22nd Annual Writing Contest Results

Fifty-four stories out of 971 entries were selected as winners in the 22^nd annual writing contest sponsored by Southern Hills Counseling Center and the Friends of Southern Hills.  All sixth grade students through high school seniors in Crawford, Dubois, Orange, Perry, and Spencer County schools were eligible to enter the contest.  Below are the first and second place winners in both the high school and middle school divisions.

 Students were asked to write about how the economic changes in southern Indiana have affected a family and how that family handled those changes.  They were asked, for example, to describe the problem, how the family was affected by it, how they felt about the problem, where they sought help, and what they learned.  The story could be fictional or based on a real life situation.

 The first place winner in the high school division is Kaitlyn Poehlein whose story is entitled “A Harvest of Hope; Kaitlyn is a junior at Perry Central High School.  “Homemade Christmas,” submitted by Taylor Heilers, a junior at Forest Park High School, was selected as the second place winner in the high school division.  Avery Charron, an eighth grade student at Jasper Middle School, was selected as first place winner in the middle school division with her story entitled “Looking Up.”  Sarah Jasper, also an eighth grader at Jasper Middle School, is the second place winner in the middle school division for her story entitled “A New Beginning. 

 These four stories are included below.

A Harvest of Hope

By Kaitlyn Poehlein

1^st Place Winner, High School Division

Melvin reclined against the wall and stared up into blackness.  He ignored the fact that water from the wet rug he sat on was slowly soaking through his jeans and leaned back with closed eyes.  The sweet sound of rain pattering steadily on the tin roof of their one room farm house soothed him.  For a moment he forgot about the day’s horrors and pains, of the rain that refused to cease and now seeped through slits in the ceiling.  Instead he thought solely of that sound, like bullets trying to penetrate a surface.  A sharp clash of thunder shook the rickety walls and Melvin jumped.

In the darkened room Melvin could make out the shapes of his two siblings and parents in their sleeping places on the floor.  It had rained nonstop the past three days and the Ohio River now rose into their acres of land in the valley.  What would the light of day bring?  All the seeds that’d just been planted were gone, carried away in the flood waters.  Every last penny they owned had been put toward those seeds with hope they would grow into something worthwhile.  The dark truth was there was no money to replant another round of seeds.  Fall was supposed to bring a harvest and money to finally buy a house.  Now those dreams were washed down the river with the seeds. . .lost forever.

Beside him, Melvin felt his four old sister shudder.  She opened her pale blue eyes and stared up into his.  “Mel? I’m so wet,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Go back to sleep, Nula.  We’ll dry up in the morning,” he cooed.  She didn’t smile as she laid her head on a towel and closed her eyes tightly, like she was trying to shut everything out.  Melvin sighed and attempted to sleep…but that unspoken question left him uneasy:  What are we going to do?

His family was something that Melvin had come to appreciate more than anything else.  He realized that all he did was for his family’s well being and that anything he could do to make them happy was enough.  He and his fourteen year old brother Pete had a strong bond as they’d been working alongside their father on the farm for years.  At only four years old, their sister Nula was the youngest of the three.  Melvin was her role model and he knew she looked up to him fondly.

Melvin awoke as his father slammed the screen door and called his name gruffly.  There was no clock in the house to tell him the time, but a faint pink hung on the horizon signaling dawn.  Slowly, Melvin stood up and slipped the straps of his overalls back over his shoulders.  He gave Pete a hard kick in the side and hissed, “Get up!  Don’t make Dad wait again!”

Pete groaned and rolled over.  Melvin knew there was no time for breakfast, meaning no food until supper that night.  Not like there was enough food for a decent meal anyway.  Last year’s harvest had been meager and even with food stamps and help from a church, there was barely enough for them all.  Melvin was eighteen and the oldest of three kids, so he had to put his siblings and mother first.

