If you haven't already caught on my name is Lux, it's my fathers middle name. I'm not sure why my parents decided it should be that, but it is. I am seventeen years old and I describe myself as the typical "I-want-out-but-I-can't-get-out" teenager. That's who I am and there's nothing really interesting about me, at all. It's a struggle living with my mother, she has been an alcoholic ever since my father passed away. Life sucks. She drinks more alcohol than she drinks water, and she pays more attention to how many dates she has in a week than herself (or me). There are no words to describe the hatred I have for my mother. To be honest, my life would be better off without her. My life was shitty before my dad passed away, and my life is shitty now. I was only nine years old when my father [the only friend I had] passed away. I have memories of my father. Every morning I experience a feeling similar to the feeling my father gave me. I feel pressure immense among my fingers. The pressure creases my hands and gives a lasting look of white, like when you press your finger against your arm and see a split second of white discoloration. Except mine stays for longer. Each morning eight years ago my dad would grip my hands and stick his fingers between mine, for as long as ten seconds. That's just one of the many examples I experience every day. His presence still lingers in my life, and everyday I become more frightened.
My mom doesn't like to talk about my father. The love they shared was infinite, a love story many would dream of, so they say. About two months after my dad died, she began to drink mass amounts of alcohol, which led her to trying to commit suicide. My mom then went into rehab for about two years, as I stayed with my grandparents. After she got out, her depression got worse and she continued to drink. She hasn't mentioned my father since. Even though she has her answers, I'm still looking for mine. The day my father passed away was the day I realized I no longer had anyone left in my life, and the saddest part was that I never got to say goodbye.
      "Lux! Lux!" yelled my mom from the bathroom beside the living room.
      "What mom?!" I shouted back.
      "Can you pick up a pack of cigarettes for me from Petes Tobacco? I would also appreciate if you call Jerry over for dinner tonight." Jerry's my mom’s boyfriend, he’s oblivious to about everything. Even the fact that my mom has cheated on him over six times and not even with the same guy. He's also unemployed and currently in a band called "Where Dem Girlz?". I'm confused as to why my mom is dating him, you'd think she would leave after she heard the name of his band.
When I was sixteen my mom purchased me a fake ID from a friend. Only for me to buy her drugs and alcohol illegally. Apparently she made it believable because I haven't gotten caught, yet. She told me that if I ever got caught with doing either of the two under age she would leave. Not that I would care. But she's the only person to take care of me.
I got in the car and was heading down Merrick Road into the small town of Amityville, New York. Of course I didn't buy my mom her drugs and decided to take a walk, in the small park outside of town.
As I was walking alongside the lake at Peterkin Park I began to feel dizzy. I decided to take a seat on the bench near the biking trails. Not realizing that this was the start of finding out about how my father passed away.
I sat down slowly as my vision began to black out. I couldn't see the flowerbeds or the shaded trees anymore. All I could see was my dad and I, eight years ago at this exact park.
      "Weeeee!" I screamed as dad pushed me on the swings.
      "Are you enjoying the park sweetie? How about me go for a cup of hot chocolate later?"
      "Sounds good dad! Keep pushing me, I'm having fun!"
A sudden inhale of smoke snapped me out of it, I couldn't breathe. The shocking pains in my head hit me harder every breath I took, it felt as if I had my head smacked between two boards, so hard, that breathing wasn't an option. I quickly stood up and started gasping for air. Each hand held my throat, not knowing I was making it worse. I opened my eyes as I realized that the flower beds were still there, and the trees were still shaded. What just happened? Why does my head hurt? How did this happen? How did my dad appear?
For the rest of the day I kept thinking about that moment. I never forgot that day in the park with my dad, that was the greatest day. I remember going to sleep that night not being able to get that toothless smile off my face. I don't know how that moment came to me, but it did.
I opened the door to my apartment to see my mom passed out on the couch, half naked, with bottles of whiskey laying the floor. I went to the bathroom to take off my two day old makeup that had been rotting on my face. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed. That night I didn't dream about anything in particular. Although, I had a night terror about the time my mother hit my father's face so hard that he began bleeding. The discoloration on his face was never hidden, and always noticeable. I remember waking up one morning to my mother in tears yelling "Leave! I don't want you here!" over and over as loud as she could. I never really thought that my parents loved each other as much as they told me. I was only seven years old, and you know how it's a parents desire to not let their kid find out about their issues.
         I woke up that morning only to inhale the smell of an hour old cigarette and overcooked instant breakfast burritos. "Lux, it's time for breakfast get your ass down here!" my mom yelled from the kitchen. I walked downstairs and saw my mom had turned on Channel 2 Action News. I sat down on the couch and started listening to the news, while my burrito got soggy.
       "Jeffrey Clank dies from unusual brain injury" was the headline.
The man's mother began to talk. "We all loved him so much, and he was a great person. I don't know how this has been affecting anyone else, but we're still recovering from his incident."
My muscles began to tighten as I fell on the floor in excruciating pain. I went back to eight years ago, to the moment when my dad and I left my mother. We were walking down the streets of New York lonely and with no money. That's where it ended.
"Ms. Port? Ms. Port! You know it's time to eat, now open your mouth.” I sat on the spring bed of 400 Forest Ave., Butler Rehab Center in Buffalo, New York, room 617, 27 years later. I don't know why I'm here, or who I am. A sudden hit I felt, as I passed out on the bed. My father appeared once again. He was sitting on the bench by the bike trails at Peterkin Park, I was sliding down the slide as my dad fell over and had a chronic brain injury, having a flashback of the day his mother died, causing his death.
I heard the defibrillator shock my chest one last time. I knew this was the end. I was finally with my father again but in peace this time around.