"Who Would've Thought Getting Knocked Down Would End So Well?"
Breaking point
I had kept my promise. Every day, I found myself in room 1192, with Tre. There had been no change in his condition so it seemed as though Tre would likely remain in a coma for a very long time. A dark cloud had settled over the lot of us as we tried, in vain, to go back to our everyday lives.
Ramona, Tre's daughter and eldest child, had flown in from New York two days prior. The first time she had seen Tre in his current state she'd bawled her eyes out; Claudia had to drag her kicking and screaming out of the hospital room. Frankito, however, did not fully comprehend the severity of the situation, comparing a coma to a long nap from which his father would inevitably wake. As a result, his reaction was not nearly as violent as Ramona's. Maybe it was better that way.
Mike had since been released from the hospital. Though he was still using crutches, he was otherwise fine, at least physically. Unfortunately, the media had caught wind of the situation and versions of the incident could be found in all types of publications. Security had been implemented so that Tre, and the rest of us, would not be bothered during this difficult time.
Billie Joe walked around our home in a daze, still in shock. We all were. He never spoke about the incident, however. It was as if it never happened. Denial was a beautiful and destructive thing.
I had spent the first half of the day's visit in quiet reflection. Though I did not speak, I was confident that Tre could sense my presence. Slowly rising from my seat, I arched my back and extended my arms. I closed my eyes, revelling in the sensation of my much needed stretch. Allowing a shallow sigh to escape from my lips, I moved towards the small table positioned near the bed to retrieve my purse. Digging through its contents in search of much needed lip balm, I realized that I had not yet eaten for the day. Momentarily forgetting my dry, chapped lips, I closed my handbag and headed towards the door.
"Be right back Tre," I said as I reached for the door.
Venturing into the corridor, I walked briskly towards the elevator, avoiding eye contact with those I passed. I knew that most of the staff - and even the patients - on the floor were aware that a member of Green Day was a patient on their floor and that his condition was serious. I could feel their eyes upon me. Their hunger for gossip fuelled their silent debate, should I approach her? Not in the mood for idle chitchat or gossip, I turned towards the staircase instead.
Upon arriving in the small, crowded cafeteria, I selected and paid for my meal. Accepting the small styrofoam cup handed to me by the cashier, I stood in front of the coffee dispenser and selected a hot, caffeinated beverage. I tucked myself into a small corner of the cafeteria and picked at my meal. Once finished, the remains of my makeshift lunch were tossed into a nearby garbage can.
Once I had settled into Tre's room once more, I began to talk to him. Trying my hardest to sound cheerful, I was anything but. I felt encumbered by a gamut of emotions. I felt guilty; if I had not asked Mike and Tre to help me move into Billie Joe's house, they would not have been hurt and Tre would not be lying in this hospital bed, unable to communicate with the outside world. I was stressed; the tension had been mounting at home, the incident putting Billie Joe and I on edge. We had not had the opportunity to revel in our new living arrangement and it was beginning to take its toll. I was emotionally exhausted. I suddenly realized the importance of Tre - and his antics - in our lives. Saddened by this realization I decided to end my visit and head home.
Having just finished my daily visit with Tre, I walked through the hospital exit, turning in the direction of the parking lot. A chilly breeze swept through, taking with it everything willing to follow its haphazard trajectory. I watched distractedly as a child's balloon was whisked from her chubby hands, the teasing red orb dancing eerily as it began its ascent. Pulling my sweater closed and folding my arms across my chest, I walked briskly towards my car, deciding it was far too cold to remain outside. Opening the car door and settling inside, I sat for a moment while I waited for the car to heat up.
Tuning the radio to my favourite station, I listened to the tail end of a song I could not place. Another song began; recognizing it immediately, I realized that it was the sound of Good Riddance that filled the car. I had always loved this song but it had been the soundtrack to one of the most difficult moments of my life.
My mom had been telling me about a woman my father had been flirting with in front of her. She was not much older than I and, as a family friend, she spent a great deal of time in our home. We did not realize that my father had snuck into the house quietly. By the time I'd noticed his presence it was too late; he had overheard our entire conversation. Pinching my mom's arm, I shot daggers at her with my eyes, willing her to be quiet while trying my best to be discreet.
She looked at me strangely. "Why did you pinch me?"
My father stepped into the kitchen. "She was warning you that I was home." He glared at me; his eyes were wide with a level of rage I was not sure I had ever witnessed. His voice was calm but I was scared because I knew what was to come. I retreated quickly and quietly to my room to avoid him, wishing I could bring my mother along with me.
