In My Eyes
What happened.
It started in June, 2011. One year from now. My best friend, Christofer, who is 15, showed up at my house, just a half a block from his. He was gasping for breath, and almost sobbing. “Dude, calm down.” I said. “Breathe. Sit down. I'll get you some water.” I headed into the house to get him a drink, but he grabbed my arm. “N-no time.” he stuttered. I looked at him, confused. “M-m-mom. Hospital. Depression. A-attempted suicide.” He could barely even talk, and he seemed as if he was going into shock, if he hadn't already.
What he said took a minute to register,with me being only 16 and uneducated in depression, much less death. When I finally came to my senses, I panicked. “Which hospital?” By now, Christofer's breathing had returned to an almost normal rate. “St. Ann's.” he explained. I looked him dead in the eyes. They were still filled with fear and shock, and by the way he was looking at me, I guessed mine were too. With a quick glance at my pocket to make sure my keys were there, I slowly said, “Get in the car.”
We hopped in my small Volkswagon beetle, and I started the engine immediately. Christofer just stared straight ahead, wordlessly. Within 15 minutes we were in the lobby of the hospital, at the front desk, ringing the bell for service.
The receptionist behind the desk appeared rather slowly which wasnt ideal for the situation we were in. She was a grumpy middle aged woman, with a big mole on her chin. “Can I help you?” She droned in a very monotone voice. “Yes, actually you can.” Christofer said quickly. “We need to see Veronica Ingle, in room 224.” I said, with my fingers in my mouth, chewing my nails. The receptionist typed something into her little computer, and then said in the same monotone voice, “I'm sorry. You cant visit her at the moment. She already has one person with her and shes very unstable.
Christofer just stood there for a second, staring at her. I could see sudden anger that a stranger would not have noticed rising in his eyes. "Please, don't have a breakdown.." I silently prayed to whatever god was listening. Christofer has this.. odd tendency to break down without the anger having a change to fully build up, and my mother, our best friend Jessica, and I were the only ones who could calm him down. Thank god he was in the same house as at least one of us 24/7.
The woman slowly looked up, and the expression on her face was so..well, UN-expressionless that it made her look dead. "well," she sassed, "are you gonna say something or are you just gonna stand there looking like a deer in the headlights?"
Big mistake. You never sass off to Christofer, because it gives him a chance to argue, no matter what the situation. He turned his head towards her a bit more, lifted his chin, and said "Did you.. really just tell me.. that I can't go see my mother who is possibly dying, because my father is here..?" The woman rolled her eyes and looked at me. "And who are you, Miss Stand-There-and-say-nothing?"
I will admit, that angered, A LOT. But I refused to say anything for fear I'd start a commotion in ther\ lobby, I looked at Christofer, and he piped up immediately. "Thats my sister, Emma Ingle. She was even more concerned about m- our mother than I was. She's the one who drove me here.
The lady looked up at me and smirked, so i did it right back. Who did this lady think she was? "Look. I told you, she has one person there already, you cant visit."
"Oh, So we can't visit our own mother because our father is in there and will be in there until she's out, or even dead. So you are saying that I will not be able to see my mother until she's about to be put six feet under? Because if that's the case, then I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge at this dump of a hospital. It started in June, 2011. One year from now. My best friend, Christofer, who is 15, showed up at my house, just a half a block from his. He was gasping for breath, and almost sobbing. “Dude, calm down.” I said. “Breathe. Sit down. I'll get you some water.” I headed into the house to get him a drink, but he grabbed my arm. “N-no time.” he stuttered. I looked at him, confused. “M-m-mom. Hospital. Depression. A-attempted suicide.” He could barely even talk, and he seemed as if he was going into shock, if he hadn't already.
What he said took a minute to register,with me being only 16 and uneducated in depression, much less death. When I finally came to my senses, I panicked. “Which hospital?” By now, Christofer's breathing had returned to an almost normal rate. “St. Ann's.” he explained. I looked him dead in the eyes. They were still filled with fear and shock, and by the way he was looking at me, I guessed mine were too. With a quick glance at my pocket to make sure my keys were there, I slowly said, “Get in the car.”
