My Short Story!

I had a very busy weekend performing in my musical, and going Laser tagging for my beautiful friend Laura's birthday, so I apologize for this post's tardiness. 

This is the short story I wrote for my English Class. I really like it, and enjoyed writng it. This is my final draft, that has yet to be graded. Please read and enjoy! Leave comments if you please. 

P.S. This is Copyright material. 

Let It Be
© Kirin Taylor, 2013.

Lee, my psychiatrist, picks up her Beatles mug to take a sip of tea. Green tea seems to be her favorite. “Let It Be” is playing softly in the background. The Beatles seem to be her favorite too. Lee always tells me that music can help people to cope with stress, and it could maybe help my condition too.
“There will be an answer, let it be.”
I hope there’ll be an answer, that’s why I’m here right?
She places the cup back onto the worn wood coffee table, a little too hard.
It makes a CLANK sound.

CLANK
Mom slams down her beer on the table. The cheap drink sloshes everywhere, leaving a frothy mess on our already stained carpet. I don’t know what it is about Mondays, but my mom obviously can’t handle them. She’s stumbling around, knocking into our furniture, and tears are streaming down her flushed and frowning face.
“Your father left me stuck here with you two. So why do I have to be the saint? Why do I have to be the perfect parent?”
I can’t help thinking how far from perfect she is. All my memories of her consist of disappointment and booze. My brother Aaron is  standing next to me. He places a hand on my shoulder. He sometimes tells me I’m his rock, the only thing that keeps him going. I kinda like that.
“And look at you, not even listening to me. Ungrateful. Stupid. Worthless-” she trails off, looking nauseated.
I glance at Aaron, knowing he won’t stand for this much longer. He pushes his striped sleeves up, and grimaces at me. This is our routine, he’ll calm her down and carry her up to bed. It happens often enough, but how could I get used to something like that?
“You need to leave. You can’t stay here like this, can’t be a mother like this.” Aaron tells my mom seriously, as he offers a hand to steady her. His words surprise me. I realize that this time is different than the ones before.
He’s pushing her towards the door.
She can’t walk straight. She needs help. I open my mouth to tell him to just let her sober up and go to sleep, but it’s too late. She’s screaming again.
“You want me to go? I’ll go. I didn’t want you guys in my life from the start.” She’s backing out the door so fast, I can’t tell her I don’t feel that way. Would it even matter?
Aaron’s still shepherding her, and she’s still screaming at the top of her lungs, when she starts to trip and falls backwards down the cement steps...

“Kate. Kate? Can you hear me? You need to talk to me.”
“What?” I look up from my pale intertwined hands. They’re shaking. I push my curly messy hair out of my face, and notice how clammy I am. It was just a memory.
Lee is staring at me intently, “Did you have another episode? These were the symptoms I was telling you about. Perhaps if we try medication, Celexa or Paxil, we could make improvements. For the meantime I’ve been researching ways to help you cope. What you should do will relate to which sense the flashback's being triggered through. I’ve already told you about listening to music.”
Lee has told me so many “ways to cope” that neither of us can remember all of them, let alone put them into practice. I love music just as much as any other fifteen year old girl, but I think Lee is overstating it’s usefulness.
Lee sees I’m losing interest and switches gear, “let’s switch gears. Can you tell me more about your relationship with your parents?”.
I don’t want to think about it. I say, “No.”
“What happened with your dad is something you need to recognize as a factor in your mother’s behavior...”
Her words begin to blend into one another. I don’t want to think about either parent, who had disappointed me time after time while in my life, and still disappoint me in their absence. I wonder how Aaron is now. I wonder when he’ll come back to me.
“Kate. I want you to listen to me. Are you listening?”.
I don’t have time for her. For this over-concerned, good for nothing, crazy, mean,
“BITCH!”
I am suddenly screaming at her, pouring out any insults that I can think of, everything I’ve wanted to say in the past months of appointments, from all those times I had held my tongue. I am screaming. I am screaming about Aaron, about my dead mom, about my dad who used to hit us and yell at us and then just disappeared from our lives entirely, about my life, and about how she can’t help me. How no one can. I want to stop.
“Calm down. Please.” Lee is begging me.
“Let it be,” The Beatles implore me.
SLAM
The receptionist, Mel, rushes into the room, slamming the door against the wall.
What happened to privacy?

