Early Sunsets Over Monroeville

I watched as the sun set below the Oregon mountains. Normally someone who was leaving their home for good would have something to say, maybe even just a 'I'll miss it' but I had nothing. Nowhere felt like home anymore. My first home was the only place that ever truly felt like a home, but I think if I were to go back there now the place would be too full of negative memories.

Sure, I remember clinging to Mom as I was drug away on my first day of school. I remember bringing home my first first friend that same day. We clinged to each other much like I had clinged to Mom earlier. I remember the countless holidays we all shared as a family. Talking, laughing and playing games just like any functioning family. My brother and I used to hide in the laundry basket as Mom would pretend to be unable to find us. I remember waking up excited for the day ahead, instead of being upset I woke up at all.

That all changed on the last day of third grade. I was nine and had barely grasped the concept of death. My father came home, a beer in one hand and a note in the other. I didn't find out what had happened until later when my brother held my hand and explained Mom was gone. For months afterwards I was sure she was going to come home. Everytime someone knocked I'd run to the door and wait expectantly for Mom to come in and sweep me up in a hug, stroking my hair and cooing about how much she'd missed me. That never happened.

Dad dissapeared on us. He'd leave for days on end and when he returned he'd either pass out on the couch or smack one of us. Over time he gradually got more abusive. Michael got it the worst, he'd always take hits for me and got twice the beating in return. Without Michael in those first few years I'm sure I'd be dead now.

One day Dad came home sober for the first time in months. He announced we'd be moving. He had finally gotten smart and realized as long as we stayed where people knew us we would eventually open up and tell them about the abuse. Three days after the announcement we were on the road. At the time I didn't realize it, but in hindsight the move was what sent Michael on a downward spiral. When we left our hometown he left everyone he could actually talk to. When we moved he didn't have anyone he could speak to if he felt like offing himself.

I was eleven when he finally did it. Dad was out drinking so of course I was the one to discover the body. He was in the bath, still fully clothed. His sleeves were rolled up and on each wrist was a large vertical gash. His features were too pale, too lifeless and his chest was errily still. I panicked and instead of calling for help I ran upstairs and hid in my closet for days until Dad arrived to clean up the mess

Michael's death was what did it for me. In my adolescent mind, it was my fault he was dead. If I'd walked into the bathroom earlier, or if I'd ran for help instead of hiding he'd still be alive. I guess to a certain extent I still believe that today, I could have saved him if I hadn't been such a dumb child. I could've saved alot of people actually.

Maya was one of those people. I was fourteen when we moved to Boston. I met this absolutely gorgeous girl and we just understood each other like no one had before. Time and time again she saved my life, but I couldn't save hers. We stayed in that town for a year and a half, far longer than anywhere else after we'd started moving around, and I'd devolped a very intimate relationship with the girl.

Eventually our friendship turned into a relationship, and she was my entire world. She gave me half a heart necklace, the other half was around her neck. We both wore the halves always, and she took her half to the grave. Her death only increased my fear that I could've saved Michael. I could've saved both of them if only I'd cared enough to try.

But no, I'm stuck in a small cramped car with no one but the abusive drunk next to me. I have no idea what town we're headed to now, but I know I'll get six months there max if I'm lucky. For all I know we could be out of there in two weeks, it wouldn't be a first. I don't think he realizes that if I really wanted out of this situation I could just talk to a teacher, or even some guy walking down the street. There's really no reason to go through that uncomfortable conversation though, I don't plan on being here that long anyway.

I started to wonder why I had even opted for front seat. The back was practically empty, he never allowed me to bring more than a suitcase or two with me. I didn't particularly want to be sitting next to this guy who was probably at the moment too drunk to be driving anyway. I'd almost consider asking him to pull over so I could sit in the back instead if I didn't know it'd end up with a new bruise on my face I really didn't need, or getting abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

"So Iz," He said casually, out of nowhere. I really didn't want to be making conversation with him, but it wouldn't exactly be the best idea to ignore him. "How was Oregon?"

"Fine." I tried to keep the hostility out of my tone, but I think I failed epically.

"Any requests for where we go to next?" I have to be honest, his question startled me for a second. It was so out of character for him.

"How about we stay in one place?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. Well great, now I was pushing my luck.

I watched a frown cross his face. My mouth went dry as I waited for him to respond. If I got slapped now I would have no one to blame but myself. You'd think in seventeen years I would've learned how to keep my mouth shut, wouldn't you? On the bright side his speech was far more coherent than usual so maybe he wasn't too drunk. When he was mostly sober I could usually avoid getting hit.

When he didn't respond I decided to try and take his mind away from the fact that I'd just touched upon a subject he had banned me from bringing up a long time ago. I hadn't had a real conversation with him in years and very few things I could actually say without him getting mad occured to me. After I felt the silence had stretched out a little too long I turned towards him.

"How long are we travelling?" I could see the surprise in his eyes. Normally I didn't try to make conversation with him. Maybe I had made a mistake saying anything after all.

"We don't have long to travel. I'm sure you could sleep through the whole trip if you tried." Of course I didn't get a time. I never got a time.

"Where are we even going?" I bit my lip as soon as the words left my mouth. If I didn't stop talking now I'd end up saying something incredibly stupid. It's hard to stop talking though when you haven't had a chance to utter more than a word here or there for weeks.

"It's called Monroeville. Quaint little town." When I was younger all I ever wanted was a normal conversation with my dad. Now, on the rare occasion that I did get it, it never failed to infuriate me how casual he was about it. He acted like everything was fine between us and I didn't live in constant fear of which version of him I'd encounter.

I couldn't think of anything else to say, and neither could he apparently because the car became all too quiet all too suddenly. Usually I find silence peaceful, relaxing even, but now I just felt horribly uncomfortable for some reason. It wasn't often I got away with talking at all, but whenever I did I always ended up getting overexcited and pushing my luck. Now was no exception.

"Dad?" I asked somewhat hesitantly.

"Izalia?" He asked, mocking my tone. I didn't slap that smirk off of his face, no matter how much I wanted to. Sadly, I was proud I had managed to not slap him.


I didn't finish my thought. Something about his tone reminded me of a far off memory. Suddenly I was thirteen again. Dad and I were sitting in a car arguing about something. I have no idea why he wasn't hitting me around yet, I was certainly being a brat.

"But Dad." I whined pitifuly. I could hear my own voice shake.

"No." He said sternly. I could see his hand shaking slightly.

"I want to stay here."

"I said no goddamn it!"

"But why?" Was I really ignoring his tone of voice?

"Because it's how it's going to be! It's how it's always going to be!"

Then I was back in the car, on my way out of Oregon. I had left my dad hanging to indulge in my flashback, which was never a good idea. I muttered a quiet, "Nevermind." before leaning my head against the window. I tried to ignore the constant bumping of the wheels over the loose mountain rocks that kept causing my head to hit the window. With some effort I managed to fall asleep in the midst of Oregon.

Notes

So I've pretty much got the whole story planned out. I'm not even sure if this'll be interesting enough for people though so I'm not sure if I'll continue it