In the last few years, Melvin and his family had dealt with many of the hardships of farming.  Two years ago there was a tornado that tore apart the crops and their machine shed, last year they’d had the worst drought of the century, and this year it was the flood.  What a gambling game farming was!  Sometimes the money you put into the machine came out fruitful and overflowing.  Yet, most of the time you’d only receive a portion of what you put in.  Despite all these negative aspects, Melvin knew he loved the farm.  He loved the way a crisp field of wheat smelled as it was harvested.  He loved spring when the planter was first brought back to the fields after a dormant winter.  Most of all, Melvin enjoyed watching their labors grow into the plentiful crops that would support their family.  To him, all these joys ruled out the factors against it, and he knew he couldn’t help but love this land.

Once again the high sun signaled noon.  It had been a week since the floods, but nearly half of their 300 acre farm was still underwater.  The loss was complete; not a single seed remained in the soil.  Deep ruts lined the fields that had once been neatly plowed, a total demolition of their labors.  No one had suffered worse than his family.  The other farmers in the area owned land in the higher grounds, and escaped the floods.  Some days Melvin would gaze up at their neighbor’s large white farmhouse upon a faraway hill and imagine.  Melvin would picture himself in the house as the sun set and the windows reflected the rays with a blinding shine.  He thought about what it would be like to stare out across the dell and over the lowly family in the river bottom farmhouse.  He’d look out across the river and beyond to see hills and valleys and forests for miles.

With a face covered in dust, Melvin glanced up to see a shiny blue pick-up pull in.  Melvin was in the grain bin, sweeping up last year’s soybean yield with a push broom.  The man who stepped from the truck was old and his wrinkled skin was tanned dark brown from the sun.  Wearing an orange Alice Chandler hat and work boots covered in mud, Melvin guessed the man was a farmer.

“Mornin’ son,” the old man called out, “Are you one o’ Wayne’s boys?”  Melvin only nodded so the farmer went on, “Name’s George Garrison,” he held out his hand, “sure is a pleasure.”

Melvin took his hand cautiously.  He’d heard George Garrison’s name before and knew he was the most successful farmer in the area.  For a moment Melvin worried that this man was here to mock them for their situation and try to buy their land.

“Y’all didn’ fare so well in the flood did’ya?”  Mr. Garrison commented.

“Sir, we’re not selling our land and I’m not going to listen to your offers,” the words came out harsh and loud, but the old man’s eyes only saddened.

“I’m not here to hurt you, son,” George’s voice cracked.  “It’s not easy what your all goin through.”  For a moment, Melvin could see that this man truly understood.

“If you find that there’s nothing else for you here, come help me at my place.  I could use some help,” Mr. Garrison said and gave him a weak smile.  Melvin picked up the broom and returned to sweeping up the remains of the soybeans, the minute amount that was supposed to supply them for an entire year.

Five months later the family received a letter from the county.  They’d failed to make any payments on the loan, and the farm was to be auctioned off in less than a week.  Their mother had been bringing the only income to the home, working as a housekeeper in the nearby town.  Melvin’s father hadn’t been the same since the flood.  The man who was once confident and fearless was now lost and distant.  He’d seemed to hide from the truth these past few months, spending time in their shed and wandering along the river bank.  For some reason, none of them questioned this.  They couldn’t bring themselves to upset him more.

Some nights Melvin would hear Nula’s stomach wailing as she slept through nightmares not much different from the life she lived.  He saw how thin she was becoming and it broke his heart.  One day she sat down and watched him chop firewood.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw that she was crying.

“What’s the matter, Nula?”  He called, walking toward her.  She wiped her face with a dirty sleeve and stared at her bare feet.

“I dunno…I heard Mom tell Pete she might as well send me to an orphanage because she couldn’t afford to feed us all.”  She was barely whispering and Melvin sat down next to her.  “You wouldn’t let that happen, would you, Mel?”

“Don’t worry, Nula,” he tried to comfort his sister, “I won’t let that happen.”  He started poking her so that she’d laugh and Nula ran off squealing.  As he watched her go, Melvin knew he couldn’t let his words be a lie.  He’d made a promise and he would do anything he could to keep it.

