Sometimes, They Come Back.

Posted: January 12, 2010 in Uncategorized

I never had plans to be a writer. My senior year of high school that changed a little. I took a Creative Writing class and I found a talent I never knew existed. Yes, I have been writing poems since I was 14, but they were more of a way for myself to vent. Needless to say they weren’t about happy little trees. I went into that class looking to improve my poetry skills, but I found my strength in writing stories. The words seemed to flow out of my pen better when I was writing rather than when I was trying to construct a poem. I could be more blunt in my language, I could speak truth easier somehow.
For my final in that class I just started writing in my notebook, a story. I never thought anything of it. I just wrote what was in my heart. I found myself telling the story of a girl, a mom, a dad and that girls friends. I started out with the mothers point of view.

Her daughter was slipping away from her. She was with a boyfriend who was anything but a healthy person to be in a relationship with. Soon she began running away and not returning for a week or two.

I’m not sure why I wrote on a subject that carries so much emotional pain with it. I guess the story line shows exactly where I was at that time in my life. I wrote how I was feeling through all those characters. Lost, hurting, confused, desperate for someone to love me, searching for myself. I just poured my heart out onto paper.

My teacher of course read it, and gave me praise. I didn’t expect her to like it was much as she did. She told me if I ever wanted to get this published I could. The thing is though. I never wanted anyone to read it. It was more for me than for the world to read. I don’t know why I’m doing this but below is the first chapter of said “book”. I would highly appreciate your feedback on this.

Sometimes, They Come Back


She thinks I don’t see her. The scary truth is that I see everything. I see the way she changed. The new clothes she wears, her new haircut and the things I wish I didn’t see; I see all of it. What happened to her? Where did she go?
My daughters name is Tegan, but now I’m not to sure who she is. She doesn’t talk to me, my husband or any other member of our family. She just sits in her room with her headphones on, staring aimlessly at the wall in front of her. Her room used to be so perfect and innocent, like the daughter I thought she was. She used to have  nice baby blue walls with white curtains and matching sheets on the bed. Now her room looks like a tornado came through and destroyed everything. Fist indents hide behind magazine cut outs of bands, her dark art is hung all through out her room as well. Cigarettes now coat her floor and she at sometime, I don’t know when, changed her bed from that beautiful blue to black sheets. Nothing is perfect any more.
She won’t talk to me or even let me in on what’s going on inside her. Something’s wrong and I know it, I just wish she’d open up to me even if it’s a little bit. Instead she just sits there, staring; her stare is actually more of a cry for help or a soul cutting glare, I just never saw it like that before. Until she left.
I think I know what changed her, but I can’t be sure.
She met a boy named Toby. All the neighborhood moms told me about him, but I trusted my daughters judgment. Maybe that was it; maybe he’s responsible for getting my daughter into the drugs. Tegan never did any of this before the days of Toby. She used to dress so nice. America Eagle was her favorite store. Purple was her favorite color. It seemed like a little while after they met, she changed for him. He looked like a wannabe Kurt Cobain. She brought him over to the house one night so they could “study for a math test”. He was nice and respectful to me, but I saw the way he had a grip on her arm as they headed to her room. I’ve heard them argue so many times over the phone. She’d lock her door and I could hear her weeping through the crack of the door. But again, she never told me anything about their relationship. All I knew is that she was in love with him. That’s all she told me.
About a month after he first came over to the house, she totally started changing. Her hair became more nappy and her clothing style did a complete 180. She started looking more gothic. Black nail polish, black coats, shirts and pants. Everything was black. I thought it was just a phase. She only had her nails like that for a month or two, then she went back to natural colors. I thought she was going through a phase, we all went through it. Kids just try to find themselves. But when she left, it hit me that this wasn’t a phase, and it scared me to death.

She left yesterday, but it feels like she’s been gone for years. Mentally, she’s been gone a long time but now she’s actually gone. Ever since she met Toby, Tegan has been gone.
Two years ago, when she was just thirteen, she began slipping away. The first time I caught her sneaking out, I just let her go without any arguing. When she got home that was a different story however. She smelt of pot and beer, her shirt was ripped and her hair looked like complete hell.
“Where did you go? And don’t say you were at Jessica’s house because I checked!” I yelled.
“You know something why don’t you take your stupid and fake motherly and caring attitude and shove it!”
What do you say to that? I mean, what words do you place together to yell back with? I said to myself as I lie in bed that night that she was just having a bad day, yet the distance and animosity I saw radiating out of her eyes told me otherwise. I think that night before she went to her room to sneak out was the last time I knew even a portion of my daughter.
Tegan no longer argues, she just leaves. Sometimes her silence scares me. Why won’t she tell me what’s wrong? Who am I kidding though, no teenager, girl or boy, wants to discuss what’s on their mind. Especially with their parents of all people. I just want to know is she angry? Is she depressed? What is it? A few days have passed since that fight, the one after she snuck out, and we haven’t said a word to each other. When she was here I tried numerous times to get my foot in the door but after her repeatedly slamming it in my face I just gave up. I could smell the pot seeping out of the slit under her door, so I decided one time to call her out on it.
“Mind your own damn business! I don’t go creeping in your life do I Susanna?” After that I could do nothing but walk out in total shock. She never once called me by my first name. Those were the last real words my daughter said to me in two years. I wonder now if I hurt her in that altercation; her beautiful eyes now are empty but I can still depict sadness.
That was in the past though, when Tegan was still a portion of the daughter I raised. Before she left. I went in her room, begged and pleaded with her to open up. She sat up from her bed, put out  a Marlboro and looked straight at me.
“Stop trying to interrogate me you psycho bitch!” She didn’t scream, she shrieked so loud I could swear the windows would have broken. Then she got up from the bed, where I was sitting frozen in time, and walked calmly downstairs and out the door.
What karmic payback is this? Did I mess up that bad, that God is giving me some sort of revenge? Maybe this will pass, or maybe I hurt her so bad when she was younger without my knowledge. What is it?


