Eight is Just a Number

It's quiet in the house. Something I've come to expect in the last couple of years. I'm not sure where my mom is, but if she's not home she's probably at the bar. I really wish she'd quit drinking. You'd think a DUI would get people off that path but it only hindered her for a couple of months. I don't remember the last time I saw her sober. 

If you looked at me today, I don’t think anybody would reasonably be able to connect my past with my accomplishments now. Growing up in a small town where other people knew more about my life then I did, I have to remind myself that I am a “different” person now. According to the professors and my classmates, I’m an upper-class white student whose biggest challenge in life was choosing which of the prestigious colleges I was going to attend.

"You know, if it weren't for you and your brother, I don't think I would be alive today." I nod, but that's a lot to say to a sixth grader. She's drunk, but I know she means it. Depression runs in the family and I know that if she didn't feel like she could care for Charlie and I, we'd lose her. To this day, I'm still afraid what would happen if I tried to cut her out of my life. 

I have been tempted to allow myself to try and fit this mold. I could create a back-story that would follow the stereotypes laid out by the examples the professors expect of us. A functional family unit, advanced placement classes… It make more sense that way, right? Maybe then I would not be so aggravated.

"Mom, it's me. Just trying to get a hold of you. I'm headed back from my meet. I did really awesome. Give me a call back, 'kay?" I wasn't expecting her to answer, but for some reason her not picking up sent me over the edge. I later got a call from my mom's friends. Mom got drunk and hit a car and was being taken to the hospital. It was two a.m. before the nurses sent me home. Mom was staying the night in jail.  

Today in my education class, we reflected over ACE scores and looked over the questionnaire, while my professor droned on about the students we might have to deal with in these situations as teachers who are unfamiliar with these feelings. Ten questions, a point for each yes. 

It's late. I probably should have been back in bed, but mom just got home and she's raging up a storm. I guess I could have done the dishes or something, maybe cleaned my room, but I don't have a lot of free time between school, homework, and sports. My last days in the house I've lived in for seventeen years are looming closer as we talk with buyers. "You're a selfish bitch, you know that, Jes? Why can't you do anything for me? I'm trying to make our lives better." 

As he progressed through the information, the aura of the classroom growing more somber, I knew I couldn’t simply deny my past. But it wasn’t my place, here in class, to object as a victim. After all, every other conversation piece was dismissed or allowed to remain undeveloped before being brushed under the rug. And, if he did acknowledge the question, it wasn’t beyond him to address the "safer" question.

I'm back into a corner. I'm scared, but it's not the most dangerous situation I've been in before. I've never hit my mom before that night and I guess that's why I was able to get out of the house before she turned back to me. She called the cops, I think it's one of her favorite things to do when I act beyond what she wants me to, and I eventually came back home. If I had been older, I would have had to spend a mandatory night in juvie. I just got off with a warning. 

Schools are supposed to be safe. Why would we want to make the class feel uncomfortable, much like most of us might be if a student ever came to us with one of these issues? But I feel like all I would end up doing is ostracizing myself or be accused of looking for attention. So I go through the worksheet and keep my mouth shut. 

"Mom, I promise you right now. If you can't get your act together when I go off the college, I will not talk to you again." I know its harsh, to try and cut a family member out of your life. But I'm old enough now to make the decision. She was surprised, she cried, but she never promised me that she would make a change. I see her again next week. We'll see how she has been doing. 

I have an ACE score of eight. Four or higher is considered at risk. But even as I look at the statistics, as I glance at the facts from years of research, I know that they won't define me. It's hard to move on from your past when its still so heavy in your present. I didn't get where I am because somebody held my hand through it and I'm too old now to expect somebody to do so for me. 

After all, eight is just a number.