Life goes on September 2009 Its dark out. There are no stars. Theres no indication of a brighter future.

My panicked and nervous breathing almost smothers the sounds that I can hear downstairs, but not just yet. The lights by my bedside flash, and the red numbers illuminate my room in a creepy and almost nostalgic way. Ive been here, in this same position, looking at these same numbers and keeping the secret to myself- the secret that I know everything. 2:38 A.M. Its safe to say I should have been asleep hours ago. Is Megan awake? Would I ever be able to ask her? If she hadnt awoken, I would devastate her, telling her what goes on in the middle of the night downstairs. If she is awake, is she keeping this secret to herself too? She cant be. I know somewhere inside me that its only me who knows. And thats what scares me. A ten year old cant keep such a big and painful secret to herself. She just cant. I hear the door slam, and the echo of it is loud enough to make even a deaf person cry in fear. I perk my ears closer to the window, and I can almost imagine the sound of the key turning in the ignition. I can hear the screeching, desperate tires of my dads old sedan scraping against our gravel driveway for a few agonizing seconds. Then theres the silence. I can hear the silence. The thing about silence is that its not silent at all. Silence is the chilling realization that youre all alone and theres no one to turn to. Its emptiness. Its coldness. Its done for. Theres no yelling, no fighting, no nothing, but I have come to the realization that they gave up, and that conclusion is louder than sitting front stage at a heavy metal concert. Silence means that my mom is going to walk up the stairs any minute now, trying to be as quiet as possible, trying not to wake Megan and me. But I can hear everything. Silence forces me to listen.

I close my eyes, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat that only wants to speed up, and I hear her slipper-padded feet trudge up the stairs at an incredibly slow pace. Its like this night after night. She goes slowly, hoping maybe hell walk through that door and apologize. Maybe hell remind her of how much he loves her, of how sorry he is. Maybe hell come back and promise to get better and leave the other woman. But he never does. I hear her uneven breathing, her choked sobs. I hear absolutely everything, and the worst part of it is I have to pretend that I dont hear it. I have to pretend that Im sleeping, dreaming in a faraway land protected from everything that is hurting me. And then I stay silent. Maybe if I was silent, I could condition my lonely self back to sleep. I could forget this ever happened Silence is good in that way, but silence wont let me off that easy. I spend the rest of the hours of the night, trying to stop the never-ending silent tears from streaming down my face. I breathe in and out, holding myself together as I clasp my hands around that old teddy bear he had given me on my fifth birthday. Yes, I still sleep with teddy bears, and yes, I am fifteen years old. It gives me a sense of security, of longing, maybe the last lingering reminder I have of the dad that would take me to Sunday morning soccer games. It reminds me of the dad that would laugh all Saturday afternoon, making pancakes for our eyes that were so much bigger than our stomachs. Even the leftovers Id eat the next week would be a million times better than the ones wed have at the diner on an occasional Sunday after church. Its stupid, but when my parents are fighting and when theyre screaming and yelling, the teddy is the dad I used to know, comforting me and reminding me that itll all be over soon. He would leave like he always does, and then there would be the impending silence. I would be okay until the next time he decided he was mad at my mom. I would always be okay. It was never my fault But sometimes I would imagine it to be. When theyd fight over me, over how

much my soccer demands are costing him. Hed complain about the elite training, the tournaments in Florida and the showcases. Hed complain about everything before the silence. But after the silence, I could still hear his voice in my head. I would sit in my bed, listening to my mom turn on TV, and move around her room, and I would think about everything he had said and everything he had done, and I would try not to cry. Im trying not to cry. Its not my fault, its not my fault it is my fault. Im pulled out of my thoughts when I hear her cry. Her cries are desperate, full of raw and excruciating pain. The kind of pain you wouldnt even wish on your worst enemy. I can literally feel her heart breaking, and thats worse than any cut, any bruise or any other physical injury she can suffer because its unfixable. She cant swallow back a few Advil or wrap up her heart in an ace bandage and ice it. She just has to sit there, alone, while I sit here, alone And its the worst kind of pain, knowing that I cant do anything about it. So I sit back and pretend that Im sleeping. Im dreaming about boys, shopping or whatever else fifteen-year-old girls dream about. Sometimes I wish that I could sleep through this. Sleep could cushion me from reality, but it cant protect me forever. Sleeping to hide myself from the truth is like locking myself in my house all day every day to avoid an ex. Neither undesirable reality can be avoided forever. And sometimes I just wish I could tell my mom that everything is going to be okay, but I cant. I dont know if anything is going to be okay. So I sit here and stare at my clock. Minutes pass in seconds, hours in minutes, and the incessant ticking that marks the time taunts me. There must be something wrong with my clock. Its close to 5:00 A.M. He should be coming back soon. He always comes back before 5:00. Always.

