Dream
World: Book 1
I spot my mother’s car approaching me. I
see her wave, and smile as our eyes lock. Then as if in slow motion, the most
horrific scene plays out before my eyes. The van switches lanes once again,
right into my mother’s path. The look on her face as she steps on the brakes
shows SHE HAS REALISED it’s too late, the car ploughs into the van as such
speed she had no time to react. I watch in horror as my mother flies forward. I
close my eyes, and crumble to the floor, shielding my eyes, not wanting to see
the scene continue to play out. Hearing metal on metal as screams fill the air,
it’s only then I realise it is me who is screaming.
My name is Debbie Conway, I am thirteen
years old and FROM the day I witnessed my mother’s death I could think of
little else. To ease my pain, I spent more time in my dream world, in the arms
of Joshua Lawson, the guy from the poster above my bed, and staring in my
favourite TV show, Victor.
Meet my best friend, Wendy, former best
friend and school bully, Karen, and a boy who will confuse my love for Joshua
Lawson, Mark Hobson. A new student from America, WHOSE accent alone sends
shivers up and down my spine.
Daydreaming:
Book 2:
My life has
been turned upside down since I WITNESSED my mother's death nine months ago. To
ESCAPE the reality of the accident, I would slip into my dream world to be with
Joshua Lawson, the star from my favourite T.V show, Victor. Then it all
CHANGED, when Mark Hobson joined our school.
Wendy, my best friend was sure he liked me, and I liked him, but would we ever be in a relationship? I doubted it, when every girl in the school DROOLED over him.
Wendy, my best friend was sure he liked me, and I liked him, but would we ever be in a relationship? I doubted it, when every girl in the school DROOLED over him.
Dream World: Book 1
Prologue
The accident
~ Debbie ~
Ten minutes, just ten more minutes that was all I would give my
mother before ringing home again.
Perched
on the edge of the wall, holding on tightly to the strap of my bag I watch the
passing traffic. A single droplet of water makes its way down my face, stopping
at my chin, before dripping onto my hands, staring briefly at it before turning
my attention back to the road. Searching for my mother’s green hatchback,
wishing I was buckled up in the car.
I sighed, wishing she would hurry up. My hair
dripping and the chill of the air causes me to shudder; regretting not drying
it as Wendy had suggested. She of course washed her hair after our swimming
session.
I
had been trying for days to talk to my mother about the changes to my body, or
the lack of them. Other girls were sprouting these enormous breasts. Where were
mine? It was enough to make me scream.
The road was busy because it
was Saturday and the market was on. Cars whizzed past, I watched them, praying
my mother would come alone, and that neither Greg nor Sally had tagged along.
They always wanted her attention. I rarely got time to speak to her alone. A
double decker passes; watching it until it disappears. I would have been home
by now, if I had been allowed to catch the bus.
Another bus passes by, a single
decker this time; the children at the back of the bus waved to me as I noticed
the number. If mum hadn’t of insisted on picking me up, it was the one I would
have caught. She had stood there, hands on her hips, blue eyes sparkling,
telling me you maybe thirteen, but you’re not old enough to ride a bus on your
own.
She was not serious was she? It
was a waste of time arguing with her. Once she gave me that look, I had no
choice in the matter.
I couldn’t blame Wendy for
leaving me alone, since she had to go visit her grandparents. She had talked
her parents into allowing her to go swimming on the understanding that they
would pick her up afterwards. Of course, she agreed. My parents were the same,
and since my grandad died, we visited our nan every two weeks.
Steve reminded me that we needed to visit her as often as we could, we
had no idea how long she would be with us. When my grandad died, I should have
spent more time with him. Steve was right about that. For a brother, he could
be so sweet, and often teased me about boys. There was only one boy who
captured my heart. I only had to hear his name, or see his face and would melt
into a puddle on the floor. Joshua Lawson,
he was a gorgeous talented young man. He may live in my dreams, but he was real
to me.
Biting my lip hard, pushing him out of my mind; I should be
concentrating on watching for Mums car. She was taking forever to get here,
where was she? Come on Mum.