The day of the auction came, and Melvin watched as his father stood like a statue, staring away from the scene.  Melvin ventured over to stand beside him and stared off in the same direction.

“I’m sorry…son,” his father’s voice was strangled.  Melvin didn’t respond or even look at his father.  Yet, there was no anger in his heart.  His dad was giving up slowly and silently.  And it was then that Melvin knew what he had to do.

The sound of the wind blowing through pine trees was a new and extraordinary sound for Melvin.  It was like a million voices whispering secrets through the air.  The breeze was refreshing on the late summer day in which he was mending Mr. Garrison’s cattle fence.  He’d been working for George for three weeks now.  The morning after the auction he’d simply work up, told his dad he was going to work for George Garrison, and made the trek to that big white house on the hill.  George had welcomed him with open arms and a pancake breakfast.

Melvin stayed each night in Mr. Garrison’s guest room and worked straight through the day.  The old man seemed like a grandfather to Melvin, always giving encouragement and advice.  At the end of each week Mr. Garrison would pay Melvin then drive him home to his family for a day.  One night while the two were eating a warm stew, George told Melvin the story of his son.  Mr. Garrison explained that he’d raised his only son alone after his wife died of cancer.

“Right from the start, I knew that boy would never follow in my footsteps,” George sighed.  “I’d tell him we’d someday be farming side by side and how he’d raise his family here and carry on the tradition.  But he’d only stare the other direction.  After he graduated I asked him to stay and work with me…but he left instead, like I always knew he would.  My son married a girl from out west and now I rarely hear from him.”  He finally looked up at Melvin with glistening eyes and said, “No one ever helped me again until you came up.”  Melvin looked away from the old man’s wet eyes and stared into his stew, knowing he couldn’t be the next one to leave George alone.

The next day Melvin stepped out into the brisk air and could feel autumn’s presence.  Harvesting had begun and as the day glided on, he found himself driving the year’s first load of corn toward the grain bin.  The large red auger was ready and waiting as Melvin backed the grain truck carefully toward the grain auger.  As he steadily tilted the truck bed into its position, Melvin saw George coming toward him with two shovels in hand.  Melvin stepped out of the truck and smiled at the old man.  He slid open the small door on the back of the truck to let the corn pour out and into the already churning auger.

“It’s gonna be a good yield, George,” Melvin assured him and Mr. Garrison nodded approvingly.  The fields here were filled with golden stalks of corn and soybeans, a deep contrast from those scraggly, overgrown patches in the valley that had once been his own.  Together the two began to shovel the corn that’d spilled to the ground into the auger which sent it into the grain bins.  Mr. Garrison took a risky step over the auger to shovel on the opposite side, and Melvin looked up to see his foot catch on the metal.  George’s pant leg snagged in the auger and Melvin jumped up in horror.  He instantly ran and pressed the shut-off valve, hoping he wasn’t too late.  Mr. Garrison lay on the ground while Melvin hurried to his side.

“Oh, God, George, are you alright?” Melvin blurted.  Mr. Garrison closed his eyes and breathed deeply.  His pants were shredded but his leg was unharmed.

“I told myself this would happen,” George said faintly, “Thank God you were there…you saved my life, son.”

“Sir, I did what anyone would’ve,” Melvin replied.

“No, you don’t understand,” Mr. Garrison shook his head, “I’m getting old, this kind of thing will soon be happening all the time.  I can’t run this farm anymore…not alone.  Melvin, you’re like the son I never had.”  George Garrison gripped Melvin’s shoulder tightly, “I want you to farm for me.  I’m gonna let you farm my land…and yours.”

“What do you mean?” Melvin breathed.

“I’m the one who bought your family’s land at the auction.  I want you to have it back, and I want you and your father to farm mine along with it.”

One year.  In one year Melvin had seen his life go from barely surviving the wake of poverty to this.  They had risen above the circumstances and were now living as they had been, together and grateful for each other.  George Garrison had come to their rescue with his kindness, and Melvin realized that people like that are true heroes.  What he didn’t know was that to the rest of his family, it was he who was the hero.  His decision to work and help them had saved them all and gave the family a second chance.  To Nula, Melvin was her knight in shining armor.  He was always there to dry her tears and comfort her fears.