I shook my head in disbelief. I had not contemplated my family life in a long time. I especially chose not to reflect upon this particular incident. Trying my hardest to push the tainted memories to the back of my mind as I started the car, the attempt to force my emotions to a deeper place proved to be futile. Driving out of the parking lot, I paid the parking fee and pulled the car onto the street. Driving through the late afternoon traffic, I was unable to stop thinking about my past.
"Pack up! Pack up! PACK UP! Get out of this house now! You're poisoning Amelia's mind with the stories you tell her about me. You have to leave now! NOW!" I could hear him upsetting the furniture. He was also throwing objects, possibly at my mother. I could picture him, towering menacingly over her cowering frame, instilling a fear that one cannot, or will not, describe.
"Please, I'm sorry. Give me another chance..." She began to beg. Her voice was strangled with tears; it was a voice I had become used to hearing.
Trying my hardest to drown out the sound of his screaming, I shut my bedroom door and turned on the radio. I raised the volume to an almost unbearable level; I could still hear them. She should have left him so many times before but she was dependent on him both emotionally and financially. He had convinced her to be a housewife twenty-five years prior and now she had no skills with which to work outside the home. And she loved him. I was beginning to hate him.
She must have looked at him then because I could hear his voice booming through the walls, splitting through the music and threatening to reduce the house to rubble.
"Don't... DON'T LOOK AT ME!"
I shook with fear. When my father, a very articulate man, began to stumble upon his words, it was always a sign that he was furious beyond words. His eyes would bulge and his hands would work their way around my mother's throat, inevitably leaving a tell-tale bruise that others chose to ignore. This was routine in my household. It was about insubordination, intimidation, and control. It was my life.
I knew this time would be the worst fight yet so I listened for any sounds that would indicate that my mom needed my help or even a call to the police department. Good Riddance flooded the room as I started to cry.
Another turning point
A fork stuck in the road
Snapping back to reality, my eyes welled with sour tears. It had been an emotionally draining day. It had been exactly one week since the incident involving Mike and Tre; 168 hours had passed since Tre had succumbed to a comatose state, 10,080 minutes worth of worry and concern that consumed my life had passed, 604,800 seconds had been lost to unrest. Tre lay in a hospital bed, possibly for the rest of his life and there was nothing I could do.
The members of Green Day had become part of my family. Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre may never have the chance to perform together again. They may never have the opportunity to share just how much they mean to one another. They may never have the chance to say goodbye.
Good Riddance continued to taunt me, a vivid reminder of a time I wished to forget. Needing to regain my composure before returning home, I drove into a grocery store parking lot. Turning the engine off, I broke down instead.
Time grabs you by the wrist
Directs you where to go
The screaming continued as my mother sobbed. Turning the radio down, I opened my door, now wanting to hear what was being said. My socked feet padded silently along the tiled floor of the hallway as I approached. He relentlessly accused my mother of being nothing more than a vindictive bitch. Quickly raising a hand to my mouth, I silenced a surprised and disgusted gasp; my mother was the most tolerant, patient and loving person I had ever seen, met or heard of. How dare he talk to her in that manner?
So make the best of this test
And don't ask why
He proceeded to berate her. Suddenly, he halted mid sentence. Something about this unnatural silence made me want to run and never look back. The next noise I heard was the sound of something or someone hitting the floor hard.
It's not a question
But a lesson learned in time
It was someone. It was my mother.
It’s something unpredictable
But in the end it’s right
I hope you had the time of your life
Alone in my car, I cried. The day my mother was taken from me, I could not cry. I was too furious with the man who had robbed me of the one thing that mattered to me most, my mother. The floodgate opened, and the tears rained relentlessly down my cheeks. My body shook violently with the emotions I had been suppressing for over a year. I felt cheated. I felt guilty. Perhaps if I had stood up to my father he would not have attacked her the way he did, causing her untimely demise. If I had done things differently, if I hadn't been a coward, maybe she would still be alive.
Punching the steering wheel I bawled until there were no tears left. My throat felt raw with the force of my sobbing and my eyes were sore but I was unable to stop myself. Finally being reduced to dry, hiccuping sobs, I took deep breaths, willing myself to think about something - anything - else. Wiping away my stray tears, I peered at myself in the mirror; my eyes were red and swollen and my cheeks were stained with a year's worth of tears. My head began to throb with the force of my breakdown.
Grabbing a tube of concealer from my purse, I smoothed the velvety liquid onto my face in an attempt to cover the rosy indiscretions that would reveal my emotional state. Beginning to calm down once more, I placed the tube back into my purse. Starting the car, I headed home.