Now seconds are going by like hours. Minutes like days. The next time I glance at my clock it reads 5:35 A.M. Then time speeds up, he had to come home soon. He would be coming home soon. 6:00 A.M. 6:11 6:23 6:45. Im pulled out of my reverie when the silence of the flashing red numbers suddenly starts blaring. Its time for me to wake up, and my dads still not back. I get out of my bed on autopilot, slipping my frozen feet into my UGG slippers before I walk through the hallway towards my parents room. The first thing I see is that her side of the bed is unmade, as always. When I get to my dads side, I reach my hand out. His side is cold. Made. Not slept in. I take a deep shuddering breath and walk down the back stairs in my parents room that lead to the kitchen. My moms making a sandwich that I assume is for Megans lunch, while thumbing through the newspaper. Her facial expression is blank, and she looks out of it, as if shes in another world. Mom, my voice pulls her out of her daze, and she glances at me for a second. Her weary gaze fixes on mine, and for an instant I almost believe shes okay. Most would assume that after spending the whole night crying, there would be huge bags under her eyes, but there are none. There was never any. Its like she feels in order to cause my sisters and me the least amount of pain possible, she has to bite the bullet and pretend shes fine. Shes still smiling, and shes still just as beautiful and just as strong as ever.

Wheres dad? My voice sounds shaky and nervous, which is to be expected. I look at her face for a minute, trying to imagine how she feels, trying to imagine what she knows. He uhm she freezes mid-sentence, her smile disappearing almost instantly. She looks intently back towards the sandwich she had been making as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. Shes avoiding eye contact. He had to go to work early. She mumbles, still fixated on spreading the butter on the sandwich. She didnt realize she had nearly stabbed the bread to death until there were enormous gaping holes in it. Poor bread. She mutters something under her breath, throwing the buttered mess into the trash and starting over. I want to say something. I have to say something. But mom, I- I start to open my mouth, not really sure what to say, but I didnt have to think that far ahead because she interrupted me. Can you go get your sister up? Her expressionless gaze blares into mine, and I dont know what to do, what to say, what to think. But we both know my dad didnt go to work early. And I think she knows that I know that too. Mom I reach my hand out, touching her cold one with my own. I fix my gaze on her face, noticing her eyes brimming with tears. Shes about to cry. I dont remember the last time I had actually seen my mom cry. I dont think I have ever seen her cry. Ive never had to be the one cheering her up. Growing up, she always used to tell me, or sing to me, youre never fully dressed without a smile. Ive always been the serious one in the family, and it was always my mom who would laugh and smile about the stupidest things for days on end, but now thats gone. The pain killed her. Please go get your sister up please. Maybe its the desperation in her voice, or my lack of knowledge about what to say, but I obey her. She slips her hand away, and I slowly turn

around. I walk back towards the creaking stairs that I heard my dad stomping down only hours before. The flashback plays in my head, the sound of the slamming door, the screeching tires, the creaking stairs, and I wonder to myself, would I ever hear those sounds again? Sounds that I thought of as horrible, as sad, and as heartbreaking only hours ago, suddenly seem comforting to me. Would he ever do those things again? Would I ever see him again? I arrive at Megans room, opening the door softly. Shes still sleeping soundly. Nothing could ever touch her. I smile softly at the thought, knowing full well that I would rather die a thousand deaths than see her hurting. Megan, I knock on her door roughly because shes the heaviest sleeper youll ever meet. Megan I walk into her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, and I shake her gently. Five more minutes she mumbles the words into her pillow, pulling the covers over her head. I wonder what shes going to be like when shes my age. Dont normal kids want to get up at 6:00 A.M. everyday and watch Dora? I mean, I guess shes ten now, the big double digits. She insists shes outgrown childish antics. No, now. Time to get up. Moms not doing so well this morning, Is she sick? She asks, raising one of her eyebrows as she peeks up at me over her covers. Its one of those things that she could do that was strange. She could raise her left eyebrow and not her right. I could say the alphabet backwards faster than I can say it forwards. My older sister, who is a freshman in college, can say the states in alphabetical order. You can tell were an incredibly successful family. I guess you can say shes sick I say, trying to think it through. Shes heartsick, if thats the same thing, but I know that isnt what Megans getting at. She probably is thinking about the flu, or strep throat, or something.

