MAY 2014

I count the cash in my hand as the last piece of our furniture is hauled in to the back of a pickup truck. Everything is gone with the exception of the clothes hanging in each of our closets.

I organized a garage sale today, haggling with every person who dropped by. My parents and I need cash, so I did everything in my power to sell every possession we owned.

I count the last dollar bill, coming to a grand total of $1,347. It’s not much considering the amount of crap I sold, but it’s better than nothing.

Mom wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me to her body. “I’m sorry about all this, honey”

I fold myself around her, not wanting her to feel guilty. This isn’t her fault. It’s just life. “We’ll be fine, Mom”

She sighs, running her fingers through my long hair.

Dad stalks past us to the car, shoving clothes in the trunk, completely ignoring what’s happening to our family. He hasn’t cared about us in a long time, not like he used to.

I know he loves Mom, but he has a fucking terrible way of showing it.

I unravel myself from Mom, and she heads in the house with Dad behind her. He grumbles something under his breath, and I resist the urge to yell at him.

He’s gotten worse since we found out we were losing the house, but the only person he had to blame is himself. He’s the one who gave up on supporting his family.

I wad up the cash, shoving it in my pocket as I trek up the driveway, through the garage, and into the house. It’s empty. My parents bought this house before I was born, so I’ve never seen it so bare.

Our toaster and coffee pot aren’t sitting on the kitchen counter, and the fridge is void of all magnets and pictures.

I lean against the kitchen counter, taking in the empty living room. Dents are in the carpet from where the couches and entertainment stand sat for as long as I can remember, and the dining room no longer holds the table where we had so many holiday meals.

I sniffle, holding back the flood of emotions wanting to escape, and the sound echoes through the house.

“Jade, get your clothes and put them in the car,” Dad hollers, coming down the stairs.

Yesterday, I secured us a place to live that’s five miles down the road. I sunk every penny I had into the security deposit along with the first month’s rent.

The money I made from the garage sale is going toward the bills my parents haven’t paid in three months. I’m single handedly trying to pull us out of the gutter while backing myself in a corner. Everything is caving in around me; the walls crushing me, the air choking me, and darkness taking over my every thought.

“I’m going,” I say, trudging upstairs when Dad hits the last step.

I take a moment looking around at the empty rooms, wishing I didn’t have to leave the only home I’ve ever known. My parents room, the office, and guestroom are empty, not even a piece of trash left behind.

My bedroom seems foreign without my artwork taped to the walls. My bed is gone, providing comfort to someone else tonight, while I learn to sleep on a pile of blankets.

I snatch all the clothes out of my closet, filling my arms, so I don’t have to make a second trip. Really, I don’t want to come back in here. I don’t want to stare at a room that I no longer recognize because I need to accept that it’s no longer mine. Another family will move in, and they’ll paint the walls, erasing the last trace of the Hart family.

I rush down the stairs without stopping, keeping my head down.

I walk out the front door as fast as I can, managing to close it behind me.

I stuff my clothes in the packed car and slip in the back seat without a word.

Dad drives away from our home, and I close my eyes, not wanting to watch it fade in the distance.

I lean my head back on the seat, taking a deep breath.

Everything is changing.

And I’m powerless to stop it.

I adjust the navy blue hat on my head, pushing the tassel out of my face as I stand at the bottom of the staircase.

The guy in front of me walks up the stairs when they call his name, gliding across the stage with his head held high.

My stomach twists in knots as I wring my hands together, waiting for my name to be announced through the speakers of the auditorium.

I look out to the crowd and see my mom wiping tears from her eyes. I smile weakly, thinking about how our lives are so much different today.

Our trailer is void of furniture, and yesterday we sold our car, so we could afford to eat. The life we knew no longer exists, and somehow, we have to cope with that. I have to keep moving, keep turning, even though I feel like falling to the ground.

“Jade Hart,” my principal, Mr. Harris, says into the microphone, pulling me back to the loud auditorium.

I cross the stage with a fake grin plastered across my face as unknown people clap in the background. I don’t know who they are. Parents? Grandparents? It doesn’t matter. I turn my head scanning the crowd, looking for the only person who does matter–my mom.

I notice my dad first, nodding off like this is some boring kids party, but then my eyes connect with Mom. She’s standing on her feet, clapping and jumping around like she just won the lottery. Her wide grin and vibrant eyes focus on me, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I smile.

“Congratulations, Jade,” Mr. Harris says as he hands me an empty certificate holder.

I take the certificate holder from him and swiftly move off the stage, walking back to my seat.

When my butt is in the uncomfortable metal chair, I blow out a breath, relieved I didn’t trip and fall on my face.

I look at the certificate holder in my lap, gripping it in my hands.

I did it. I graduated, and soon I get to leave.

In a few months, I’ll be in college. It won’t matter that we sold everything we own to pay off my parent’s debt. I’ll be free while I’m at school, away from everything trying to drag me down.

What’s even better is that I won the scholarship for the art show last week. I didn’t submit the piece I had been working on for five months because it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t personal enough, so I scrapped it. And I couldn’t be happier that I did. Mom and Dad don’t know I won yet because I told them I dropped out of the show. I didn’t want Mom to worry about anything other than herself, so I lied.