We hopped in my small Volkswagon beetle, and I started the engine immediately. Christofer just stared straight ahead, wordlessly. Within 15 minutes we were in the lobby of the hospital, at the front desk, ringing the bell for service.
The receptionist behind the desk appeared rather slowly which wasnt ideal for the situation we were in. She was a grumpy middle aged woman, with a big mole on her chin. “Can I help you?” She droned in a very monotone voice. “Yes, actually you can.” Christofer said quickly. “We need to see Veronica Ingle, in room 224.” I said, with my fingers in my mouth, chewing my nails. The receptionist typed something into her little computer, and then said in the same monotone voice, “I'm sorry. You cant visit her at the moment. She already has one person with her and shes very unstable.
Christofer just stood there for a second, staring at her. I could see sudden anger that a stranger would not have noticed rising in his eyes. "Please, don't have a breakdown.." I silently prayed to whatever god was listening. Christofer has this.. odd tendency to break down without the anger having a change to fully build up, and my mother, our best friend Jessica, and I were the only ones who could calm him down. Thank god he was in the same house as at least one of us 24/7.
The woman slowly looked up, and the expression on her face was so..well, UN-expressionless that it made her look dead. "well," she sassed, "are you gonna say something or are you just gonna stand there looking like a deer in the headlights?"
Big mistake. You never sass off to Christofer, because it gives him a chance to argue, no matter what the situation. He turned his head towards her a bit more, lifted his chin, and said "Did you.. really just tell me.. that I can't go see my mother who is possibly dying, because my father is here..?" The woman rolled her eyes and looked at me. "And who are you, Miss Stand-There-and-say-nothing?"
I will admit, that angered, A LOT. But I refused to say anything for fear I'd start a commotion in ther\ lobby, I looked at Christofer, and he piped up immediately. "Thats my sister, Emma Ingle. She was even more concerned about m- our mother than I was. She's the one who drove me here.
The lady looked up at me and smirked, so i did it right back. Who did this lady think she was? "Look. I told you, she has one person there already, you cant visit."
"Oh, So we can't visit our own mother because our father is in there and will be in there until she's out, or even dead. So you are saying that I will not be able to see my mother until she's about to be put six feet under? Because if that's the case, then I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge at this dump of a hospital."
What he said took a minute to register,with me being only 16 and uneducated in depression, much less death. When I finally came to my senses, I panicked. “Which hospital?” By now, Christofer's breathing had returned to an almost normal rate. “St. Ann's.” he explained. I looked him dead in the eyes. They were still filled with fear and shock, and by the way he was looking at me, I guessed mine were too. With a quick glance at my pocket to make sure my keys were there, I slowly said, “Get in the car.”
We hopped in my small Volkswagon beetle, and I started the engine immediately. Christofer just stared straight ahead, wordlessly. Within 15 minutes we were in the lobby of the hospital, at the front desk, ringing the bell for service.
The receptionist behind the desk appeared rather slowly which wasnt ideal for the situation we were in. She was a grumpy middle aged woman, with a big mole on her chin. “Can I help you?” She droned in a very monotone voice. “Yes, actually you can.” Christofer said quickly. “We need to see Veronica Ingle, in room 224.” I said, with my fingers in my mouth, chewing my nails. The receptionist typed something into her little computer, and then said in the same monotone voice, “I'm sorry. You cant visit her at the moment. She already has one person with her and shes very unstable.
Christofer just stood there for a second, staring at her. I could see sudden anger that a stranger would not have noticed rising in his eyes. "Please, don't have a breakdown.." I silently prayed to whatever god was listening. Christofer has this.. odd tendency to break down without the anger having a change to fully build up, and my mother, our best friend Jessica, and I were the only ones who could calm him down. Thank god he was in the same house as at least one of us 24/7.
The woman slowly looked up, and the expression on her face was so..well, UN-expressionless that it made her look dead. "well," she sassed, "are you gonna say something or are you just gonna stand there looking like a deer in the headlights?"