SLAM
The front door hits the wall, as Aaron pushes through to the front steps.
Concerned neighbors begin to gather around, asking question and making phone calls.
“Do you think she’s dead? What will the police do?” So many thoughts were fighting for primacy in my head.
Aaron leans down next to mom, checking for a pulse. “She’s not breathing. This is all my fault, if I had just let her...” he trails off.
I look up at my brother. My devilishly handsome brother. His face is crumpled in misery, his eyes are leaking salt water. He looks a mess. I reach out for him, hoping this would bring me comfort, me and him. My head is pounding, everything except his face becomes a blur.
WHEEE-ERRRR-WHEEE-ERRRR
The ambulance comes into view at the end of the street, red lights flashing, passing by the Anderson’s, the Bluneer’s, the McGann’s.
My throat constricts, like I was about to have those out of control sobs that only come with true pain. I finally told him, “It wasn’t your fault. She’s done this to herself.” I take his hand as medics rush out from the ambulance. He leads me away, helping both of us to avoid the inevitable glances at her broken body.
Aaron tries to reassure me. “It’ll be okay, Katie.”

“Kate. Kate? KATE!”
Except that wasn’t what happened next. The shouting didn’t come until the police tried to take Aaron in for questioning, leaving me alone in our house.
Lee looks worried  but composes herself quickly.
Lee tells me that It’ll get better. I think I believe her.

After my appointment I’m taken back to my foster home, which is really just my neighbors. The Trevelier’s are nice enough, but they are extremely religious and Mrs. Trevelier is the most girly woman you’d ever meet. In any case  I don’t know why it’s called “foster home.” It’s nothing like a home, and consists of none of the comforts I had known before.I doubt anywhere will feel like a home again without my brother there.

What happened still confuses me. No one’s told me the whole story, but I guess after the police questioned him it was clear he didn’t do anything to mom, but the police needed a background check and all of that. So they found out he was using, and now he’s in rehab, and I’m stuck with fosters.
I don’t know how much longer he’ll be there.
RING RING RING
Mrs. Trevelier’s cell phone’s ringing.
Just as mine did that night...

RING RING RING
“Is this Kate Britton?”
“Yes, who may I ask is calling”
“This is Officer Trolley from the PAPD. Your brother is going to have to stay with us”

I Don’t WANT to think about the past anymore. I need to stop. It’s possible to stop.
What was it that Lee said? Listen to music... I start singing to myself the first song I can think of, “When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me. Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.”
RING RING RING
“Hello?” Mrs. Trevelier sing songs in her high pitched voice.
I can make out certain words from the other side of the phone. The woman seems disgruntled, “...is...emergency contact...”
“Yes this Martina” She’s trying to act casual, but can’t relax for her life. She doesn’t approve of my brother, and has told me many times “a dog can’t be taught new tricks.”
“...calling...Saint... inpatient...center....,” comes from the other end of the phone.
Mrs. Trevelier starts moving away from me, but I grab her arm and say “is it about Aaron? What’s going on?”
“Sweetie this is private phone call.”
I can hear the lady more clearly now, “released Sunday...over 18..willing?”
“I don’t think we’re interested” Mrs. Trevelier says, and with that she hangs up the phone.
I grab for it but my hands have become slick with sweat, and can’t grip it.
“What the hell did you do that for?”
I rush past all her crucifixes and frilly pillows onto the street, the same street that my mother’s body was taken down, the same street she died on. I’m running as fast as I can off this street full of terrible memories. I need to go to Saint something’s inpatient something center, and see Aaron.

The bus slows down, approaching  the bus stop, making a SCREECH noise.

SCREECH.

I sing to myself, “Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah let it be.”
It’s past the time of letting things go and letting things be. I want answers now.  

The End.