Four lanes made up the one way system. It was a road I did not like
crossing, as it was one of the busiest. Some people did not know what a red
light meant, and using the zebra crossing, you did so at you own risk.
My backside felt numb from the cold bricks, and standing seemed like the
only way to get my legs to stop shaking. I wrapped my arms around my body to
keep warm, inhaling the chlorine in my hair and the fumes from the cars.
Wishing I had washed it.
Dropping my bag to the pavement, between my feet, I wrung my hair again;
the water drips onto the concrete and creates wet droplets around my feet.
Staring at them, as my body shudders again. I am so cold, bored and ready to go
home. She should be here by now. Where are you Mum? I was
searching for our car, jumping from one foot to the other.
There is still no sign of
her. I sat down again, and shuffle on the cold brick
wall, wishing Wendy had not left me.
Five more minutes pass.
“Come on, Mum, “ I mutter to myself, craning my
neck to check down the road for her again. It’s not like mum to be this late. I
roll my eyes, chuckling to myself, as mum hates it when I do that.
More cars pass; one caught my eye, a blue van,
weaving across each lane, causing cars to honk their horns. I could not believe
the way he was driving. Watching until it turns left at the end of the road and
disappears from my view.
This is so unlike my mother, being this late, I am
debating whether or not to ring home, but that meant leaving the meeting point
and going back into the swimming pools entrance where the phone is. Deciding to
wait a little bit longer, I start counting red cars because I am bored. It is a
game my family often play on long journeys, but no fun on your own. This was
beyond the joke, where was she? Standing, people stare at me as I continue to
watch the traffic when I notice another blue van. Realising it’s the same the
blue van. It switches lanes again, and then again. The driver was all over the
place. Taking my eyes from the van, I spot my mother approaching. Seeing her
face light up as she spots me, she does not wav. I am more than ready to go
home now.
Then in slow motion the look of horror is etched on
her face. She looks from me back to the road as I noticed that the blue van has
switched lanes again. This time right into my mother’s path, she has no time to
react. I hear tyres squeal as my mother slams on her brakes, but there is
nothing she can do, and rear-ends the van. I can’t look; I don’t want to, I crumble
to the floor, my heart racing. Lying on the cold concrete floor, covering my
eyes with my hands, I curled up in a foetal position, hearing metal crunching
on metal, as screams fill the air. It is only then, I realise that it is me who
is screaming. I remain in a heap on the pavement and prise one eye
open, not wanting to see. It’s as if time has stood still; the sound
of sirens fills the air. I open my other
eye; watching people rush to the scene. I feel a hand
help me up asking me if I am okay, if I am
hurt. Shaking my head, staring at the two mangled vehicles, one
of which was my mother’s. This can’t be real. I’m
daydreaming.
As I watch the scene unfold not being able to find
but a whisper of a voice and gasping for breath. I stare at my mother as she is
slumped over the steering wheel. There is broken glass shattered everywhere on
the ground.
“Mum, Mum.”
Emergency vehicles approach the scene; the man
releases me; sobbing so hard my chest aches. I swallow
attempting to make my feet move forward; a police officer walks towards me, and
starts to talk, seeing her lips move, but not hearing the words that tumble
from them.
Watching the scene unfold as they pull my mother
from her car and lay her on a stretcher. The whole time the police officer was
speaking to me, I mumble that she’s my mum as I watch them cover her with a
sheet, screaming no. She can’t be dead, she can’t. They are wrong, they have to
help her, pulling away from the officer she holds me back.
I scream her name over
and over.
“She’s gone, love; she’s gone,” the police
officer says as she holds me to her,
and I sob uncontrollably.
Three days later, the death of my mother
does not feel real. A constant flash of the accident plays out in my
mind. It’s all my fault she’s
dead. I know it is, no matter what my family
tell me. I am to blame.
If I had not needed a lift home that day, my mother
would still be alive. Refusing to leave my room, hiding in my bed underneath
the covers. My eyes red from crying, my nails chewed. I should shower, but that
meant leaving the safety of my bed. I don’t want to see them, any of them.