Now along with farming, Mr. Garrison let Melvin and his family stay in his rental home nearby, free of charge.  The evening they moved in, Melvin sat on the front porch with Nula beside him.  Together they gazed out across the fields and over the yonder river to see rolling hills stretching to the horizon.  The sun glowed orange over the hills and the air smelled sticky sweet.

“Mel,” Nula smiled, “I’m glad we moved here.  It makes me feel happy again.”  She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as he whispered.  “Me too, Nula.  Me too.”

Homemade Christmas

By Taylor Heilers

2^nd Place Winner, High School Division

“Ch, cht, cht, cht, cht,” Charley’s teeth chattered uncontrollably as she tried to keep warm in her bed.  Though December’s bitter bite ate away at the bare trees outside, the Tinley’s didn’t have the heat on in their undersized home.  Hannah Tinley knew her four kids practically froze like ice sculptures at night and continued to grow ill from the harsh winter chill; no matter how many extra plus hours she spent at her multiple and tedious jobs, she never came up with enough spare money to activate the dormant furnace.

“I am a failure.” Hannah thought as she heard her children rustling around and coughing continuously from sickness, trying to secure warmth beneath their blankets.  “My kids must hate me for making them suffer like this.  Ughhhhh!”  She began to sob quietly not just for herself but for her poor, cold kids, also.  With the abrupt abandonment of her husband only a short month ago, she had been severely struggling to seize the funds for her bills.  She did nothing but worry and pray.  The family had hardly been able to afford to celebrate Thanksgiving – and now she had no idea how they would survive the Christmas holiday.  Just buying a tree would throw her deeper into the dark hole of debt.  Hannah knew and had known for a while that Christmas would consist of no gifts, no tree, and therefore no joy; she just didn’t have the heart to tell her kids the devastating news.  “I have to tell them tomorrow,” she thought, trying to convince herself.  “I can do this.”  Since Christmas Eve loomed the next day, she knew it would shatter their dreams and wishes for extravagantly wrapped presents.

The next morning while the kids sat enveloped in layers of blankets around the breakfast table, Hannah broke the unfortunate news about Christmas.  She watched miserably as all of their faces slowly drooped to frowns and the glisten in their eyes died.  The family sat awkwardly in the kitchen for a while; no one spoke a single word as each individually grasped onto what their mother had said.

“Well just because we can’t have new gifts under a real Christmas tree doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate!” exclaimed Charley, Hannah’s ten-year-old daughter and oldest child.  Everyone stared at her blankly, waiting for an explanation as to how they could have a delightful Christmas – all of them wondering why she still had any spirit left in her heart.

“What if we made a tree out of green paper and taped it up on the wall?  We could even cut out ornaments of all colors, too!  Then we can wrap some old shoeboxes with used newspapers as our wrapping paper.  It will look exactly like a Christmas!  After all Christmas is about spending time with your family, not about getting new things,” Charlie informed her younger siblings, which also inspired her mother to recognize the true meaning of holidays.  Extremely proud of her idea, she waited anxiously for her family’s response.  Carefully she judged each of their faces as they pondered the plan.

“What do you guys think?” asked Hannah, reacting quickly to Charley’s words.  “What a great suggestion to save the Tinley Christmas right?  Who’s with me?”

“Me, me,me!  I wanna help!  I wanna wrap a box!  Can me help, Mommy?” squealed all of the younger children in their high-pitched voices.

“Ha Ha, of course you can all help!  I will need everyone’s assistance and dazzling smiles all day.  Tomorrow is already Christmas so let the joy begin!”  Hannah stated with a toothy and bright smile on her face.  Her daughter was somehow miraculously saving a fallen Christmas.  She couldn’t help but be biased:  she thought she had the most breathtaking children.

“I’ll go get the colorful paper!” shouted Charley, already running off to fetch the materials.

