Chapter 13 - Ready for Rehab?A Chapter by emmaThe sound of sirens woke me,
jolting me out of a dreamless sleep. I groggily pushed back the blinds on my
window and looked out into my driveway. A cop car was parking on it, and a man
in a blue uniform stepped out. I
left the window and bolted for my grandmother’s room. I snapped on her lights. “Grandma! The police are
here!” She turned over slowly and
faced me, worry on her features. “Why?” “I don’t know, but they are
at our door. C’mon!” I pulled her out of bed, and helped her down the rickety
stairs. The police officer had just begun knocking on the door when we got to
the bottom of the stairs. Carefully, I brought my grandmother into the living
room, sat her down on the worn out couch, and rushed the door. I pulled it open just as the
officer was about to knock again. “Uh, are you Pricilla?” he asked. “No, idiot, Pricilla is my
mother! That one’s my girl. That’s Andrea.” I hadn’t even noticed my mother
standing behind the officer, her hands cuffed. I almost laughed, but stopped
myself. “Uh, yeah, I’m Andrea.” My
eyes kept travelling back to my mother, whose cheeks were reddening. Could it
be? Was she really embarrassed for something she had done? What a miracle! “Well, can we come in?” the
officer asked, obviously uncomfortable. “Of course.” I backed away from the door,
giving the officer and my mom room to enter. My mother kicked off her shoes,
the officer didn’t. I led them into the living room. I sat in the atrocious
green chair that I hated, and motioned for my mom and the officer to sit on the
couch with my grandma. After a few moments of
awkward silence, the officer cleared his throat and began. “Andrea, Pricilla, Wendy was
drinking while intoxicated. We kept her at the station until she sobered up,
and we came here to discuss the repercussions.” “Jail?” I offered, then
snapped my mouth shut. Oops. “We were thinking more like
mandatory rehabilitation, since this isn’t her first offense. Or a very large,
very ugly fine.” The officer stared me down, his brow crinkling. “Fine.” “Rehab.” My mother and I spoke at the
same time, and I began fantasizing about my mother going through rehab,
everything twisting back to normal, and no longer the horrible beatings or
drunk evenings. And the truth was, we couldn’t afford a big fine. The police
would be able to help us pay for rehab, somewhat anyways, and it would take a
load off of our grocery bills if we didn’t have to buy eight boxes of beer
every week. I shuddered. Oh, the beauty of more money. “I will not do rehab!” She
yelled. “It’s a waste of time and money!” I felt myself leap off of
the chair and right into an argument. “Oh, and a fine isn’t? We all know unless
you get help, this will only happen more! I don’t want to die of starvation
because you were too scared to live in reality instead of inside the bottle!” The officer shushed me as my
mother’s face bloomed red from anger. “Where does starvation play into this?” “If we have to keep paying
giant fines, we’ll go broke, and we won’t be able to buy food.” My mother seemed
uncharacteristically fazed. “Oh.” “So you’ll go into rehab?”
asked the officer, and I could hear the hope in his voice. “No way in hell.” “Wendy, you are going to
rehab. I am your mother and I demand that you get your act together. This is
insane!” My grandmother sounded close to tears, but she never cried when in
public. Or even when someone outside of our family was able to see. “It’s settled, then, Wendy.
You’ll be going into rehab tomorrow afternoon. We already found the nearest
possible center. It’s about a two-hour drive. Me and Lenny will escort you
there.” “No!” My mother was angry
now. Very angry. The officer stood up,
pulling my mother with him. “Come on, Wendy, we’re going back to the station.
Now say goodbye to your family, because you won’t be seeing them for at least a
month. Seven at most.” Seven? That was a long time
. . . But it would have to be
worth it if she got better. “Bye, Mom.” I waved at her
awkwardly, a sheepish smile on my face. She turned away. “Goodbye, Wendy. Be good,
okay?” My grandmother stood up and shakily walked to her daughter. She hugged
my mom, even though she didn’t seem to want one. “I’ll see you soon,” she
said and walked back to the couch. The officer said goodbye and
my mother said nothing. But was that a sniffle I heard as she was leaving? I’ll
never know. I headed to the kitchen for
a glass of water once they left, and noticed the time. It was already 9:30am. I
must’ve forgotten to set my alarm clock on. And my grandmother had still been
asleep . . . despite what most people say, senior citizens are just as lazy as
teenagers. So I raced upstairs, threw
on jeans, brushed my hair and teeth, packed my bag and booked it, running as
hard as I could all the way to school. I prayed I had some money in my locker,
or I was going to starve. I was obviously late for first period, and my teacher
gave me a dirty look, but I hadn’t missed too much. Just the lesson. No big
deal. So I had to ask for help a
bunch of time, trying my hardest to understand the quantity of x, but failing every time. My teacher,
Mr. Potter, made me stay after class, thus making me late for History, too. But
only by a few minutes. When the bell mercifully
rang for lunch, I rushed to my locker and searched despereatly for five bucks,
but found nothing. Zero. Zip. Zilch. I was in the process of banging my head
against my locker, knowing I was going to have to beg someone for money or die,
when a warm hand touched my arm lightly. I spun around and saw Nate,
a flush on his cheeks. “What do you want?” I asked,
wondering if there was a red welt on my forehead from all the head banging. “To talk.” His gray eyes met
mine, and my tough outer exterior melted. “Where?” © 2011 emmaAuthor's Note
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Added on November 24, 2011Last Updated on November 24, 2011 AuthoremmaCanadaAbouti'm emma and i watch a lot of TV and movies and read a lot of books and come talk to me about that i would love to talk with you also: i write things every once and a while more..Writing
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