Hope for the Hopeless

Maybe it’s pretty safe to say now that my parents weren't completely in their right minds, that day they decided to elope to somewhere in Las Vegas. Mom was a pretty wild one back then, with her punk rock hair and tattoos covering her arm. She’d already made a pretty bad decision a year before, when she conceived my older brother at the age of seventeen. I could’ve sworn that my grandparents flipped the moment they found out. That wasn’t enough of recklessness for my Mom though. Sometimes, you just gotta let things happen twice for you to learn, that’s what she’d always say. When she’d turned about 2 years older and was with my biological father, Mom decided to take her punk rock phase up to a new level. The day after her graduation, she’d persuaded Dad to take her to Vegas and maybe visit one of those little chapels there where they can get married. Dad, on the other hand, was still only just a teenage guy with raging hormones. That same exact day, when they sun had already set and they’ve shared about 3 and half bottles of high-end whiskey which she stole from her Father’s cellar, Mom decided to give in to temptation one more time. They exchanged body heat at the backseat of Dad’s borrowed mini-van; “You Need Hands” by the Sex Pistols was the only sound covering their noises of pleasure.

It didn't take long before my Mother realized that she was giving birth to another child again. This time around, my grandparents were too tired to even lecture my Mom about the dos and don’ts for a teen.
After 9 months of anticipation, Laura Parker gave birth to a wonderful baby girl. Her Hazel eyes glimmered and would turn into Green when under the bright light. She was the most perfect princess to everyone, her parents, and grandparents and to her older brother, Spencer. It was already crazy that my Mom had already given birth to two kids and she hadn't even reached her twenties yet, but I guess that wasn't crazy enough for her. She had to give me the most unusual name just like what punk rock parents would do.

Arya Parker.

When I was 10 and severely addicted to the Polly Pocket collection, the kids at my elementary school would often tease me about being driven to school by two weird looking people who looked like drug addicts, those two people being my parents. They’d even tease me about having a pixie-like haircut. So I’d often get sent to the Principal’s office for punching a classmate right at the kisser.

Being a kid, it was pretty easy to believe that things were all equally unpleasant as to what I've witnessed. Little did I know that the unpleasantness in grade school was just about to get even worse. In 8th grade, my beloved and perfectly reckless parents got in a car accident. It was the typical car crash, they were on their way home for Christmas when Dad lost his brakes and they skidded through the high-way before crashing. That accident sent me from plain sad to just miserable, downright miserable.

That was the end of it. I was done for.

Spencer, my older brother, tried his hardest to keep me composed. But sometimes, things just don’t work out the way they’re supposed to I guess. The situation just kept turning in the wrong direction, that even Spencer was losing hope. The grandparents finally took advantage of the situation and decided that they were taking me in with them. Brother had no problems with it; I did, but I eventually succumbed to grandpa’s pleas.

When things had cooled down and I had gotten used to the life with them, the world became less miserable to me and I’d stopped my bad habits. I went back to school, met new good friends, and even graduated in time.

After all of the fuss in the past, I’d actually realized that I never really thought about my future. I've been too caught up with coping and trying not to be a screw up that I've forgotten to worry about what needs to be done after High school.

College was knocking on the thin walls of my existence and I wasn't ready for it. I've never feared of anything more than my entire life.