Listen to Your Heart Beat

My heart was pounding, feet tapping impatiently against the floor. I could feel the tension in the room, the nail-biting suspense. A well-known routine. Someone’s name gets called and they walk up, their destiny handed to them. One by one, the people go up, returning with faces of happiness, shock, and utter demise. I hear a familiar name, look up, and realize it belonged to me. I stand and begin to advance on the piece of paper. It is handed to me face down and as I turn it over, I saw it. It is such a beautiful and breathtaking number. 100. All my friends congratulate me. I had gotten a perfect score on one of the hardest tests I had ever taken. In fact, it was the only perfect score in the class. This is going to be a good day.
I have to go to a track meet today. We are supposed to be running practice races. Well, I suppose I should start going. As I am on the starting line, the adrenaline was pulsing through my veins. I hear the go signal and blast off. I can see the other runners and I push myself. They move into the corner of my eye and then slowly out of sight. I see the finish line, my legs throbbing from the effort. I am really trying to ignore it as I feel my feet moving to a steady beat. Faster, I command and then I cross the line to finish the race. I look back to see the other racers cross the line as well, however they all cross after me. My coach comes over to congratulate me on the win and to tell the others that they were all great. I meet with my friends to go home after a long day of personal victories.
As I open the door, I can see my stepfather in the kitchen. The distinct scent of alcohol floating along the air hits my nostrils like a wall. Crap, he’s drinking. I know what happens when he does this. I tiptoe, hoping to make no noise as I approach the steps. Walking up them so carefully. My ears are straining for any sign of movement. He is still in there. My foot bumps into the step and I hear a painful creak. He calls out my name, and I have no choice but to respond.
“Hey dad. Guess what I got a 100 on my test, and I won my race after school,” I say.
“Where’s your mother?” he asks.
“At work, where she usually is,”
“Don’t lie to me,”
“I’m not,”
“Don’t lie to me!”
His voice quavers with anger, acting like a drunken man. He really shouldn’t have turned to alcohol again. He is always like this and as often as it happens, I cannot get used to it. I don’t know what else to say, so I remain quiet. He storms past me and shoves me down. My head hits the table and I can feel the warm, sticky blood coming out of my head. This has happened before, just never something so extreme. I run upstairs to the bathroom in an attempt to wash my head. I look up into the mirror and see a very noticeable gash across the side of my head. How am I supposed to hide it this time? I can’t let anyone know what happens at home, I just can’t.
My mother gets home, sees my head, and says nothing. I think she’s afraid of him. I think she really feels the same way I do, like I never want to come home, that feeling of being alone and scared. Anything can push him over the edge and then, who knows what can happen to my mother or me. I just can’t let my thoughts get to me so I do my schoolwork and go to sleep.
The next day, I wake up, my head throbbing. I run to the bathroom, and see the gash, which has scabbed over, but there is also a very large black and blue around my check bone. I looks like I took a hard beating and I don’t know how I can face school, but I can miss a day and ruin my perfect attendance. I can’t cover it up so I just leave. I get looks from everybody. Teachers, students, even strangers on the street. They eye my face with looks of wonder. One of my teachers, who I happen to like the most, asks me to stay after class so I do. I wonder if there is something wrong with the paper I handed in, I hope I didn’t do anything wrong. She doesn’t say anything about school, but instead, she asks me where the wound on my face came from. I am searching my mind, looking for the excuse I made up this morning. My mind just goes blank and my mouth spits out the first thing I could think of. I fell. I don’t think I sounded very convincing, but she says I may leave and reminds me that I can always come to her to talk. Like that’s ever going to happen. I know what the system is like. These teachers don’t really want to help you; they want to destroy your family. I know that if I would tell anyone of them what was really going on, I would be ripped from my home and mother. That can’t happen.
As the end bell rings, I grab my stuff and run. Run home, to relax, to think, to get away from people who might question my head. Actually, I don’t want to think, I want to shut down. Not for long, just to get my mind back. When I get home, I go upstairs. I just lie down in my bed and let my feelings float around me. The next day is a weekend so, when I get home, I decide to take a nap. The next day I am startled awake by a heavy knocking on the door. I peek out of my door and see two policemen talking to my father. I am able to catch the words, daughter, report, abuse, and questions. I know this has something to do with me. My stepfather lies and says that I am not here and they say that they will come back another day. He watches as the pull out of the driveway. I notice him looking at my room and quickly shut the door. I hear his footsteps pounding angrily up the stairs. He slams open my door, strides over to my bed, and pulls me out by my hair. I am clawing at his hands, wanting him to stop, but he won’t. It hurts. He raises his hand and starts to hit me. I curl up into a ball and with every slap; another memory comes to my mind. I hear a faint yelling as my mother comes out of her room to try to stop him. For once, she is standing up to him, but he simply pushes her off with his hand. He is yelling now. I feel numb. The hot tears rolling down my cheeks mean nothing to me. They represent anger. He thinks he can hurt me by doing this, but he can’t. I’m strong; at least, I think I’m strong. Does holding this all inside mean that I can take it or did I make a mistake? He finally moves away and leaves me there. My mother comes and puts a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. How can she do this? Didn’t she ever notice before? Does she think that she can take it all back? Well, the answer is no. What’s done is done. I can’t stay here. I walk down the stairs, head held high, tears leaving a path down my wounded face. No shoes needed, I just walk out. I jog, I run, picking up pace. I’m going faster and faster. I don’t care where. In fact, I’ll go anywhere. My mind is racing. Now, there will be an investigation. The people from the government will get involved. My so-called family will just be another case, another statistic, some little portion of some graph. People will feel bad. I will probably have to live with new people. They will ask if I’m okay, if there’s anything they can do. No. That’s right, no. I don’t want their sympathy, their lies. I don’t want to be known as “that girl,” yeah the one with the screwed up Dad. No. My life is fine. Nothing is wrong. I don’t need help, I’m fine! I know they are looking at me. They’re probably thinking, hey look, there’s some crazy kid running with no shoes. Well, I don’t care at all. I see that bridge. The one where people ride their bikes, take their kids to see the nice view, or travel with their cars driving in and out of the city. I think I know what would be a perfect solution to all this. I don’t think I can live with all this stress. It’s just too much. Looking out at the sea, the air is breezing through my hair. The people are jogging, or walking, or sitting. I am standing on the railing of the bridge. It’s so peaceful here. No worries at all, I’m not sure, but I think I hear someone saying something. I don’t really care. I don’t want my life to be in the hands of someone else so it’s time to make my own decisions. Just let go, I think to myself. My hand slides off the pole that was supporting me and the forces of gravity take effect. Who cares what those people were saying, what does that 100 do for me now, does it really matter if I made my bed or cleaned the dishes. These little things don’t bother me. I’m at peace, my life doesn’t flash before me, I’m not yelling, there is no light. All I know is that when you really don’t care anymore all you can just disconnect from all worries. Your mind is at peace and the only thing left to do is listen to your heart beat.