Page 4 - Pieces of Victory - Add - FlipBuilder.pdf

I take a deep breath and mull over the counseling session ahead of me. Drake will be so relieved when I tell him that my parents changed gears and decided to send me to therapy!
I get into our boxy Ford Fairmont. It reminds me of a family size boat launch- ing off a dock rather than a curb. Looking up, I skim over my mother’s multicol- ored Gazanias, growing against the front hilltop and giving life to our gloomy drab home. My father is driving for what seems like hours. My mother is in the passen- ger seat. I begin to wonder, why are we going so far? These unfamiliar freeway inter- changes are nerve-wracking and multiple red flags instantaneously begin signaling for my attention.
How come they couldn’t find a psychiatrist close to home? This is odd, shuffles through my mind. I become fatigued from the tiresome drive so I decide to lie down in the back seat. I drift into a fog-like daydream of dancing with Drake. We sway in slow motion to Run to You by Bryan Adams, the music softly echoing throughout Se- quoia Middle School’s auditorium. I can almost smell the warm spicy amber of
his fragrance, leaving its imprint on my skin as his cheek slightly caresses my face. I fall into a slumber, resting my head against his chest, shutting out my worrisome assumptions. I feel safe.
My mother coos for the first time, “It’s best that you are laying down because it is going to be a long drive.”
I awake to my mother’s annoying screeching, and jump up. Thoughts are now flooding my mind, like being on the Pacific Coast Highway during a down- pour. Would they possibly be taking me to the so called ‘nunnery’ that BreeAnna was forced to attend? I can hear the sound of my heart beating on overdrive. Ac- cording to her description, its fiery gates lead to torment and everlasting punish- ment. This thought escapes my mind like dust blowing in the wind, taking this toxic idea with it. I reassure myself with the logic that I am doing exceptionally well in school and not using drugs and override my paranoid hypothesis. I cannot fathom how my parents could make such a ludicrous choice.
My father asks me, “What do you want to eat?” I reply, “How about McDonald’s?”
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