What about dad? Wheres he? Why isnt he helping her? her questions force a lump down my throat, and I suddenly feel uneasy. How am I supposed to explain to my little sister that my dad had left last night? And that he might not come back? Hes not here. He left for work early, I force myself to look away from her confused expression, using the same lie my mom had told me. She opens her mouth to ask more questions, but I stand up and get ready to leave. So, it is time to get up, and please, just dont bug mom or cause her anymore stress than normal. Just do what she tells you to do today, all right? I look back at her, and she nods at me slowly. She looks incredibly confused, and I cant blame her. Its better for her to be confused though, rather than know everything like I do. Six changes of shirts and eight pairs of shoes later, I walk downstairs and sit down next to my mom. My little sister is shoveling Honey Nut Cheerios into her mouth like an Olympian, and my moms reading the paper. This is normal. This is fine. This is okay. Everything is going to be okay. It just has to be. When I arrive home, I start to think maybe everything is fine. A tremendous amount of relief floods over me when I notice my dad sitting at the kitchen table, but its gone in a second when I zone back into reality. I pull my phone out of my back pocket, checking it absentmindedly. Its 3:03 P.M. He never, I repeat never gets home until about 8:00. I blink my eyes for a second, but when I open them, he is still sitting there, like hes waiting for me. His bluish greenish eyes that I regretfully inherited from him blaze into mine, and Im taken away for a second. July 2009

3:47 A.M. I sit up in bed wearily, thirsty beyond belief, so I slowly get up and make my way down the stairs and to the kitchen. I dont feel like I have enough in me to stay here anymore, I immediately stop walking when I notice my dads out on the front porch. I creep closer to the door, but stay hidden behind the cabinet. Hes talking to her. I just know it, and I cant help but listen in. I dont love her anymore, I love you. I want to start a family with you. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, I swallow back the tears that are slowly escaping one by one. I cant cry now. I cant give myself away. I have to listen. You cant make me choose. I still love them. Still love them. As if there was a hint that maybe in the future he would stop. Katie, its late, and I cant talk to you about this now. Ill make a decision soon, but youre the most important person in the world to me. You have to remember that The most important. Not wanting to listen anymore, I slowly try to back away but manage instead to bump into my moms desk. Nothing fell, but I turn and see my dads greenish bluish eyes blaze into mine, and I run. I run upstairs, lock my door, hide under the covers, and I cry. I cry for not being good enough. I cry for never being good enough, and I cry because I know that Ill never be good enough. September 2009 Sometimes I pretend that he didnt see me. Sometimes I pretend that I didnt see him or that I didnt hear him talking to her that night. Sometimes I may even think that I have forgotten

about that night, but whenever he looks at me, whenever he really looks at me, its like Im living it all again. I turn my gaze away from him desperately and notice that Megan is sitting next to him. Shes drumming her fingers back and forth, and its like shes waiting too. What were they waiting for? Oh, youre home I hear my moms voice, and I turn around, noticing her walk through the doorway. She slips past me, and sits down at the seat opposite my dad. Is something wrong? My mom pats the seat next to her, and I cautiously walk over and sit down, giving her a questioning glance. She sends me a half smile, one that doesnt reach her eyes. Its surely meant to reassure me that everything is fine, but it does the exact opposite. Suddenly I feel very claustrophobic and very nervous. Why is my family acting so weird? Whats wrong? I repeat the question because it seems like no one is going to answer me. My mom takes a deep, shaky breath, and she looks at my dad for support. He avoids her gaze, looking between Megan and me. Girls. Your mom and I havent been happy recently. Try understatement of the year. He looks at me for an extra second, and its like maybe I see a hint of regret there. Maybe I see a hint of sadness, but when I look again, I realize its just him and his greenish bluish gaze. He narrows his eyes subtly, warning me not to say anything. Like I would even have enough courage to. And you see, I love the two of you, and I love your older sister more than you can ever know. He speaks slowly and carefully, as if he is trying to convince us of something. Maybe hes trying to convince himself. Megan nods in understanding, but I cower back for a second. I realize that I cant trust what he says anymore. I dont know if he loves me anymore, and that realization hits me like a thousand knives stabbing me all over my body. Flashbacks from my