I just don’t know. My mom thinks I’m crazy or something. All this crap started because my mom hates my boyfriends guts. Toby is so sweet, so kind and totally caring. I think my mom’s jealous because her relationship with dad is going swoosh, down the drain, but then again what the hell do I know right? Susanna and I haven’t talked in like two years. This is what happened. The truth.
You see, there’s this thing called a door. Normally “mom” knocks and waits tll I answer before she comes in. I was halfway out my bedroom window when she came in.
“Tegan what the hell are you doing?” Oh man, her face gets all funny looking when she catches me doing something.
“Oh, hey. I’m going to Jessica’s to study. I just didn’t want to go down the stairs because I know how loud they can be. Besides I thought you were sleeping”. My mom was so gullible back then. Truth be told I was going to a party with Toby.
That party was so amazing. Toby was 18 at the time, but really that’s besides the point. I thought I was free. Mom was clueless, Dad was so passive aggressive that he never spoke at all. But my mom showed that she wasn’t too oblivious when I came home the next night.
“Tegan, we need to talk. Where the hell have you been?” She was basically spitting in my face, she was so heated. I didn’t let her “tough cop” cover scare me, I just walked upstairs and put on my headphones. Game Over. I remember yelling some stupid comment back at her, because honestly she caught me by surprise. Who knew that she had it in her to conjure up a yell? Not me that’s for damn sure. All she does is bitch bitch bitch. But that was two years ago. I’m fifteen now and Susanna is still pushing me and trying to get me to “let her in”.
Yesterday was the best day of my whole entire life. Once again mommy dearest came barging into my room. Apparently she still doesn’t fully comprehend the concept of knocking. She just walked her dumb motherly ass into the room and sits on my bed. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from crying. As much as I hate the woman, it stabs me in the heart to see her hurting because of me. I know it’s me. It’s got to be.
Ever since our fight I’ve been a wreck. She hates me, I swear to God she does. That’s why I don’t talk; everything I have to say I can convey in a glare. As tough as I try to be, the never ending silence and thoughts of a slow and painful suicide were really starting to get to me. So I left; I just got up and out of the prison located at 1620 Dove Street. Yeah I know, totally ironic right?
The last I saw of mom, her face was in complete and utter shock. It made me almost regret leaving, but that place was one day away from making me slide the cold sharp edge of my dads Swiss Army Knife across my wrists. But I’m too cowardly to die, so I left instead.
Honestly I wonder why this sadness can’t seem to stop. It hurts my mom and dad and it feels like this life isn’t worth living.
So yesterday I left prison; guess you could call me a fugitive. Today I’m living with Toby and a couple of his friends. I’m happier now but it seems as soon as I realize the happiness those dark clouds only I can see, drift back over my head. Each time they come back, it seems the rain is heavier and more lightning and thunder come too. Or maybe I’m just a  total nut job.
I remember when I walked out of the driveway, I never felt such an great sense of freedom. No retarded Susanna trying to hassle me, no more passive aggressive Bryan. Bryan is my dad. Him and the monster are always arguing about me. I always heard them yelling about it at night.
I’m worried about Tegan. She’s changing into a completely different person, my mom would say and then dear old dad would defend me. Then like a bomb exploded in their midst’s, chaos arose and 1620 Dove Street was a war zone.
Living with Toby has it’s ups and downs. He knows how to live and be free. With that freedom comes new things. When I first got there we got high. Usually  we only smoke pot, but that day he introduced me to the wonderful world of cocaine. I never felt so amazing. All my troubles went away, my heart felt like it was racing a million miles per hour and I felt so free. Things were more colorful and I was in love.
Him and I sat there in his living room, just holding each other for what seemed like an eternity. Even his touch was more comforting on coke. He told me he loved me, and at that moment I loved him too. I never knew love, I always heard about it but I never experienced it.
When things are good with us, it’s great. We’re on top of the world. Like Bonnie and Clyde, Jack and Rose, Tony and Maria, Edward and Bella. When things are bad, well let’s just say I’d rather him not be in my life. He’s always had a kind of hot temper, but it never got out of control until recently. I remember the first time he hit me, I was in shock. I never thought I’d be the girl to get hit by my boyfriend. It scared me, it really did. I thought it would only be a one time sort of thing but the more it happened the more I realized that I was wrong. He wasn’t the guy I fell for.
I started keeping a diary of all the times he hit me. Sometimes it was only a slap, sometimes a punch. He never had remorse for it either. He would say sorry, but his eyes told a different story. The one time he hit me so hard I fell into his cabinet, conveniently made of glass. I remember hearing it shatter over my head and back then feeling the cold jagged edges of shards sticking all over my body. Then I must have passed out. I woke up in the hospital with my mom hovering over me, crying her eyes out. He told them I tripped over my shoes and fell into the cabinet. I loved him, so I went with it. Leaving never crossed my mind. I was going to be alone if I left him.
So far he’s the guy I fell in love with. I hope it stays that way for a while. I have no other place to go.


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