Knowing they all blame me. I know that everyone blames me; maybe even wishing
that I had died instead. I blame myself for the accident.
I’ve not eaten since my father brought me home from
the hospital. I can’t eat. My mouth feels dry, my stomach rumbled, but I cannot
fill it. I do not deserve food.
Even my best friend, Wendy cannot entice me out of
my room. Did they not understand my mother was dead, nothing would be the same
again.
If I had ridden the bus home; she would
still be alive. Sally being so young to lose mum is lost. And I know that
Greg being only ten years old is not old enough to understand. What have I
done!
Angry does not come close to how I feel. Throwing
back my duvet and standing as fresh tears replace the old ones, and mingle with
snot. I wipe them on the arm of my pyjamas and storm across the room. I am
angry with myself, the driver, and at my mother.
As my anger explodes, I take it out on every poster
on my wall, destroying them in seconds.
Sitting among the debris of paper, crying as more
tears trickle down my reddened cheeks. It’s not Joshua’s fault, it’s mine.
Scooping the pieces up, laying them on the bed. The posters beyond repair, I
fall back on the bed with a fist full of Joshua Lawson. He is and always will
be my favourite character from the show on TV, Victor. I like down and look up
at the only poster of him, which survived, the one on my ceiling. His face
stares down at me, smiling I close my eyes.
Joshua take one-step towards me
and pulls me into a hug and whispers in my ear.
“It will be okay, I will be here
for you, always. It’s not your fault, remember that.”
Chapter 1
The funeral
~ Debbie ~
It had only been a week since my word crumbled. Of
course, I was taking the death of my mother hard. Witnessing something like
that will do that to you. I could care less how I looked and smelt. Wearing the
same pyjamas all week.
My shirt hung on the back of the door, taunting me.
Everyone left me alone, which suited me just fine. I did not want to see
anyone. Not even my best friend, Wendy. She tried so many times to entice me
out of this room, to take me away from my thoughts. She meant well, but if I wanted
to stay in my room and wallow, I would.
I did my best to avoid the family, believing they
all blamed me. They were right to. It was my fault. She’s dead because of me.
The bluetac on the wall, a constant reminder of
where my cherished posters once were, now they were ruined, gone. Just like my
mother. I never even had the chance to say goodbye to her. Closing my eyes, the
accident replayed in my head, tears streamed down my face, as I attempted to
push it out. Losing the battle, my body ached from crying so hard. The pain of
losing her would never leave me.
The driver of the van took her from me. I will
never forgive him.
Trying to think happy thoughts and that meant
Joshua. He always wore a constant smile. Staring at him, wanting to know what
made him so damn happy. Of course, he was stuck in that pose. All he had
to do was hold me in his arms and the pain melted away. Loving him was so easy.
I often imagined him here in this room, with his arms wrapped around me. If I
closed my eyes, I could see him clearly. Run to him, throw myself in his arms
and have him hold me.
It was harder to imagine mum, without the accident
appearing. Helping me deal with my guilt and loss was the image of Joshua
holding me; until the image left.
Two knocks on my door, told me someone had finally
come for me, but I buried myself deeper in my cave, unable to stop the tears
from flowing. The voice asked if she could come in, I ignored the question,
knowing my nan would enter regardless.
Hearing her cross the room and sit beside me, she
removed the duvet from me and wiped the tears from my cheeks, which just made
me cry more. I sat up and wiped my tears along the arm of my pyjamas. I knew I
looked a mess; my eyes were red from crying.
“Debbie, honey,” my nan began, pulling me into a
hug. “Come on, please. You’ll make me cry again. Your mother would’ve hated
that.”
“I…” I stuttered. Knowing she was right. Yet it did
not stop them from falling, dripping onto my pyjama leg and expanding into
large wet droplets.
“I know, honey. I do.” My nan, Sophie took my hand.
Tears in her eyes, making my own continue to flow. “You know your mother loved
you, right?”
Nodding, I knew she did. She told me all the time;
now she never would be able to again.
“Do you think she would have wanted you stuck in
here all alone?”
