“I know,” he said simply without breaking eye contact.
It was wrong to feel elated at this particular moment, but I was just happy she was finally talking to me. Even glaring at me like I was the devil himself, she was more beautiful than should have been legal.
“I hate you!” she said.
“I know,” I replied, meeting her stare head on.
“I HATE YOU!” she yelled, standing to her feet.
“I know,” I said again, feeling like my heart was been dragged across hot coals.
She was shaking from head to toe as she jerked her bag up off the seat next her.
“Why didn’t you stop him from driving that day? You had to know he was drinking.”
I nodded my head, acknowledging her words.
“Then why? Why would you let him risk other people's lives like that?”
“You think I don’t regret it? That I wish I would have provoked him, made him take his anger out on me before passing out on the couch like he had so many times before that? It wouldn’t have taken much. One word from me would have set him off, but I didn’t, and I can’t change that now,” I said, furious at myself.
“I hate you,” she said one last heartbreaking time, looking like she wanted to cry, but refused. Instead, she stood strong and tall in front of me, just like she had when I saw her on Channel Six News. This was the girl I had fallen for. She was braver and stronger than I had ever been.
“I know,” I said quietly as she turned and fled out the auditorium, like the hounds of hell were chasing her.
I sank down in the seat with my head in my hands. The elation I felt earlier drifted away, replaced by a gaping hole in my chest.
“Yo, let's go man,” the annoyed aide said, standing in the doorway.
“So go,” I said sarcastically from my seat.
“Come on, I need to lockup,” he said, clearly aggravated.
“Fine,” I replied, taking out my frustration on him as I shoved past.
“Chill out, it's Friday, you should be happy,” he complained as I made my way to the used Toyota my aunt had bought me the previous month when she got her quarterly bonus from work. I felt guilty as hell that she had spent her hard earned money on me, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
At a time like this, I was grateful she hadn’t listened to my arguments because riding the bus after a day like today would have seriously sucked. Kassandra’s angry face flashed through my head as I shifted into drive and drove out of the parking lot. I plugged my iPod into the auxiliary jack and tapped the volume button until the music swelled throughout the interior of the car, drowning out everything else.
The beat of the music shook the small car, but failed to erase Kassandra’s words from my head. The screaming, I could handle it was the quiet words that made me feel like a zombie had ripped my insides out for a snack.
My hands shook uncontrollably during the entire drive home. I had dreamed of that moment, to tell him exactly how I felt. I expected to feel a sense of release once I unleashed all my anger, but instead, I felt an odd sense of guilt. His quiet acceptance of my rage was unsettling. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to care that he had flinched each time I battered him with hateful comments, or that he agreed with everything I said. I didn’t want to know that he may have been a victim, too. This was supposed to be a victory, but instead I felt utterly defeated.
As the weekend passed, I couldn’t shake my feelings of remorse. Mom felt like going shopping though, which helped take my mind off things. Her sudden tran
sformation should have alarmed me, but I reveled in having her almost back to normal. We spent the majority of Saturday at the mall looking for a winter wardrobe for Megan now that the Florida winter had finally begun. Living in a milder climate made winter shopping an easier task. Some new pairs of jeans, cute long-sleeve shirts and a couple hooded jackets pretty much sufficed to get a person through a central Florida winter.
Megan blossomed under Mom’s attentiveness, and by Sunday night, our house felt more normal than it had since the accident. Megan was still silent, but she seemed like she was on the verge of finally saying something.
“I think our first session with Brenda helped,” my om said, tucking her feet up under her as we sat on the couch sipping coffee while we watched some mindless show on the TV.
“You think?” I asked, turning to look at her.
“Well, I guess I should say it helped me somewhat,” she said, looking down.
“What do you mean?”
“Just how to cope with the realization that your father is gone. I know it’s irrational, but I guess I kept expecting him to come home at any minute. That’s why I didn’t want to leave the house,” she said sadly. “It wasn’t until your teacher came by that night that I realized my selfish actions were harming you and your sister.”