childhood go through my head at a million miles per second. I remember him playing that dumb carnival game dozens of times just so I could get the big banana that I wanted. I remember him standing in line with me in the pouring rain for hours just to get my soccer ball signed by Abby Wambach. I remember how my older sister Kelly and I begged him to ride on Dumbo with us, and I remember how much of an idiot he looked like in those pictures Mom took. She laughed about them for years. But then I remember the first time he told me to shut up. I remember the first time he gripped my arm just a little too hard, the finger outlines visible as purplish bruises the next day. And I remember last night. I remember it all. And this year, I met someone. He speaks slowly and hesitantly, as if what he is saying is new information. Maybe it is new to Megan, but I already know. I already know that he met someone, that hes been cheating, that hes been going to her for the past year I know all of this. And there is only one reason that he would finally be telling us this. Divorce. The thought alone makes me nauseous. What do you mean you met someone? I meet people everyday. God. The girl is the most innocent ten year old on the face of the planet. I mean that I fell in love with this woman, and I want to start a family with her. His words, relatively simple, cut through me like a knife. You already have a family with us, and you love mommy! her ten-year-old screams are full of anger and denial, but I can tell she is slowly starting to see what is happening. I dont love your mommy anymore. He speaks the words as if he had said them one hundred times before, and I wonder how he can be so detached, how he can be so heartless, as if he were reading from a script. I hear a chair scrape against the ground and look over to see my

mom hastily, and almost desperately, leave the room. And suddenly, everything seems to click in Megans head. You dont want this family anymore, do you? Its not like that, I- It is like that, I find my voice, and he looks over at me surprised. Excuse me? If you loved us, if you had ever loved us, you would realize that you just broke your ten year old daughters heart irrevocably. I cross my arms over my chest and sit up straight, kind of surprised about how strong I sound compared to the vulnerability of what I feel. My eyes wander to the clock on the oven, and I steady my breaths. 3:18 P.M. Megan gets up, grabs her sweatshirt, and she puts it over her head. Im heading over to the Mauros. She walks past us, yanking open the screen door before slamming it behind her. I watch as she runs across the yard to our neighbors house, to her best friends house. And then I stare in that direction, long after she passes for a while, just thinking. Seconds pass. Minutes pass, and I just stare. I look at the broken porch stair my dad promised to fix a year ago. I look at the dusty table we keep out there to eat at as a family that hadnt been touched in over a year. I look at the clouds and how theyre a greyish tint, but then I look at the sun. Its beautiful, its silent, its hope, and the best part about it is its consistency. It never fails to rise everyday. I hear my father cough quietly, and I almost instantly look into his hard gaze. I had forgotten he was still here for a minute. 3:32. Dont you want to talk about it? His voice sounds fake and condescending, and his eyes look angry. I take a deep breath, and I stand up from the chair, looking him dead in his greenish

bluish eyes as I finally get the courage to say what Ive needed to say to him. The courage to say he doesnt deserve my words. I have absolutely nothing to say to you. 3:33. My mom is in her room, sitting on her bed, when I find her. She is crying; I know before I can even see her face because I had heard her cry so many times before. Mom I cautiously walk toward her, making my presence known. Honey, go away, you dont have to see me like this. Like I am ever going to leave her. No matter how old I get, Ill need my mom, and I need her to know that she can always need me. Ill always be here for her. Mom, I love you, I whisper. I sit down next to her, in the cold spot that used to be reserved for my dad. And I know. What do you know? Her tear stained blue eyes look into mine, and I know right then that I have to tell her the truth. Everything? She continues to cry, and I continue to hold her. And I know that after today, our lives are going to be changed forever, but I know Im not alone. I know shes with me 100%, and as I lie here with her, I know everything is fine. Everything is okay. Everything is going to be okay. It just has to be. 3:50 Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Life goes on.