I remained silent, trying my best to stop the tears
from falling.
“Debbie, sweetheart, it will get better. When your
grandad died, I went to pieces. Your mother was my rock, she helped me through
it.” She released me from the hug, and stared at me. “I can still hear her
telling me how he would be cross for me sitting in the same clothes and crying
for days.”
“Nan, it’s my fault,” I mumbled. “She’s dead
because of me.”
“Oh honey,” she said, pulling me into her arms
again. “It wasn’t your fault. How can you even think that?”
“She was coming to pick me up and…”
“Oh honey, never think it was your fault.”
Tears spilled down onto my nan’s
shoulder. I wished I could believe her.
Twenty minutes later, my nan released me from
the warmth and safety of her embrace. She stood, and left me to dress.
Wiping the tears from my face, needing to shower, but was unsure if I had time.
They could wait. Walking to my bathroom, switching the shower on, I placed a
hand under the running water, checking the temperature.
I stood beneath the flowing water, washing away the
guilt, hoping it would disappear down the plughole with the dirty
water. Rinsing the last of the soap from my hair, I switched the shower off and
wrapped a large towel around my body. Hair wrapped in a second towel, I made my
way back into my room.
They were waiting for me, but I needed to dry my
hair.
“Your hair
was wet that day too.” Joshua reminds me.
He was right, it was. I knew then, I could not
leave until every last strand was dry. The only way was to blow dry it.
Once dry, brushing my hair until it was as smooth
as I could make it, then putting it up in a ponytail. Dressing, I wanted to
believe my nan, but still it felt as it was my fault.
Buttoning my white silk blouse, I reached for the
door handle, opening it to find my father standing there on the
landing, red eyed. I flew into his arms; he held me and laid his chin on my
head. I felt his body heave as sobs came deep within him. How stupid had I
been, we were all hurting, I was not alone in this. We all lost her.
We arrived at the church. Family and friends
occupied every seat. I sat between my father and nan, sobbing silently
throughout the service. My nan squeezed my hand. I did not want to
think of her body in the coffin. When
would this be over? Yet, we could not leave, not until the guests had given
their condolences to my father, and the family. It was too much for me to
bear. Steve slid across the pew and placed his hand on mine. It reminded me
once again how selfish I had been. Laying my head on his shoulder, wondering
who arranged everything.
After the funeral we walked to the wake, which was
being held in the back of a pub. Why? They never came here, did they? I had no
idea, but still we were here now, in this small room, filled with family and
friends who had come to pay their final respects to my mother.
They all ate, joked and talked about what a lovely
kind person my mum was. Yes she was all those things, the anger boiling up
inside me with them and myself.
Leaning on the wall, closing my eyes, unable to
look at any of them. I was sick of the looks of sympathy and the
whispering. Opening my eyes, listening to them, were they talking about me?
I had to get away from them; I’d had enough, pulling on my coat I made
my way outside. The cold air slapped me in the face, but not hard enough,
I deserved the pain. Taking two steps towards the busy road, not thinking.
“Debbie, don’t do it,” Joshua’s voice said, causing
me to stop.
Turning towards the pub, sighing, I should go back
in, but could not. Instead, deciding to go home.
The first droplet of rain hit my face, stinging.
Even with the pain, I did not care as my feet hit the tarmac with such a force
my legs ached. Moving forward, my eyes filled with tears as the rain belted around
me, soaking me to the skin. Somehow, I arrived in town; how I ended up there I
had no idea. Walking towards the site of the accident, my head pulled me back,
but my feet urged me forward. It was then I saw them, the flowers from so many
people. Some who knew her, many who did not, yet they cared enough to lay
flowers. Crouching down I read each message. One made my heart stop. Holding it
in my trembling fingers my teeth were on edge as I tore it to pieces.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a female
voice questioned me.
I stood, the pieces floating to the ground, landing
in a muddy puddle, the black ink, merging into one big mass as I spun around.
“Doing,” I spat.
“Yes. That’s disrespectful,” the woman began,
staring at me. “A woman died here a little under two weeks ago.”
“I know!” I said, through gritted teeth.
