit. Everything is set in order to take place on Friday.
She thought Friday was a bit soon, but Papa said, "The sooner to move on, the better. You know Peggy wouldn't want us dragging this thing out. She'd say we're just torturing ourselves." Which is true. Gram always wanted things to be done concise. She chops a chicken in half. She doesn't like loose ends or unanswered questions, just clearly cut down the middle.
Thursday:
She woke up with tears crusted on her face and her eyes feeling puffy. She never cried so much in her life. Not when Skippy, her dog, ran away. Not when her hamster Yip died. Not after an extremely tolling day at school. Not that any of that compares to the loss of one of the only people she holds dear to her.
Early that afternoon, Papa walks into her room as she folds her laundry and tells her that he needs to have a talk with her. "I'm glad to see your not laying around. You're actually tidying up." she nods to him in response and pats her bed as she sits down, offering him to take a seat as well. "Well, darlin', there's no use in prolonging this."
She can't think straight to begin with. Her mind is clouded with loss and feeling of desperation. She takes a deep breath and tries to prepare for what he may be leading to. "You know how much your grandma loved you, right?"
"Yes, of course."
"And you know how much I love you, don't you?"
She takes another deep breath. She can't see how this could turn into anything good. She nods.
"Well, now that Peggy isn't here, I don't know how we'd manage."
"What? What are you tal-," she can't finish her sentence, her thoughts, or her breaths.
"I've called your dad." She looks up in utter confusion. She hadn't known that anyone knew who her father was; let alone how to contact him. As far as she knew, he was dead too. She opens her mouth to speak but decides against it. "He'll be picking you up Friday once the ordeal is done with. You'll be living with him now in California. He'll be at the funeral and meet you sometime afterward."
"I can't stay for the wake?" she asks, one of the many questions that are circling through her brain. This one seems to be the easiest to articulate.
"No, and personally, I don't want you around for all that. This is too scarring for you to begin with."
She wants to laugh at that comment. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. And she want to rip one the heads off of one these dumb bunnies. "I can handle it. We can handle it. We can manage, Papa!" He shakes his head no as he lowers his eyes to the floor. In almost a whisper she begs, "Please don't do this to me."
She never asked for many things. She asked for a pink bike when she was seven. She asked to keep a vase of flowers in her room and she asked to be home-schooled. She asked if they could take her to space to eat ice cream on the moon. Of course it was too much to ask, but the next night Papa came home with freeze dried ice cream and Gram turned out the lights and lit candles to act like the stars.
She knows this is too much to ask as well. There's no way that Papa would go back on what he said. There's no way she could stay.
Papa rises from the bed. He offers to bring in some boxes for her to pack up anything she wants. Anything. The only thing she really wants is the only thing she can't pack into a box. A new life.
By evening she has most of her things stored away. She didn't have much. Shirts, skirts, pants, and dresses to be smashed in two small boxes. The picture of her mom. The picture of the her mom holding her as an infant in the hospital with Gram and Papa smiling proudly. Some old jewelry and makeup. One of Gram's brooches that she has loved since she was a small girl. And all the small items that were meaningless to others but held sentimental value to her. Things like an old pin from when Papa was on a baseball league ages ago. Picture frames that held no pictures. Old letters and sweet cards she held onto through the years. She packed it all away and put it in the living room.
She sits on the old tattered couch, thinking of how she wished for a new life earlier today. And now realizing that that is probably the only thing she will actually get. She'll have a flaky, new dad, a new house, a new state. A brand new life.
TBC
A/N: The title of the story is the title of Alexi Murdoch's song, Song For You. I encourage everyone to listen to it. If you don't like it, look up the lyrics. It's a good song and goes along with the overall feel of the story and the main character. The song was, however, not what the story is based upon.
BTW: her name will be announced next chapter, along with the father's.