I thought my week was bad. Who would’ve thought that my weekend would be even worse? I got off of work Friday, came home and just hung out for a while. My mom gets home and tells me that my sister and her fiancé are coming here for the weekend. I hate them both. Very, very, very, VERY much. They get here around 10pm, and I’m watching Psych on Netflix and doing my homework. At about 1 or 1:30, I head upstairs to go to bed. I see that my brother’s door is open, and I knew that if he were home, his door would be closed. So, I just figure that he’s out. I go into my room, turn around and lock the door, and my phone rings. It’s little brother. This was the conversation:
"Hey, I need you to come get me. I’m out by the high school, further down the road."
"Why are you there?"
"I snuck out and went to Frank’s. He took his mom’s car and wrecked it."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I’m fine. Just come get me, please."
"Is Frank okay?"
"Yeah. PLEASE come get me."
"Okay. I’ll be there in a minute."
The fear in his voice was enough to make me start crying. I grab my keys and wallet, go downstairs, and ask my sister’s fiancé to move his car, because he parked behind me and I couldn’t get out of the driveway. He says he has to pee and he’ll be right out. I get in my car and I start shaking...bad. I can’t even tell you where my heart was at that point. Little brother calls again. Here’s that conversation:
"Hey, I’ll meet you in [neighborhood’s name.]"
"Hey, just please, please, please don’t tell daddy. Please..."
"I’m not going to. Just calm down and I’ll see you in a minute."
This time, the fear in his voice had turned to something familiar. I could hear in his voice that he needed comfort. (A tone that I know all too well, from working at a daycare.) Then, I called my little sister. She was over at Frank’s house, spending the night with his little sister, Hannah. This was that conversation:
"Hey. Are you at Hannah’s?"
"Is their mom awake?"
"Okay. Go wake her up."
"Frank took her car and wrecked it."
"How do you know?"
"[Little brother] was with him. He just called me. Go wake her up and tell her. And DON’T SAY ANYTHING about [little brother] being in the car."
I didn’t know how bad the wreck was, but I knew that Frank’s mom needed to be there. If not for her son, then for her car. I go and get my brother and tell him to show me where the accident was. (Rewind: The car flipped, little brother kicked the window out, and got the hell out of there. Just so you know.) He shows me where the accident was, and the cops are already there. He begs me not to drive any closer. I say okay. Had the cops not been there, I would’ve gone, anyway, just to make sure that Frank was okay. I’ve never met this child, and I know he’s bad news, but I would’ve taken care of him. He’s 15, has a rap sheet longer than my arm, and just got out of rehab, but he’s a human being, a child at that, and I’m not completely heartless.
Anyway, I head home with little brother. I ask him what happened. He says all he remembers is Frank swerving, then the car was upside down. The guy driving in front of them stopped and called 911 and let Frank use his cell to call his mom. I ask him if Frank was high, and he says no. I ask him if Frank called his mom, he says yes, but that was their only car. So, I tell him to call little sister or Hannah and tell them that I’m coming to get their mom, so she can go see her car and son, and talk to whoever she needs to talk to. Little brother shows me where they live, then walks home. Little sister had told Frank and Hannah’s mom that little brother was in the car, so she knew by the time we got there. Little sister, Hannah, and mom (I never caught this woman’s name, by the way) get in the car and we head back to the accident.
I pull up behind the police cars and Frank’s mom was getting out of the car, and I told her I was going to stay with her. So, we walk toward the chaos and the sheriff is there. Oh, and there was another boy in the car. Jason, his name was. His arm was cut pretty badly, and by the time we got there, they had him in the ambulance already. So, anyway. Frank’s mom and I talk to the sheriff and he says that Frank and Jason are both high. He says that there was another passenger in the car, but he took off on foot. I wasn’t about to snitch on my baby brother, and luckily, Frank's mom kept her mouth shut. The sheriff says that he didn’t have to stick around, and the only thing that he would be charged with, if he weren’t high, as well, would be being out past curfew. He says that Jason is going to be charged with being under the influence and being out past curfew and Frank is going to be charged with being under the influence, driving without a license, being out past curfew, intoxicated assault (because Jason was hurt,) and he tells us that the only way the insurance will pay for a new car is if she presses charges against her son for stealing her car. (I’m still not sure what she’s going to do, as far as that goes.)