When I leave this place, I’ll be living a dream and fulfilling something inside me that has been growing since I got my first sketchpad.

I’m going to be more than this.

I watch as each person in my graduating class crosses the stage, their families clapping for them as loud as they can.

“This is a snooze fest,” the guy next to me says. “Too bad we can’t leave after our name is called.”

“Yeah,” I say as someone a few rows behind me in the auditorium starts yelling.

I assume it’s another proud parent, but when someone screams for 9-1-1, I know something is wrong.

Please, please, don’t let it be Mom. I have a foreboding feeling, like a dark rain cloud just stopped over my head, and I’m waiting for the rain to wash me away.

Everyone rises from their seat, including me, but I can’t see anything, so I carefully stand on my metal chair, catching my balance when it shifts under my weight.

My eyes scan the room, and that’s when I see Mom’s shoes. Neon green flats stick out from the mob surrounding my mom, who’s lying on the ground five rows behind me. And my dad is standing over her, not doing a goddamn thing.

I jump off the chair, my cap flying off my head as I push through my classmates.

“Mom,” I yell, running down the aisle until I see her form on the ground.

The person next to my mom is on the phone, talking to 9-1-1. I fall to my knees, not caring how hard I hit the floor as I place two fingers to her neck searching for a pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there.

“An ambulance is on the way,” the person who was on the phone informs me.

I made fun of Mom before we left the house. I told her that her shoes resembled a highlighter. Now I would do anything to see her walking around in her hideous neon green shoes. I would tell her she looked beautiful everyday she wore them so long as she was living.

I count each time her pulse beats against my fingertips. It’s all I can do to hold on until she makes it to the hospital, so I count…73,74,75.

I count all the way to 427 until the paramedics arrive and place her on a gurney, my fingertips falling away from her neck as they cart her out of the auditorium.

Dr. Collins steps in the bright, white room, looming over Mom, his face void of emotion. “Mrs. Hart, you need to have surgery. It’s been over three months since your first heart attack, and you’ve been here twice since then. We were hoping the stent would fix the issue, but it hasn’t. Surgery is risky, but if you don’t have it, you won’t make it,” he says.

I move closer to Mom’s bed, gripping the railing of her bed and waiting for her to say yes.

Waiting for her answer, my eyes scan the room for Dad, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and I pray Mom doesn’t notice his absence.

“No,” Mom says, crossing her arms. “I’m not doing it.”

I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth, wondering why she’s refusing to get better.

“Mrs. Hart, I don’t know how long you’ll make it if you keep winding up in the hospital. At this rate, you’re looking at a year, maybe a year and a half.”

“What if I’m fine? How long will I make it?” she asks.

“Best case scenario, I’d say two to three years.”

“I’ll take those odds,” she replies, her voice hard.

“What?” I interject, my eyes wide, but they both ignore.

“That’s not a guarantee. I can’t promise you that you’ll make it that long.” Dr. Collins steps forward. “You need this surgery.”

Mom holds her hand up, stopping him. “I don’t care. I don’t want the surgery. I could die on that table. I’d rather have a couple months than none at all.”

“But you could have a lifetime instead of a few years!” I exclaim. “I want you for a lifetime.”

Mom barely glances at me before she gives her attention back to Dr. Collins.

“You do realize the surgery could be successful, that in most cases it is successful, and you could live a long life,” he explains, attempting to reason with her.

“No,” she deadpans.

“Mom,” I plead, dropping my hand to her arm.

She shakes her head, determination in her eyes. “It’s not up for discussion. I want more time, and I don’t want to bury you with the medical bills, especially since we just lost the house.”

How could she even think I would care about the financial weight of her surgery?

She’s not just giving up on herself, she’s giving up on me. She won’t be around when I graduate college or find the guy of my dreams. She won’t be around for over half my life, and she’s the one taking that from me.

“You’ll have to sign some paperwork saying you are leaving against medical advice, but you can leave in a couple of hours.” The doctor turns, stepping out of the room, disappointment in his stance, but not as much as mine.

I’m hurt, confused. Does Mom not understand that she’s doing a disservice to herself and me and Dad? We’re going to have to watch her fade away. I won’t let that happen.

I straighten my shoulders and walk out of her room.

“Jade!” Mom yells from the hospital bed. “Jade!”

I ignore her, storming down the hallway and away from everything wrong in the world. But the feeling of my heart breaking, stays with me as much as I want it to stop. My heart physically hurts, causing a stabbing pain in my chest each time it beats.

I rip off my graduation gown, throwing it in the nearest trashcan. I wind through the halls, fluorescent lights blinding me as I head to the waiting room.

I plop in the nearest chair in the waiting room and pull out my cell phone. I quickly pull up my email and type out: I won’t be starting school in August. I am officially rescinding my commitment.

I’m not going to college. I’m not going to leave Mom when she’s sick, and if she thinks she will be a financial burden for having the surgery, then I will work my ass off to pay for it in cash because I won’t let this happen. I won’t let her die.

I refuse to accept this.

I hit send, and quickly begin applying for every job that pops up on Indeed. I don’t care what I do, I just need something. I need to earn money to take care of my family. That’s my only goal now.

Everything else is on the backburner, including me