I did not plan on mentioning any of this to Billie Joe, Drew, or anyone else for that matter; my friends would worry needlessly. I had merely experienced an emotionally draining day. I just hoped that things would begin to change for the better.
Ramona, Tre's daughter and eldest child, had flown in from New York two days prior. The first time she had seen Tre in his current state she'd bawled her eyes out; Claudia had to drag her kicking and screaming out of the hospital room. Frankito, however, did not fully comprehend the severity of the situation, comparing a coma to a long nap from which his father would inevitably wake. As a result, his reaction was not nearly as violent as Ramona's. Maybe it was better that way.
Mike had since been released from the hospital. Though he was still using crutches, he was otherwise fine, at least physically. Unfortunately, the media had caught wind of the situation and versions of the incident could be found in all types of publications. Security had been implemented so that Tre, and the rest of us, would not be bothered during this difficult time.
Billie Joe walked around our home in a daze, still in shock. We all were. He never spoke about the incident, however. It was as if it never happened. Denial was a beautiful and destructive thing.
I had spent the first half of the day's visit in quiet reflection. Though I did not speak, I was confident that Tre could sense my presence. Slowly rising from my seat, I arched my back and extended my arms. I closed my eyes, revelling in the sensation of my much needed stretch. Allowing a shallow sigh to escape from my lips, I moved towards the small table positioned near the bed to retrieve my purse. Digging through its contents in search of much needed lip balm, I realized that I had not yet eaten for the day. Momentarily forgetting my dry, chapped lips, I closed my handbag and headed towards the door.
"Be right back Tre," I said as I reached for the door.
Venturing into the corridor, I walked briskly towards the elevator, avoiding eye contact with those I passed. I knew that most of the staff - and even the patients - on the floor were aware that a member of Green Day was a patient on their floor and that his condition was serious. I could feel their eyes upon me. Their hunger for gossip fuelled their silent debate, should I approach her? Not in the mood for idle chitchat or gossip, I turned towards the staircase instead.
Upon arriving in the small, crowded cafeteria, I selected and paid for my meal. Accepting the small styrofoam cup handed to me by the cashier, I stood in front of the coffee dispenser and selected a hot, caffeinated beverage. I tucked myself into a small corner of the cafeteria and picked at my meal. Once finished, the remains of my makeshift lunch were tossed into a nearby garbage can.
Once I had settled into Tre's room once more, I began to talk to him. Trying my hardest to sound cheerful, I was anything but. I felt encumbered by a gamut of emotions. I felt guilty; if I had not asked Mike and Tre to help me move into Billie Joe's house, they would not have been hurt and Tre would not be lying in this hospital bed, unable to communicate with the outside world. I was stressed; the tension had been mounting at home, the incident putting Billie Joe and I on edge. We had not had the opportunity to revel in our new living arrangement and it was beginning to take its toll. I was emotionally exhausted. I suddenly realized the importance of Tre - and his antics - in our lives. Saddened by this realization I decided to end my visit and head home.
Having just finished my daily visit with Tre, I walked through the hospital exit, turning in the direction of the parking lot. A chilly breeze swept through, taking with it everything willing to follow its haphazard trajectory. I watched distractedly as a child's balloon was whisked from her chubby hands, the teasing red orb dancing eerily as it began its ascent. Pulling my sweater closed and folding my arms across my chest, I walked briskly towards my car, deciding it was far too cold to remain outside. Opening the car door and settling inside, I sat for a moment while I waited for the car to heat up.
Tuning the radio to my favourite station, I listened to the tail end of a song I could not place. Another song began; recognizing it immediately, I realized that it was the sound of Good Riddance that filled the car. I had always loved this song but it had been the soundtrack to one of the most difficult moments of my life.
My mom had been telling me about a woman my father had been flirting with in front of her. She was not much older than I and, as a family friend, she spent a great deal of time in our home. We did not realize that my father had snuck into the house quietly. By the time I'd noticed his presence it was too late; he had overheard our entire conversation. Pinching my mom's arm, I shot daggers at her with my eyes, willing her to be quiet while trying my best to be discreet.
She looked at me strangely. "Why did you pinch me?"
My father stepped into the kitchen. "She was warning you that I was home." He glared at me; his eyes were wide with a level of rage I was not sure I had ever witnessed. His voice was calm but I was scared because I knew what was to come. I retreated quickly and quietly to my room to avoid him, wishing I could bring my mother along with me.
I shook my head in disbelief. I had not contemplated my family life in a long time. I especially chose not to reflect upon this particular incident. Trying my hardest to push the tainted memories to the back of my mind as I started the car, the attempt to force my emotions to a deeper place proved to be futile. Driving out of the parking lot, I paid the parking fee and pulled the car onto the street. Driving through the late afternoon traffic, I was unable to stop thinking about my past.