“Me newspaper Momma,” Brandy, the two-year-old, tried to pronounce in the new and still foreign language to her young brain.

“And I will go upstairs to get some boxes.  Let’s get started!”  Hannah announced while clapping her hands.

All day the Tinley’s worked and laughed as they prepared their homemade Christmas.  The tree had been taped to the wall and covered with bright ornaments and strings of cheap popcorn.  Newspaper wrapped presents were scattered all under the tree, adding depth to the decoration.  They were ready for the big day of Christmas!

On Christmas morning all the children rose from their beds to look outside the window at the newly fallen snow.  The whiteness blinded their eyes since the powder topped all signs of outside life.  This year the Tinley’s could celebrate a beautiful snow filled Christmas.

That day the Tinley’s played board games, drank hot chocolate, and ate Christmas cookies by their tree, laughing and enjoying every minute.  “Merry Christmas, Mom!” Charley whispered to her mother while she gave her a tight hug.  She spoke quietly since the youngsters already had fallen soundly asleep, exhausted from the exciting day.  “This was the best Christmas ever!” she beamed up at her mother’s face.

“I completely agree.  You know this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t come up with the idea, though!” she proudly informed her daughter with a matter-of-fact tone.

“Nah,” Charley grumbled, as she turned red with embarrassment by Hannah’s flattery.

“Go ahead on to bed, Charley.  It’s late, and we’ve experienced quite an eventful day.  You need some rest,” Hannah suggested to her daughter.

“Okay.  Goodnight Mom,” she uttered as she sauntered towards her room.

“Goodnight, Charley.  See you in the morning.  Oh, and Merry Christmas!” she announced for the last time before the holiday was over.  She had just began to clean up the miniature mess left in the living room from the festival when she heard a barely audible whisper come from behind.

“Hey Mom?” whispered a quiet voice.  Hannah glanced over her shoulder to identify the child.  “Yes, Charley, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.  I just wanted to tell you something.”  Charley spoke while staring down at her bare feet.

“Okay, well go ahead.” Hannah said suspiciously wondering what her daughter needed to tell her since she was acting so reserved.  “Mom, I love you.  We all love you.  We don’t care about gifts and trees.  We are just happy to still have you here.  Please don’t ever leave us, too.  We can be a happy family without Dad, can’t we?  All we need is each other.”  Charley never looked up as she shyly spoke her thoughts.

Before Hannah had a chance to digest Charley’s words and reply, her daughter had already disappeared into the dark.  She was probably climbing into her bed and tucking her blankets in around her.  Hannah pictured the image in her head.  Her daughter’s words were a comfort and helped to heal the uneasiness she felt about their financial situation.  As she finished tidying up her home, she couldn’t help but smile.  What she thought would be a horrific nightmare had turned out to become her favorite Christmas – all because her amazing daughter hadn’t given up hope.  The only word that came to mind when she thought about her children was remarkable.  Sure, her opinion was biased but she didn’t care.  As she left the room to head off to bed she took one last glimpse at the giant tree hung up on the wall, speckled with ornaments of all different sizes that represented each of her little ones – all held together with tape.  The tree corresponded to her family perfectly.  They weren’t perfect; they contained people of all different shapes and sizes.  They used love as tape to hold themselves together, and they were one-of-a kind just like the tree.  As she crawled into bed, she suspected that her family was the only one fortunate enough to celebrate a truly homemade Christmas that year.

Looking Up

By Avery Charron

1^st Place Winner, Middle School Division

I inhale deeply and turn around very slowly, taking in every minute crack in the concrete and every dry leaf fluttering to the ground.  The silence encompassing me is deafening and unbearable.  My eyes begin to moisten and well up.  I blink hard and try to send the tears back to wherever it is they come from.  I clutch my belongings to my chest and take one final look at all I am leaving behind.  I think about every Thanksgiving; my family gathered around the dining table, saying graces and giving thanks.  I recall my older brother, my younger sister, my mom, dad, and I running down the stairs on Christmas morning to find the area surrounding the tree overflowing with presents.  I would give anything to rewind time.