The woman studied me, her eyebrows raised.
“She was my mother,” I sobbed, turning and sitting
beside the flowers. “And he left her this…” I indicated to the remaining pieces
of paper. “...saying he was sorry.”
“He did?” the woman asked.
“Yes, he did. How dare he?” I said, pulling the
heads of the flowers.
“Ah. Maybe he’s sorry. It was an accident after
all.”
“An accident,” I bellowed. “He was drunk and
swerved into her lane.”
“Yes, he was.” The woman nodded, placing her hand
on my shoulder. “He should not have been driving, but he is sorry.”
I looked up at her, and shrugged her hand off.
“You’re his mother aren’t you?”
The woman nodded, I saw tears in her
eyes.
“Why was he driving?”
“I don’t know, but I do know this, his life is
ruined too. He has to live with the fact he killed your mother.”
I nodded again. “Yes he does, but…”
“It doesn’t excuse it, I know, and I’m ashamed of
his behaviour, but he will have to live with this for the rest of his life.”
She paused and sighed. “Some may say he was lucky for surviving, but he
doesn’t think so, he wishes he died too.”
“Me too.”
“You don’t think that really, do you?”
“Yes,” I snapped. I did. At least I thought
I did. “No, I don’t know what I think. All I know is he killed the most
important person in my life. You tell him that. Tell him he ruined my life
too.”
The woman stood silent watching me, the rain still
falling upon us.
“Debbie,” I heard my brother’s voice call.
I turned; he ran towards me. I saw the look of
worry on his face and suddenly felt ashamed for running off.
“There you are! Dad’s going crazy, because you
disappeared.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t…” I mumbled as he held me.
“Take her home,” the woman said. “Tell your father
my son is sorry, and so am I.”
Steve led me towards his car.
“Was she?” he asked.
I nodded, as I climbed inside and buckled up.
Steve drove us home, where our immediate family now
were.
Opening the door, my father pulled me inside and
held me. He later ranted about the worry I had caused. I apologised and excused
myself, racing up the stairs to the safety of my room. Throwing myself down on
the bed, I closed my eyes, seconds later; Joshua’s warm arms engulfed me.
“It’s going to be okay, Debbie, please don’t cry.
No more tears.” He wipes them away as I look up into those brown eyes and allow
a flicker of a smile to appear on my lips.
“I will try,” I promise him.
~ Mark ~
Loud music played, the band N & N stood centre
stage, the crowd went wild. I knew all the words to the songs, but never sang
them. The crowds sang along, knowing all the lyrics, thousands of them in
unison. Turning from the stage, I walked back to their dressing room, knocking
shoulders with my cousin. We stared into one another’s eyes, for a brief
moment.
“Sorry, Mark didn’t
see you there,” he said.
“Of course you didn’t,” I muttered reaching my
parent’s dressing room. He may be my cousin, but how I wished he would go
butter up his own parents.
Chapter 2
In his arms
~ Debbie ~
Three weeks had passed since my mother’s funeral.
Family and friends called less often. My nan checked in on us once a week. No matter how
much I am told by my family and friends, I still blamed myself.
The accident kept invading my dreams over and over again.
Each time I heard the shattering sound of metal causing my heart to break. With
tears falling down my face; begging Joshua to hold me in his arms where I knew
I would be safe. But it was too late. I saw the image of my mother flash before
my eyes. I shut them tight, swallowed and relived it again. My heart raced, as
I grasped the duvet in my clenched hand, as tears fell down my cheeks.
Switching on the lamp and rolling onto my side I looked at my mother's picture;
her eyes staring back at me. All most like a frozen state, her mouth parted in
a smile. Oh I what I would do just to see her smile again, to hear her laugh
and most of all, just to have her hold me.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I recalled the day it
was taken, Steve’s wedding. It was the happiest I had ever seen her. Every
photograph she wore that smile. More tears threatened to fall. I lifted the
photograph down, held in my hand, feeling her close to me. Was she really
looking down on me? Did I believe in such things? Before her death, the answer
would have been no, but now, yes I did. I wanted to believe it more than
anything. Would she be angry with me for crying? Did she blame me for her
death?
