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Ellie Guerin

Ms. Kusinitz

Writing 104

16 October 2017

You Will Get Scars From That

“Linda, slow down! You’re going 90! The kids are in the car,” Nicole, my mom’s best

friend, shouts.

“I need to see her before they take her!!,” my mother retorts incomprehensibly through

her jagged sobs nearly drowning herself. She radiates panic and uncertainty. Her usual put

together persona is eradicated displaying a version unknown to me. Her knuckles are eggshells

contrasting the steering wheel as if she grasped it any tighter her slender fingers would pop.

Mom. Please slow down. Please. Please just slow down.

My cuticle is now scarlet and burning from the excessive abrading I inflicted. Brisk wind

blows onto the exposed wound causing an icy burn, but I could not remove myself from

badgering it.

Grandmom always tells you you will get scars from that Ellie… she always told you.

My vision is clogged, but if I blink the dam holding in my emotion will concave.

She cannot be gone.

She cannot be dead.

She IS not dead.

Although on the phone no one dared to communicate it, I know Grandmom is dead. As

soon as I woke up, I felt distant. Something did not sit right. I did not feel right. Nothing was
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right, but no one acknowledged my intuition. Conventionally my family swears to my intuition,

but evidently today is a day where the norm is not adhered to.

As soon as we had left Wednesday I told everyone this trip was a mistake. I told them we

should not have left.

Why didn’t they listen??

No. She is not dead.

Ellie.

Stop.

The familiar “Cumberland” flamboyant green sign was on the horizon, but the usual

feeling of returning home was absent.

I can’t get out of the car. I do not want to see her. I cannot see her.

I blinked and we are in the driveway. My relative’s cars line the street, but not for the

routine summer party.

I don’t think we will be having much of those anymore.

My father’s silhouette is visible in the dining room window. He is poised with enduring

dignity cautious to appear shy from unweathered. I avert my eyes and view the house in its

entirety.

The house usually radiating love and warmth was funereal. An ominous cloud suspended

above the roof emitting a somber shade of gray. This is not my home. This is not the place where

she raised me when my parents were not around enough to do it themselves. Grandmom went to

parent teacher conferences. Grandmom signed my permission slips. Grandmom was my parent

while my biological ones became other residents of the house.

Take me home. Get me away from this place and take me home.
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A realization encases my thoughts and I finally see that Grandmom made this house

home.

Where is home now?

Glass shatters within my chest and by the time I remove myself from my thoughts I am

standing in the room I shared with the lifeless body I hover over.

Wake up. This is not funny.

“WAKE UP!” I screech, “Wake up. WAKE UP. Please, please. Please just wake up.”

I continue to shout at the corpse which remains unbothered in its eternal sleep. I cannot

catch my breath. Abruptly my face is pressed against the cool hardwood. The air conditioner

hum is the only noise in the house as it blows preserving the corpse for the time being.

Everything is different now.

I stared at Grandmom’s shoes that had been kicked under the bed. Shoes that would never

be worn again. I could lay on this floor eternally. Time was not going to move.

I am staying right here. Grandmom is staying right… here.

My limbs are firmly grasped and my feet drag as unknown men bring me away

from my room. My stare fixed on the shoes.

“No. NO! STOP! STOP! LEAVE ME BE!” I wailed, “PLEASE LEAVE ME BE!

GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”

Strange men sombered past me. A few moments later they return and she is with

them. They begin to descend the stairs.

I sit defeated unable to speak, unable to move, and unable to stop the strangers

from taking Grandmom away.


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When everyone left, my parents and I remained lost. All the relatives were able to

escape to their own homes, but our home died today.