“Ava,” my father says softly, abruptly interrupting my train of thought.

“I’m coming,” is my hoarse reply.  I avert my eyes back to the house that stands deserted behind me.  This place I have called home for as long as I can remember is no longer home to me anymore.  Soon, another family will unlock the door, move in, and start a new chapter in their lives.  I shake my head from side to side in an attempt to restore order and reality in my chaotic brain.  I feel my father’s arm graze my shoulder, and with a sharp pain in my heart, I turn my back on everything I have ever known.

“We will be fine.  Everything is going to be okay.  Always look up,” says my dad.  I am not sure if this is a way for him to comfort himself, or if he just wants to me keep hope alive.  Anyway, how could I possibly “look up”?  It is very hard for me to hold my head high, given my current situation.  This is one of my dad’s favorite pieces of advice.  In his eyes, any hardship or misfortune could be solved by always looking up.  Either way, I look deep inside myself and muster up every ounce of anything that resembles hope and use it to smile half-heartedly at my father.

My family and I are moving across town and into an apartment complex.  I have never been good with change, and I hold on tight to my memories.  I guess living in the past is a way for me to escape what is happening in the present.  Mostly, my family has just been a lot quieter.  Ever since the day my dad came home from work with trembling hands and tear-stained cheeks, the fear of homelessness and starvation looms like a dark, depressing cloud over my family.  My brother has given up on finding a job, but my mom and dad are very determined; their search continues.

My life has changed to the point where I don’t really recognize myself or my family anymore.  Everyday, I go to school, and then everyday when I come home, I do my homework.  I have not attempted to make any friends at my new school, so weekends are scarily similar to schooldays.

I did not know it yet, but my silent, pleading prayers would be answered one windy, gloomy Monday three weeks later when I hear the front door of our side of the duplex get thrown open, as if it would rip right off its hinges.  “Guys!” My dad bellows.  I decide not to remind him of the paper-thin walls of the duplex.  “Come in here, quick!”  It does not take long to locate him in the claustrophobic apartment.  Yet again I am reminded of how things used to be…a time when I would have to take more than two steps to get from my room to the kitchen.  I force that thought out of my head and brace myself for what is coming.  When my father feels he has our full attention he begins slowly, “I have been searching day in and day out for three weeks in the hopes of coming across some kind of work.”  My family exchanges an eye roll.  My dad, sensing this, blurts, “I got my old job back!”  My mother instantaneously bursts into joyful sobs, my brother engulfs my sister in a hug, and I try to lift my jaw from the floor.  A barrage of one million emotions comes flooding into my heart, knocking down every barrier I have subconsciously built over the last couple of months with no hesitation.

While I know this does not mean I will get my house, and my friends, and everything else I have lost back again, I do know that “we will be fine” and “everything will be okay.”  I guess my dad was right after all.  I feel a twinge of guilt.  What about those families who search and search but still cannot find work?  My family has been incredibly blessed.  I have only had to live like this for a few months, but what about those who end up on the street in tattered clothes with temporary homes and no guaranteed meals?  I decided right then and there that I wanted to do something for families that have it much worse than me.  I know how much my family needed simple household objects like toilet paper, toothpaste, and shampoo, and I also know how much we needed necessities like two meals a day, clothes, electricity, and water.  I proposed my idea of a charity to my family two weeks later when we were settled in our new house.

“Wow, Ava.” My mother summed up.

“That is a wonderful idea, and we are very proud of you,” says my dad.

“Have you thought about a name for your charity?” My brother asked absently.

“The name?  Oh, that’s the easiest part…” I reply.

“Well let’s hear it then,” my sister chimes in.

“It is called looking up when life looks down,” I say with a whole-hearted smile. 

That night, when my family was gathered around the dinner table, we said grace.  How did we express our gratitude?  A simple look upward….

A New Beginning

By Sarah Jasper

2^nd Place Winner, Middle School Division

As I walked in the front door, the first thing I saw was the empty vodka bottle on the table.  I stopped in my tracks, frozen, rooted to the spot.  Immediately I thought of the worst.