Lying back down, with the photo held
against my chest, I stared up at the poster of Joshua. Hoping he would
make my pain go away. I needed him now more than ever. Oh Joshua. In
that moment, I allowed myself to smile, but felt guilty in an
instant. I closed my eyes.
“Debbie, we said no more tears. Come on, dry those
eyes.”
“I know; I'm sorry,” I reply.
“Now come here.”
Joshua pulls me close to him. I lay my head on
his shoulder. Only then do I allow the smile on my lips to reappear.
Opening my eyes, I took a deep breath and sat
up. The image of Joshua vanished as I stared at the photo in my hand,
biting my lower lip until I tasted blood.
Another tear made its way down my face. Wishing I
could turn back time, and ridden the bus home. Or not gone swimming at all.
Then she would be alive. I would blame myself for the rest of my life. No
matter how many times I was told it was not my fault. Did they not get it, it
was.
Wiping the tears away with the sleeve on my
pyjamas, promising her this would be the last time I would cry. Placing the
photograph back in its place, I lay down staring up
at the poster of him on the beach, wearing red
shorts, with the sun glistening in the background. In his arms, I
always felt safe. When I needed him, he would be here for me.
Closing my eyes, Joshua lay beside me, his arms
wrapped around me.
~ Karen ~
I sat in my usual seat with the gang; discussing
our last weekend together. We’d had another catwalk show,
wearing my latest collection of new clothes. It was now a
ritual, and the girls expected it. I of course, was happy to oblige, after all,
they were my friends.
Over the years, it had grown from one hour, to a
whole day with a catwalk show. I provided snacks, and some weeks they stayed
over and watched movies.
“Hey Karen, she’s back,” Stephanie whispered.
I turned my attention to the girl boarding the bus,
with her head down. Debbie Conway was a former friend, now we rarely
spoke to each other. I could not be friends with her, not now. Now she had
Wendy. She did not need or want me, and I did not want her either.
~ Debbie ~
My stomach was in knots with the thought of returning to
school. This had not been my idea, but dads. And as always Mondays sucked. I
wanted to be with Joshua in the safety of my room. Yet here I was, climbing aboard the bus, as if nothing had
happened.
They stared at me as I made my way to my usual seat;
Wendy followed and slumped down beside me. She had forgiven me, but remained
silent, only a quick hello before we had boarded. I looked at her, but the
words I wanted to say were stuck in the back of my throat. She took my hand and
squeezed it. It was then; I knew no words were needed.
We arrived at school, it was odd, everything looked
the same. The building remained exactly as it had before my mother’s death. Why
had I expected it to look different, just because my life had been turned
upside down? It made no sense, but that is how I felt, like somehow when I
looked out the window, life would have stopped, paused maybe, but no,
everything continued to move forward. Even though I
was not ready to return dad was right, I had already missed too much.
And mum said making good grades in school were important, so I will do my
best.
As I took two steps towards the school my first day back
began.
The day went slowly, and now I was stuck in this
old dull classroom. I did not really mind English, but was not in the mood to
listen to Mrs Row read a passage from Oliver Twist. Sighing, ignoring all
around me, I turned my attention to the outside world, staring out of the
window, focusing on the swaying trees. A tiny blackbird caught my
attention; I watched it as it flew across the sky and landed on a
nearby tree. My eyes felt extremely heavy, from the lack of
sleep. Yawning, unable to stop myself; I rarely slept a whole night, because
the image of my mother or the accident invaded my dreams, as they threatened
to do so now. I closed my eyes as Mrs Row continued to drone on in the
background. I tried to keep my eyes open, and failed miserably.
The bird flies over my head and squawks loudly. I
watch it continue its journey, as it lands on a low tree branch. Below the tree, I
notice a figure leaning against its trunk. Crossing the field towards the
tree, my heart races, as I realise who it is.
“Joshua,” I say. “You’re here!”
Joshua nods stepping towards me, and pulls me into
his arms.
“Debbie Conway?” A voice said.