Big mistake. You never sass off to Christofer, because it gives him a chance to argue, no matter what the situation. He turned his head towards her a bit more, lifted his chin, and said "Did you.. really just tell me.. that I can't go see my mother who is possibly dying, because my father is here..?" The woman rolled her eyes and looked at me. "And who are you, Miss Stand-There-and-say-nothing?"
I will admit, that angered, A LOT. But I refused to say anything for fear I'd start a commotion in ther\ lobby, I looked at Christofer, and he piped up immediately. "Thats my sister, Emma Ingle. She was even more concerned about m- our mother than I was. She's the one who drove me here.
The lady looked up at me and smirked, so i did it right back. Who did this lady think she was? "Look. I told you, she has one person there already, you cant visit."
"Oh, So we can't visit our own mother because our father is in there and will be in there until she's out, or even dead. So you are saying that I will not be able to see my mother until she's about to be put six feet under? Because if that's the case, then I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge at this dump of a hospital. It started in June, 2011. One year from now. My best friend, Christofer, who is 15, showed up at my house, just a half a block from his. He was gasping for breath, and almost sobbing. “Dude, calm down.” I said. “Breathe. Sit down. I'll get you some water.” I headed into the house to get him a drink, but he grabbed my arm. “N-no time.” he stuttered. I looked at him, confused. “M-m-mom. Hospital. Depression. A-attempted suicide.” He could barely even talk, and he seemed as if he was going into shock, if he hadn't already.
What he said took a minute to register,with me being only 16 and uneducated in depression, much less death. When I finally came to my senses, I panicked. “Which hospital?” By now, Christofer's breathing had returned to an almost normal rate. “St. Ann's.” he explained. I looked him dead in the eyes. They were still filled with fear and shock, and by the way he was looking at me, I guessed mine were too. With a quick glance at my pocket to make sure my keys were there, I slowly said, “Get in the car.”
We hopped in my small Volkswagon beetle, and I started the engine immediately. Christofer just stared straight ahead, wordlessly. Within 15 minutes we were in the lobby of the hospital, at the front desk, ringing the bell for service.
The receptionist behind the desk appeared rather slowly which wasnt ideal for the situation we were in. She was a grumpy middle aged woman, with a big mole on her chin. “Can I help you?” She droned in a very monotone voice. “Yes, actually you can.” Christofer said quickly. “We need to see Veronica Ingle, in room 224.” I said, with my fingers in my mouth, chewing my nails. The receptionist typed something into her little computer, and then said in the same monotone voice, “I'm sorry. You cant visit her at the moment. She already has one person with her and shes very unstable.
Christofer just stood there for a second, staring at her. I could see sudden anger that a stranger would not have noticed rising in his eyes. "Please, don't have a breakdown.." I silently prayed to whatever god was listening. Christofer has this.. odd tendency to break down without the anger having a change to fully build up, and my mother, our best friend Jessica, and I were the only ones who could calm him down. Thank god he was in the same house as at least one of us 24/7.
The woman slowly looked up, and the expression on her face was so..well, UN-expressionless that it made her look dead. "well," she sassed, "are you gonna say something or are you just gonna stand there looking like a deer in the headlights?"
Big mistake. You never sass off to Christofer, because it gives him a chance to argue, no matter what the situation. He turned his head towards her a bit more, lifted his chin, and said "Did you.. really just tell me.. that I can't go see my mother who is possibly dying, because my father is here..?" The woman rolled her eyes and looked at me. "And who are you, Miss Stand-There-and-say-nothing?"
I will admit, that angered, A LOT. But I refused to say anything for fear I'd start a commotion in ther\ lobby, I looked at Christofer, and he piped up immediately. "Thats my sister, Emma Ingle. She was even more concerned about m- our mother than I was. She's the one who drove me here.
The lady looked up at me and smirked, so i did it right back. Who did this lady think she was? "Look. I told you, she has one person there already, you cant visit."
"Oh, So we can't visit our own mother because our father is in there and will be in there until she's out, or even dead. So you are saying that I will not be able to see my mother until she's about to be put six feet under? Because if that's the case, then I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge at this dump of a hospital."