“Dad…?” I called out.  Just then I heard a crash in the living room, I dropped my books and ran to see what had caused the noise.  As I rounded the corner, my worst fear reached my eyes.  My father sprawled across the floor, unconscious.  An empty bottle still in his hand.

I loved my father, even when he did get depressed.  I was 13 when my mother died of breast cancer, the beginning of the end.  After that happened, it was like something in my father had broken.  The light in his eyes grew dim, he had no spring in his step, it was as if his soul had been sucked out.  He turned to drinking and pills, and coincidentally he lost his job from being absent so much.  That was when I made the transition from child to parent; I now had all the responsibility.  I had to find myself a job; I was the one who went grocery shopping at the food bank.  My father and I were hanging on to life by a thread, and everyone around us was completely oblivious to the fact that we were one step away from poverty.

This went on for two straight years.  But on my 15^th birthday, my dad asked me what I wanted for my present.  And before I could stop myself, I told him what I really wanted.  I wanted his old self back, I wanted him to quit the drugs and alcohol and get a job.  And to my surprise, that’s exactly what he did.  He pulled himself out of his depression, broke his addiction, AND got a job.  Everything was back to the way it should be, and my father and I were on with our normal lives.  But now, I could see that once again, everything was about to change.  As I rolled over my fathers limp body and placed a pillow underneath his head, I began to weep.  Hot, useless tears that would never solve anything.  I sat down on the couch and waited until my father awoke. 

I was uncomfortable on the lumpy couch, but I finally drifted into a restless sleep, only to be disturbed by a moaning coming from my father.

“Daddy? Dad wake up…” I said faintly.  He slowly opened his eyes – I could see they were now bloodshot – and he groggily sat up.  I breathed out a huge sigh of relief.  He gradually got to his feet and said,

“I’m sorry Reesey, I got fired today at work and…” he trailed off, and we stood in awkward silence, staring at each other, each of us thinking of what was going to happen.  Finally he mumbled,

“I’m going to go lay down, my head hurts.” And he walked out of my sight.

I locked myself in my room and turned the music all the way up.  The harmony and the twangy guitar sounds took me deep into another world that I could get lost in; a world where my father wasn’t an addict struggling with depression, and my mother wasn’t dead…  Then the CD ended.  I sat down on my bed and started to think rationally, I decided to go find another part time job tomorrow after school.  After I had my entire game plan for the next few days figured out, I went to the bathroom, washed my tear streaked face, and climbed into bed.  Praying that tomorrow would be a better day.

The entire next day at school, I could pay no attention in any of my classes.  I was too busy thinking of possible places to look for a good job.  In 4^th period, my math teacher walked over to me and said,

“Parker Reese?  Can I see you in the hall for a moment?”  This startled me out of my trance-like state, and I robotically stood up and followed her into the hall.

“Yes, Ms. Mooney?  Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

“No, Parker.  You’ve done thing, that’s the problem.  Is something wrong?  You’ve been just staring off into space all day, is everything all right at home?”  She was a new teacher this year, and immediately she had become my favorite.  She knew about what happened to my mother, and seemed to see right through all my fake stories about my dad.  And without thinking, I began to cry.  I told her everything, right there in the hallway.  She took me to the counselor’s office and told the principal to have the teacher’s aid cover her class for the rest of the period.  I talked to her and the counselor about how my father had been dealing with depression, and the state I had found him in the day before.  Then in turn, the counselor told me her story about growing up with abusive parents, and how she found a safe haven in a therapy group.  She asked me if I would like to join, and after a few moments, I thought,

“It couldn’t hurt to try…”  That was when I made the best decision of my life.

Three Years Later….

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I remembered everything I had gone through in my past years.  I closed my eyes, and sighed, exhaling all my bad memories.  Right then, I promised myself to only think about those horrible days unless I absolutely had to.  I reopened my eyes, and adjusted my new, stiff black cap and gown.  Then I walked out the bathroom door, and began the rest of my beginning.