The Real World - Ana Suzanne W. (have you read this book .TXT) 📗

I am Liana. You probably hate your past, but me, even more so. We can’t reverse the past, yet ever so many times I have tried. I can’t forget what’s happened, but I’m learning to move on. The scar is an ever present reminder of my past mistakes, but I’ve learned from them. While in my circumstance, how could you not? I was a giddy seventeen-year old, and what could I say? But without any further ado, I shall relay my story.

It was a hazy, hot summer evening, about the middle of August. The sun still hung in the sky, pouring its last bit of light on the world. The trees’ brilliant green shone around like emeralds, and it seemed that our little bit of Earth wanted to hang onto summer forever. The oppressive heat of the earlier day was departing, and tender warmth was left, the kind that makes you want to lie on the sweet grass, full of dew, and gaze at the stars, and wonder at the world about you. But unfortunately, that’s not was I was doing that night.

I had picked up some friends for a movie: my best friend Shay, her older brother Kevin, who was my boyfriend, and Shay’s boyfriend, Kyle. As we rode home, Shay was in the backseat with her brother. They were “fighting” the way brothers and sisters do, and their antics were beginning to irk me. Kyle rode beside me, in the passenger seat, and we kept up friendly conversation as I was driving him back to his house, which was in the hills, in the outskirts of town.

“This weather we’re having,” I said, “I wouldn’t mind if it were like this all year long.”

“I know,” Kyle agreed, “This is such fun. We have no school, no work to bog down our minds. All we have is the sun, the theater, and the lake. I love it. I’ve been making some money lifeguarding, and I’m going to take Shay to that really nice restaurant in Latham. She’ll love it.” He smiled, his white teeth standing out against his skin, tan from lifeguarding in the sun by the lake.

“Gee, I wish my boyfriend were so considerate. He’s been working, but he’s saving up for college. It was something about the “real world” or other,” I said wishfully.

“The real world’s coming up quick, however you look at it,” Kyle said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “We’re not children any longer. We can’t depend on our parents. We graduate in a year, and the real world comes in by default, whether we like it or not.” There was no laughing in his voice now.

“Well,” I said, trying to ease the tension, ”I suppose that…” Just then I was cut off by the ringing of my cell phone. I picked it up, steering around a sharp turn in the road. “Oh, it’s Sarah! She texted me. She wants to meet tomorrow to go to the mall, all of us,” I said, peering in my rearview mirror at Kyle and Shay, who were still “fighting” and “punching” each other. I glanced at the road, then back at my cell phone screen. “Oooh, and she’s treating us to lunch!” Just then, the road turned sharply. And the next few moments were a blur.

The road before us was steep and curved, and a house was perched at the base of the hill. Still busy looking at my phone, I didn’t see the last curve in the road, and I failed to steer into it. All I remember was that , and then I was outside my car, on the lawn of the owners of the house, curled up in the fetal position, groaning and crying and swearing and throwing up. All because when I came to, there was an ambulance, and a dead man, and a smoking tractor, and a dented car on the side of the road. Kyle and Shay were severely wounded, and Kevin was dead. And so was the man on the tractor. And for a moment, I thought I was too.

I had a severe laceration on my leg, which was bleeding profusely. Blood streamed down my legs, onto the well kempt grass. I didn’t care. I still lay there, crying and groaning and hating myself. I am the epitome of a failure, I repeatedly told myself. And then came the officers, the medics.  All I could believe was that it was a dream, that it was all in my head, that it would all work out, that this was a nightmare that I could wake up from and forget about.  But, no, it was all too real, and the searing pain in my leg confirmed that, as did the dead man on the side of the road. I stood up, leaned over, and threw up again. More emergency responders arrived at the scene. I was wracked with remorse, eaten by guilt. There was nothing I could do to reverse this. They were dead.

I was numb the rest of the night, and I wondered if I could live through tomorrow. My leg was sewn up, the blood washed away, and I was exhausted. The family of the man on the tractor, whose name was Anthony Graceton, was arriving and leaving, all staring and pointing at me. A young man, about two or three years older than me, tears streaking unashamedly down his face, turned to me, and gave me a look. I shall never forget this look as long as I live. It was a look of terror, of remorse, of pain, of sorrow, of something that lives deep within us all, but rarely is seen by others. All was chaos.