"Pack up! Pack up! PACK UP! Get out of this house now! You're poisoning Amelia's mind with the stories you tell her about me. You have to leave now! NOW!" I could hear him upsetting the furniture. He was also throwing objects, possibly at my mother. I could picture him, towering menacingly over her cowering frame, instilling a fear that one cannot, or will not, describe.
"Please, I'm sorry. Give me another chance..." She began to beg. Her voice was strangled with tears; it was a voice I had become used to hearing.
Trying my hardest to drown out the sound of his screaming, I shut my bedroom door and turned on the radio. I raised the volume to an almost unbearable level; I could still hear them. She should have left him so many times before but she was dependent on him both emotionally and financially. He had convinced her to be a housewife twenty-five years prior and now she had no skills with which to work outside the home. And she loved him. I was beginning to hate him.
She must have looked at him then because I could hear his voice booming through the walls, splitting through the music and threatening to reduce the house to rubble.
"Don't... DON'T LOOK AT ME!"
I shook with fear. When my father, a very articulate man, began to stumble upon his words, it was always a sign that he was furious beyond words. His eyes would bulge and his hands would work their way around my mother's throat, inevitably leaving a tell-tale bruise that others chose to ignore. This was routine in my household. It was about insubordination, intimidation, and control. It was my life.
I knew this time would be the worst fight yet so I listened for any sounds that would indicate that my mom needed my help or even a call to the police department. Good Riddance flooded the room as I started to cry.
Another turning point
A fork stuck in the road
Snapping back to reality, my eyes welled with sour tears. It had been an emotionally draining day. It had been exactly one week since the incident involving Mike and Tre; 168 hours had passed since Tre had succumbed to a comatose state, 10,080 minutes worth of worry and concern that consumed my life had passed, 604,800 seconds had been lost to unrest. Tre lay in a hospital bed, possibly for the rest of his life and there was nothing I could do.
The members of Green Day had become part of my family. Billie Joe, Mike, and Tre may never have the chance to perform together again. They may never have the opportunity to share just how much they mean to one another. They may never have the chance to say goodbye.
Good Riddance continued to taunt me, a vivid reminder of a time I wished to forget. Needing to regain my composure before returning home, I drove into a grocery store parking lot. Turning the engine off, I broke down instead.
Time grabs you by the wrist
Directs you where to go
The screaming continued as my mother sobbed. Turning the radio down, I opened my door, now wanting to hear what was being said. My socked feet padded silently along the tiled floor of the hallway as I approached. He relentlessly accused my mother of being nothing more than a vindictive bitch. Quickly raising a hand to my mouth, I silenced a surprised and disgusted gasp; my mother was the most tolerant, patient and loving person I had ever seen, met or heard of. How dare he talk to her in that manner?
So make the best of this test
And don't ask why
He proceeded to berate her. Suddenly, he halted mid sentence. Something about this unnatural silence made me want to run and never look back. The next noise I heard was the sound of something or someone hitting the floor hard.
It's not a question
But a lesson learned in time
It was someone. It was my mother.
It’s something unpredictable
But in the end it’s right
I hope you had the time of your life
Alone in my car, I cried. The day my mother was taken from me, I could not cry. I was too furious with the man who had robbed me of the one thing that mattered to me most, my mother. The floodgate opened, and the tears rained relentlessly down my cheeks. My body shook violently with the emotions I had been suppressing for over a year. I felt cheated. I felt guilty. Perhaps if I had stood up to my father he would not have attacked her the way he did, causing her untimely demise. If I had done things differently, if I hadn't been a coward, maybe she would still be alive.
Punching the steering wheel I bawled until there were no tears left. My throat felt raw with the force of my sobbing and my eyes were sore but I was unable to stop myself. Finally being reduced to dry, hiccuping sobs, I took deep breaths, willing myself to think about something - anything - else. Wiping away my stray tears, I peered at myself in the mirror; my eyes were red and swollen and my cheeks were stained with a year's worth of tears. My head began to throb with the force of my breakdown.
Grabbing a tube of concealer from my purse, I smoothed the velvety liquid onto my face in an attempt to cover the rosy indiscretions that would reveal my emotional state. Beginning to calm down once more, I placed the tube back into my purse. Starting the car, I headed home.
I did not plan on mentioning any of this to Billie Joe, Drew, or anyone else for that matter; my friends would worry needlessly. I had merely experienced an emotionally draining day. I just hoped that things would begin to change for the better.