I smile at him. He leans towards me, his eyes
sparkle. Will he kiss me? I wait for his soft lips to…
“Debbie Conway,” the voice repeated.
I tilt my head, stare up into those eyes; lips
apart. I will him to lean in and steal a kiss. He opens his mouth…
“Did you hear me?” he mouths in the voice of Mrs
Row.
I narrow my eyes as I frown at him. Then something
pulls him away from me; he floats backwards across the field, leaving me
standing with my mouth open.
Opening my eyes, and adjusting them to the light
flooding in through the large glass window, I sighed, damn it, I thought
as the dream faded. The classroom came into focus. Staring straight ahead, I
noticed two legs stood before me. Swallowing hard, I adjusted myself and sat up
on the plastic seat. My backside numb, quickly wiping the saliva off my chin,
looking up into the eyes of my English teacher, Mrs Row.
“Are you with us now?” she asked.
I nodded, hearing someone snigger behind me, but
chose to ignore it.
“Debbie, I will not stand for this in my lesson. Now
collect your books and move to the front,” she instructed. One day back and
they were not going to let anything slide. I felt close to tears, but held them
in.
I let out a groan, and pouted; I felt my face
redden snatching up my bag and books off the table. I shot Wendy a look as I
stood. Why had she not warned me? Now it was obvious, she was reading.
Eyes forward, I moved slowly towards the front of
the classroom and slumped down in the only empty seat. Head down, I sighed;
waiting for what must come next, the punishment. I waited, holding my breath.
“Look,” Mrs Row begun in a hushed voice. “I know
it’s your first day back, and that you are grieving, but you really need to pay
attention in class. Read the book, and answer the questions on the board. Please
don’t make me have to keep you here after school.”
“Yes, Miss,” I replied, biting my lower lip,
ignoring the pain it caused.
Removing the book from the desk, I opened it, and
found the passage, trying my best to read the words before me. Yet they danced
on the page. I tried hard to concentrate on the words, blinked and tried again.
It was just no good; I could not concentrate on anything, except the accident.
Right now, I needed Joshua to hold me in his arms.
I continued to stare at the page as the words
turned into a black mass, creating a silhouette of him. Blinking, the words
dashed back into place. As I removed my pen from the pencil case, I attempted to
answer the questions on the board.
Twenty minutes later the bell rang, and the noise
level in the classroom rose. All I wanted to do was
escape as Mrs Row dismissed us. As I packed my things away, I kept my head
down. Leaning towards me, Mrs Row placed her hands on my desk. “Debbie can I
have a quick word with you?”
I nodded, and sunk back in my seat as Wendy passed
me, raising her eyebrows as she did. As she reached the door, she opened her
mouth to speak.
“I won’t keep her long, Wendy,” she said.
The door clicked as it closed. Mrs Row turned to
face me, and took the seat beside me.
“Debbie, I’m not going to lecture you. I know it’s
only been a few weeks since...since the accident, but you need to focus on
your education. Your mother would have wanted that.”
“I’m trying Miss,” I began. “I really am, but I
just can’t. You don’t understand. Every time I close my eyes I see...” I left
the sentence unsaid.
“I won’t pretend to know how it feels to lose
someone,” Mrs Row paused as she handed me a tissue. “I wish I knew the right
thing to say, but I don’t.”
“How can she be gone? I keep expecting her to walk
through the door.”
“It’s going to get easier; all you can do is take
each day as it comes.” Mrs Row said as she stood. “You can talk
to your father if you need to, or Wendy, or even me.”
I wiped my eyes, sniffed and headed for the door,
still holding the screwed up tissue.
“Debbie, my door is always open,” she said, as I
reached the door. I turned and thanked her, but I knew I would not be able to
talk to her, my father or even Wendy, not yet.
After
finishing high school and then training to work with children, Sarah started
her first job. She currently works as a pre-school teacher.
Sarah
has four children, and three dogs, and a partner who has to put up with her
rambling on about all her WIP’s.
She
recalls spending hours thinking about her characters and their storylines. To
this day, she often falls asleep thinking about where she can take new and old
characters.
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