I was carted off to the hospital for stitches and an overall health checkup to ensure that everything else was functioning properly. Shay and Kyle were in critical condition, and had already been taken by Medevac to a hospital thirty miles away. I was taken home, where I was bugged by angry questions and pointing fingers. I didn’t feel anything. I was numb. My license had been revoked, also.

In my dreams that night, I saw the car, careening out of control. I saw the man, the poor, innocent farmer, riding upon his tractor. And I saw myself. A foolish, giddy seventeen year old, laughing and texting and putting off the “real world”. And I saw what I really was. I saw the impact, car to tractor, and the crumpled, broken body of the dead man on the ground. I saw my friends, one dead, and the others near death, on the ground. I saw my parents’ car, mangled and ruined. I saw myself as a failure.

And so began the next few years of my life. I became a recluse. I blamed myself for everything, for in reality, it had all been my fault. I am a murderer. I am a coward. I am a failure. That was all that I could think of in those next two years. Bleak was the most exciting way to describe my life. My friends deserted me, and my senior year of high school, supposedly a joyous time, was filled with heartache and remorse. I began to cut myself, masking the interior pain by blood. My arms were scarred, my eyes were red, and I was, to say little, a mess. My parents were alarmed, and tried to break through to me, but I was untouchable. I was living in my own little world, where the “real world” couldn’t touch me. Or perhaps the real world had become too real. I honestly don’t know.

Finally, I could no longer take it. I gave up. It was winter, a year and a half since the dreadful event, and I could no longer take it. I had gone off to college, for what, I didn’t know, nor did I care. I just needed to get out of that town, away from the people who were so quick to judge. So, I decided to end it all. On a cold, December night, just before Christmas, I ran in the biting, frigid cold, to a bridge. It was situated off of campus, and had been the site of several suicides before. I shall spare the details of the events that followed, but obviously all attempts failed because I am still alive to tell my story.

Just when I thought that all hope was lost, I met Felix. He was like no one I had ever met before, always jovial, forever optimistic, and incredibly slow to judge. I greatly envied these desirable characteristics, and wondered however could he be this way in this world of pain and suffering? I met him on a chilly night, about two weeks after I had attempted suicide. He was in the library, just coming out, and I was walking to Calculus. I usually walked with my head down, eyes on the ground, wishing to be invisible, and often the result of that was bumping into people. Often I had been told that I was pretty, but lately, my hair was limp, my eyes void of makeup, and my smile vanished. Anyhow, I was walking in my usual manner, with downcast eyes, passing the library, when suddenly the door opened and a young man, with arms filled with books, collided with me.

“I… I’m sorry,” I heard myself stammer.

I was more than surprised when he offered a cheery, “Oh, it’s fine.”

As I helped him recover his scattered books, I mustered up the courage to shyly ask, “So, um, what is your major?”

“Chemistry, and I love it!” he replied exuberantly. “And you?” he queried.

“Accounting, and I hate it. I’m just trying to get out of my house, and my town.” By this time, his books were back in his arms, and in the warm light pouring out of the library’s glass doors, I saw him. I had finally lifted my eyes from their usual resting place on the ground. My first thought was that he looked rather nerdy, but then I got to thinking that he was actually rather handsome.

“Do you want some coffee?” he inquired.

“I actually have to get to Calculus, but um, maybe some other time?” I said rather hopefully, but cautiously.

“Yeah, sounds great. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure. So, it’s a plan?”

“It’s a plan,” he said, smiling, his face bright in the darkness of the evening.

I walked away wondering what had just transpired. I chided myself for allowing to be pulled out of my bubble, for becoming more than a recluse, for beginning a social life. What was I doing? I asked myself as I walked in the frigid cold to Calculus. During the whole class, the teacher droned on and on about the limit of a line, and I stared into space, thinking about Felix. I hadn’t caught his last name when he introduced himself, but even in the dark, he looked strangely familiar. I wondered about him. Then the class was over, and the teacher was handing us some horrible homework that I had no clue on how to complete, due to the fact that I hadn’t been listening. The thing about Felix that was so intriguing was that even in our short conversation, he was so optimistic, so cheerful.

I trudged slowly back to my dorm. My roommate was sitting in bed, texting. I think that she perceived me as strange, and quiet, and introverted, and she had no idea of the former events that had transpired before now in my life. I don’t think that she took college seriously, or even life for that matter, but then again, neither did I. She smiled at me when I entered the room, out of common courtesy, not because we were friends. I smiled back, for the first time ever. It felt different, like