Instead of a Foreword
It’s tough to live knowing that your life isn’t really your own. You can’t do much about it because any choice you make for your own good might end up hurting someone else. Someone you love. Or someone who’s been by your side your whole life. Or even just the past few months. Someone who cares about you and wants the best for you. It doesn’t matter how you lost that control over your life. What matters is how you live without harming others.
Have you ever thought about running away and hiding from the whole world? How many times have you actually done it? Never? That’s a shame. Give it a try—you might like it. Just for a minute, imagine yourself cut off from everything: no family, no friends, no TV, no cell phone. At first, it’s terrifying. You feel like no one needs you, like the world has forgotten you. You’re always caught up in the hustle of life—people talking to you, calling you—and then suddenly, there’s none of that. But that’s just how it seems at first. In reality, none of it has gone anywhere. Life keeps buzzing along full speed; it’s just you who’s stopped. Why? Take a break from the endless race to nowhere. Look at yourself from the outside. You’ve got family, friends, hobbies, a job… But when was the last time you really paid attention to them, with the innocence of a child and the determination of an adult? Starting to think about it? That’s good. And it’s not even that hard…
When I tried to make sense of myself in the whirlwind of life, I asked myself, “When did I get swept up in this current?” To answer that, I had to dig into the past, and I went back to where it all began…
My life changed drastically in a single evening, whether I wanted it to or not. I guess the day my parents died doesn’t count. Even after my mom’s brother took me in, I was still supposed to finish high school, go to college, fall head over heels in love, and get married. The fact that my parents wouldn’t be there to see it shouldn’t have changed anything. It shouldn’t have, but it did…
*****
10 Years Ago
…That day, there was a torrential downpour. The clouds had blanketed the sky since early morning, making it hard to tell if the day had even started. It had been a month and a half since the school year began, and they’d announced a break, so I wasn’t in any rush to get up. But a schedule is a schedule, which is why Richard knocked on my door to wake me up for breakfast. Like it or not, I had to get out of bed.
“I’m awake!” I called out in a sleepy voice.
“Christie, sorry, I know you want to rest, but you can’t skip breakfast,” Richard said, his tone apologetic for having to wake me.
“It’s fine, I’ll be down in a sec,” I replied, pulling on some clothes.
After breakfast, I was free to do whatever I wanted. I’d planned to ride my bike, but the storm wouldn’t let up, so I decided to watch some cartoons a neighbor kid had lent me a few days earlier.
Richard found me glued to the TV when he got home from work. I was so engrossed I hadn’t even noticed how fast the time had flown by.
“Christie, could you pause your cartoon marathon until tomorrow and stay in your room until dinner?”
I looked up at Richard. At thirty, he looked more like forty. To me, my guardian resembled a Native American—average height with broad, strong shoulders, his hair falling in thin braids down his back, an ordinary face with eyes just like my mom’s… A loose shirt hid the rolls of fat that usually peeked out from under a tank top, and instead of sweatpants, he wore jeans. His outfit told me he was expecting company.
“You remember, you’re not supposed to come downstairs until dinner, right?”
I nodded affirmatively and slowly headed to my room.
It all made sense. It was Friday. And every Friday, like clockwork, Richard’s friends came over for a poker game. As my uncle explained it, it was their way of celebrating the end of the workweek and the start of the weekend.
“Dinner at seven, as usual?” I asked as I climbed the stairs to the second floor. I must’ve looked annoyed because instead of answering, Richard started justifying himself.
“Christie, listen, it’s hard for me to break old habits so quickly. I’ll change, but it’ll take some time. Just bear with me a little longer…”
It seemed like he wanted to say more, but I walked into my room and shut the door behind me. Sure, he’d change eventually, but when that would happen, I had no idea. For now, I’d just have to put up with it.
I needed something to do, but what? There was no TV in my room, and I’d already read all my books—they were just taking up space on my desk. I sat on my bed and picked up a family photo. It showed my dad, my mom, and me, taken not long before the accident. I missed them so much… It was just a photo in my hands, but it brought back memories of the day they were gone.
It had been a day off, and we’d spent it as a family at an amusement park: eating ice cream and cotton candy, riding carousels, watching a puppet show. None of us wanted to go home. But eventually, we had to. Dad was driving, telling some funny story, glancing at me now and then to make sure I was listening. I was exhausted from the day and starting to doze off to the soothing sound of his voice when a piercing horn cut through the air. Our car jerked to a stop, slamming into something hard. Under the sound of shattering glass, I blacked out.
I came to in an unfamiliar room. The lights were off, and I couldn’t figure out where I was. Outside the door, I heard snippets of a conversation.
“…better not tell her anything,” one voice insisted firmly.
But another voice, just as firm, disagreed. “No, she needs to know.”
I couldn’t make sense of it. I wanted to know what they were talking about. My dad was probably right outside, so it made sense to call for him.
“Daddy…” I called out loudly.
The voices fell silent. A moment later, the door opened, and the light flicked on. My uncle Richard and a man I didn’t recognize walked in. Both looked grim, like they’d just had a serious argument and were barely tolerating each other.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, surprised. I’d expected to see him.
“He’s not here,” Richard said, trying to sound as gentle as possible, though for a moment, I thought his voice trembled.
“And Mom?”
“Christie, honey, they’re both gone,” the stranger answered this time. Richard turned his back to me and walked to the window.
“Where did they go? Will they be back soon?” Worry crept into my young heart. My parents always told me their plans. And they rarely left me with my uncle.
“They’re not coming back, Christie. They’re gone for good,” the stranger said, his voice shaky but sharp.