This was the point when I finally looked at the car. Completely totaled. Upside down in the ditch. The passengers’ side of the car is completely flat. The driver’s side is still intact, except for the shattered windows. Basically, the car looked like a wedge. I’m not big on religion or spirituality or any of that, but I swear to you, little brother has someone or something watching over him. There’s been too many times in his life that he should’ve been killed, but he always walks away unharmed. I was still shaking from when I initially got into my car. When I saw what the car looked like, my legs turned to mush. As I was sitting on the road, an officer walked by, leading Frank, who was in handcuffs. When I saw Frank, I knew that I should've been mad. I knew that I should’ve wanted to kill him. I don’t even know this kid, and all I felt when I saw him was disappointment. I got myself together enough to walk back to my car and let Frank’s mom handle all the paperwork that needed to be done. On my way, I stopped and looked at Frank. I gave him that “it’ll be okay” hand-on-the-shoulder-and-nod thing. Looking back, I’m sure he was like “Who the hell is this girl and why is she touching me?” Oh, well.
Something funny did happen, during all of this. Hannah was in the backseat of my car, and being the nerd that she is, all she was worried about was getting her homework and textbooks out of her mom’s car. Her mom came back to the car with Hannah’s school things, so for Hannah, all was right in the world. I took them home, and told little sister to get her things, because I didn’t need her over at their house with all of this going on. On our way home, I told her to call little brother and tell him to wake dad up and tell him what he’d done. He begs me to let it wait until morning. I told him he better wake up before I do. I get home and park behind my sister’s fiancé in the driveway. (You’ll need to know this when I get to why Saturday sucked.) I go to little brother’s room and ask him if he was high, too. He says no. My little brother’s an asshole and a liar, but he has never lied to me. (By the way, I believe that he didn’t know that Frank and Jason were high.) So, I head to bed. This was at about 3am. We had to leave the house by 8am on Saturday, which meant I needed to be up at 6:30am.
6:30am rolls around and I take my three and a half hours of sleep and pretend it was longer. We had to go get our military IDs redone, now that my dad’s retired. My brother and dad were in my dad’s truck, and little sister, mom, and myself were in mom’s van. Mom asks little sister how she got home from Hannah’s. She says I picked her up. Mom asks me what time. I say about 2am. She says “2AM?! Why?!” I say that she needs to talk to little brother about that. She says why. So, I tell her. She calls dad. Dad supposedly talks with little brother about it. I know my parents all too well to think that they’d discipline either of the younger kids. Later in the day, little brother says “Dude. He wasn’t even mad about it,” thus affirming what I’d already known.
On our way home from getting out IDs done, dad says to call older sister and ask if she and her fiancé want to go to breakfast. They say okay. Then, older sister calls little brother and asks him to ask me where my keys are, so she can move my car. I say they’re in my room, but my door’s locked. Dad says for them to just chill and we’ll come home and I’ll move my car, so we can go to breakfast. Older sister calls dad a few minutes later and tells him that they don’t need us to come home and that they’ll meet us at the restaurant.
We’re sitting there eating and older sister says something about driving my car. I said “You drove my car?” She nods like it’s no big deal. It normally wouldn’t be, but the fact that she had to break into my room to get my keys made me so mad. My OCD doesn’t like people being near my things. My room, things in my room, my keys, my car, whatever. I’m not okay with anyone touching any of it. As we’re leaving, she hands my keys to little brother and tells him to give them to me, and he does.
Later in that day, we leave for dinner. Little sister rides with older sister and her fiancé, little brother and I are with dad in the truck. We pull into the parking lot and little sister has sunglasses on her face that look awfully familiar. She gets out of the car and says “Hey, did you give these to [older sister]?” I say no. She says “Oh. She said she got them from you.” So, not only did she break into my room, go through my things to find my keys, take my keys, and drive my car, she also stole my sunglasses. My parents wonder why I hate her…
Oh, one more thing, we went out to dinner to celebrate my brother’s and my sister’s fiancé’s birthdays. My parents said it was their treat. Sister’s fiancé thought it was okay to order nine drinks. My mom looked like she was going to cry when the server brought the check to her. Seriously, I would’ve made him pay for his drinks. No part of dinner involves NINE drinks. Another thing! Sister’s fiancé thinks it’s funny to interrupt or reverse my compulsions. When I move something, he moves it back. When I adjust something, he readjusts it. If I need to touch something again, he moves it. He’s not going to think it’s so funny when I lose my mind because of him. (He’s an asshole, by the way. He bosses my sister around, telling her to pick this up, or pick that up, do the dishes, iron his clothes. Fuck that. You’re a grown ass man, do it yourdamnself. If anyone ever tried that shit with me, I’d slit their fucking throat. Fuck you, you’re not an incapable child. Jesusfuck.) So, there. That was my weekend.
P.S.-Never once did I think to wake my parents up. My only thought was to get my brother. After his second phone call, it became needing to get TO him and not just get him, if that makes any sense at all.
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