Only Holding On

For the longest time, my life was almost perfect. I had the greatest friends anyone could ever ask for, my older brother was the most caring yet obnoxious guy I knew, and my parents were absolutely amazing. Everything was completely fine. Everything was happy.

I always looked up to my parents. My mother was beautiful, and she had fantastic fashion taste. She always knew how to live and look young at the best times. At all times she knew how to make me smile, and walked me through my tough and confusing pre-teen years of periods and bras. The confusion of a boy’s mind too, especially.

My father was a typical Dad. He always knew how to make me laugh when I was really down about something. He fixed my boo-boos with a Scooby Doo band-aid, and taught me how to ride my first bike until I got a real good hold of it. Dad was always the one to come to my amazing tea parties with empty tea pots and played with me endlessly. I’ve always been his little girl, and wouldn’t want it any other way.

On every Friday night since I was about five, we would have game night. Mom and Dad would invite some of their friends, Brayden would invite some of his, and I would invite some of mine. We would play all kinds of games like Pictureades, Apples to Apples, Monopoly and, my favorite, Candyland. And every Friday night, Brayden and my friends would stay the night. It was like a Friday night tradition from then on.
When I was younger I thought Mom & Dad had the healthiest and romantic relationship I was hoping to have one day. It was obvious that the spark was still there between them—even after having two kids. And I hoped that if I ever have a family one day, I could be just like them.

What I didn’t know was that a few years later, we started having problems. Mom and Dad started fighting a lot. At first they were just little arguments about little things. Usually just at night when they thought we were asleep, and I would go into Brayden’s room because this barely ever happens and I was so shaken. Then, it got to the point where they would just out in the open, in front of Brayden and me. Most of the time it was about work, or about money, or about Dad not getting off his ass and doing something. I never asked questions about it to either one of them, but I still wondered in my mind if they still even loved each other. Brayden let me unleash my thoughts to him, but he had as little answers as I did.

We lived that way for a few months. No game nights anymore, just quiet nights with dinners and Dad staying in his office most of the time, or working late. Sometimes they would fight after dinner, or at night when they assumed we were sleeping as always. Really, the best time of days was being at school with my friends. The weekends were absolutely dreading, because I hated being at home with all of this never-ending chaos and stress built up. Every time I would walk in the house it scared me more and more. I could sense the tension between them, and I could barely ever see a smile anymore. Not even on me.

Sometimes Mom would take her anger out on Brayden and me and not let us go anywhere, as if it was the worst thing we could ever ask her. But Brayden took it to his own interest to learn to skateboard. He would take me with him down the street while he skated around. I would just sit there on the curb and while I watched him skate, jump, and fall multiple times. It was a whole lot better than sitting at home listening to Mom and Dad argue all the time. They didn’t even notice we left most of time. But when Brayden would cut or skid his knee, it was best to go see Mom to take her mind off of it. While she mended the cut, I could see bags under her eyes and worry lines growing on her forehead from all the stress she’s had on her.

The summer of 5th grade finally came around. One night Mom and Dad went out to a dinner party, so Brayden and I were home all alone, and left with just some money for pizza. It was about one-thirty in the morning when Mom and Dad finally came bursting into the house. I was asleep at that point, but they were so loud it woke me up in a split second. Of course, they were yelling at each other, but this wasn’t like the normal like always. This was blow out fully screaming at each other that made me freeze in my bones with my heart pounding in my ears that made me wanna run as far away from this place as I could.

It was completely obvious that Dad was drunk out of his mind. I could hear him stumbling around the house and slurring all of his words all together. Mom was just yelling at his stupid remarks and letting all hold-backs loose.
One moment Mom said she’s tired of fighting.
The next Dad yelled that he’s been having sex with another woman anyway.
Another there was loud slap noise.
A week later they finally got a divorce.

Then, everything we ever had shattered down.
Everything was completely different from then on.