I was stunned. What did he mean, “gone for good”? I didn’t understand why he’d say that. How could they just be gone? Tears welled up in the stranger’s eyes, and he quickly wiped them away with his fingers. My gaze darted to Richard. His shoulders were hunched, his hands covering his face. I’d never seen grown men cry, but it looked like Richard was crying too.
“Where are my mom and dad?” I asked, already in tears, my heart sensing something terrible.
“Christie, on your way back from the amusement park, you were in a car accident,” the stranger explained. I remembered the sound of the crash, but I couldn’t connect it to what he was saying.
“What does that have to do with my parents?”
“They weren’t wearing their seatbelts. When the car crashed, they were badly hurt.”
“So, they’re in the hospital?” I asked, hoping I’d see them soon.
“No, Christie. Your parents didn’t make it.”
Those words hit me like a bolt from the blue. I couldn’t believe they were gone. I cried and screamed, refusing to accept it. It couldn’t be true! Not them. How would I go on without them? Who would tuck me in at night? Who would cheer me up when I was sad or scared? Who would take me to the amusement park? Who would be there for me? The questions poured out, spilling all the grief I felt. Richard had to spend a long time calming me down until I was too exhausted to keep going and finally fell asleep.
The next day was the funeral. It was incredibly hard to get through. Everything felt like a dream. Mostly unfamiliar people milled around me. Occasionally, someone would come up, whisper something like “poor thing” or “hang in there, sweetie,” and then return to their group. Some tried to comfort me by saying I should be grateful I wasn’t hurt.
After the memorial lunch, Richard took me to live with him. Someone had thoughtfully packed my things, so all I had to do was get in the car to move to my uncle’s house. For weeks, I didn’t leave the house or go to school. Every night, I had the same dream: the day we were driving back from the amusement park. I’d wake up screaming, and Richard would rush to my side. Or he’d wake me up himself. Either way, it always ended the same—Richard would spend half the night comforting me, sitting by my side until I fell back asleep.
Three months later, I started to come around and went back to school. After a little over six months, I stopped screaming from the nightmares and began acting almost like I had before the accident.
A loud clap of thunder snapped me out of my memories. The storm had started up again outside. I quickly shut the window and glanced at the clock—5:30. I had plenty of time until seven, and I needed something to occupy myself. But what? Through the door, I could smell smoke and hear arguments turning into bursts of loud laughter. I’d never seen what went on in the living room during those two hours. And honestly, I’d never really cared.
But that evening, curiosity got the better of me. I started listening to the voices. At first, I just sat on my bed, but after a while, I moved closer to the door. I still couldn’t hear much, and after hesitating for a few seconds, I decided to open it. There was a faint creak, but a roar of laughter downstairs drowned it out. At first, I peeked through the crack. That didn’t help much, except the smell of smoke got stronger. Curiosity won out, and I opened the door wider, creeping to the edge of the stairs.
The players were seated around a round table, focused on the game, so they wouldn’t notice me. I tried to get a better look at them. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see everyone—some were sitting too close to the stairs, so I could only see their hands. Counting the pairs of hands on the table, I figured out that four of Richard’s friends had come over. Everyone I could see, including Richard, held cards in one hand and a cigar in the other. In the middle of the table were hundred-dollar bills, a watch, and a few other random items. At the edge of the table, near each player, sat a half-empty beer bottle.
Next to my uncle sat two men. One looked like a cowboy from a movie I’d watched the day before: thick black hair of medium length, striking brown eyes, and a straight nose on an oval face. He wore a plaid shirt with odd lettering on it—all he was missing was a cowboy hat to complete the look. The other guy looked like an average American. Most of his face was hidden behind the cards he held up high; I could only make out a wide forehead and thick eyebrows the same color as his hair—a nondescript shade of dirty blond.
The cowboy, pulling cards one by one, looked cheerful, while Richard, in contrast, seemed focused and irritated.
“Richard, my man, don’t you wanna win it back one last time?” someone said clearly and skeptically from under the stairs.
I fixed my eyes on my uncle. He instantly turned to the speaker. His face flared with anger, his brows furrowing—a reaction that usually meant he was displeased or outright mad.
“You know I’ve lost everything I could. If I lose now, I won’t be able to pay up…” Instead of yelling at the guy who’d angered him, Richard responded calmly and evenly. That wasn’t like him.
“What about her?”
This time, it was the cowboy speaking. I looked at him and froze in fear. I’d gotten so caught up that I forgot to be careful and had leaned out of my hiding spot far enough to be seen. Fear paralyzed me—I couldn’t move. Richard’s voice snapped me out of it.
“Christie, get back to your room right now and don’t come out until I say so.”
Richard was already upset, and my broken promise pushed him over the edge. He yelled at me, something he’d never done before.
Head down, I stood up and silently went to my room. I was curious about what Richard would say, so I tried to walk as quietly and slowly as possible. As if he knew I was still eavesdropping, my uncle spoke almost in a whisper, but I caught a fragment of his words:
“…she’s not a thing or a commodity, …I’m not putting her…”
I stepped into my room and slammed the door as hard as I could. I’d never done that before, but I had two reasons now: first, I wanted Richard and his guests to know I wasn’t spying anymore, and second, I was mad at myself for being so careless and getting caught.
That day, dinner was later than usual. After we ate, my uncle gave me a good scolding for not listening to him, saying that at my age, I needed to obey adults. I also got an earful for spying and eavesdropping, followed by a long lecture about how “eavesdropping is wrong,” how “it’s improper under any circumstances, especially since I’m a girl.”
And then… Then I forgot about that conversation, forgot what I’d seen. My uncle stopped playing poker. His friends stopped coming over. It seemed like nothing would ever remind me of that incident. But I was wrong.