All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Crash! The bottle fell to the ground and broke into a thousand little pieces. Vodka covered the floor and was spreading out every which way. My mother was caught off guard, lost her balance and fell. I heard the crunch as her hands and feet absorbed the broken glass. As she dropped, she hit one of the candles that was giving us light, and the wax started pouring down her back. Her head hit the counter top and blood started leaking above her ear. She was drenched in blood, vodka and then shortly after, hot wax. This is what I got for trying to take a bottle of liquor away from a raging alcoholic. This is what I got, for trying to care.
“Get the hell outta my house!” She yelled. I tried to help her up, but then she smacked my hand away and said “Don’t touch me!” She sat up and put her head between her knees.
My two year old sister then made her way out of her room and screamed, “What happen to mommy!” I grabbed her before she could get any closer and then she yelled again, “Another booboo?” I stared at my sister with her cute little Dora the Explorer Jammies. I twirled her blonde, curly hair in my finger tips and said, “Yes, mommy had another accident.”
The smell in the kitchen was now horrendous and I had to take Lizzy away from the scene. I brought her back to our bedroom and put her in bed. There was no air-conditioning to cool her, no night light to sooth her and no music to help her sleep. “Laya, the bugs keep making me itch” she said to me. I turned on my flashlight, lifted up her shirt, and shined it on her back. She had over twenty new bites. “Why are they so hungry?” she asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said trying to fight back the tears. She could tell I was upset so I immediately put on a smile and said, “I guess it’s because you’re so darn tasty.” She laughed and then started to yawn. “How about we try and get some sleep?” I asked her.
“Will you sing?” She asked.
“Of course,” I said and then I picked her up and carried her to the rocking chair. I sat in the chair and began singing: amazing grace, how sweet the sound… I tried to sooth myself as well as her and began thinking about what to do. I needed to somehow get enough money to turn the electricity back on. I needed to get some more food. I needed my mom.
I lay my sister down in her bed and tried not to notice her tiny bitten up body. She had the worst out of all of us. I wished, that just for a minute, we didn’t have to live like this. I walked back into the kitchen and found my mother sleeping on the ground. There was no moving her. I went over and swept up the glass around her. I tried to clean off her head and tried to pull the wax from her hair. I picked the candle up and wiped off the counter. Finally I got a blanket and pillow for her and laid her on her side. “Good night,” I whispered to her.
The next day, I woke up to the smell of pancakes and coffee. I came out of my room and saw my mom standing over a huge McDonald’s bag. “Truce?” she asked me. This is what she always did. She would get totally hammered the night before and then the next day would apologize, buy us something and pretend it never happened. I wanted to speak up. I wanted to get help. I wanted this all to be over. However, she was my mom, and I could never betray her.
I knew she wouldn’t stay sober for long, so I enjoyed it while I could. I opened the syrup and drizzled it over the hotcakes; it smelled so good. As I took a bite, Lizzie came sprinting into the room and yelled, “Panpakes!” My mother ran over to her and picked her up and twirled her in the air.
“Yes! And I got hot chocolate just for you!” my mother said. Lizzie gave a huge smile and started to squeal. She opened her mouth in need for a bite. I got a forkful of pancakes and made my way to her.
“Vrooooooomm!” I said as I let the plane enter her mouth. She swallowed it without even chewing. (She was very hungry- we all were) Then, as if God had answered our prayers, all the lights turned on. The air conditioning began to rumble and the television turned on with Sesame Street. This was one of those days that teased you. It was one of those days that made you think everything would be okay.
That evening however, things were not okay. My mom started looking for the bottles and started complaining that I was too selfish. “Mom, stop! Why can’t you just be happy for one night? This day has been great, please don’t ruin it!” She didn’t stop. “Mom we barely have enough money for food!” She continued looking until she reached her jackpot. She found a bottle of tequila in our broken dishwasher. I should have known. “Mom please don’t!”
“Get. Out. Now!” she yelled. “You are such an ungrateful little brat. I do so much for you and this is the thanks I get? I just want to have a little fun. Leave!” I grabbed my jacket and ran out of the door. I needed to get some fresh air.
When I got back, Lizzie was sobbing next to the couch. I rushed over to her and found my mom, covered in vomit. “Mom!” I yelled. “Mom, wake up, this is not okay! I am taking Lizzie!” she didn’t even budge. I started shaking her arm until I realized she wasn’t breathing. I began crying and ran outside of our apartment.
“Help! Somebody help! Call 911!” I screamed. I started pounding on doors until the woman in 15B opened up.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“My mom’s not breathing!” I cried. She immediately called 911. When the ambulance, arrived they tried CPR. They tried everything, but it was too late. My mom was declared dead that night at 11:56pm. She choked and then drowned in her own vomit. It was all my fault; I shouldn’t have left her.
Alcoholism is a major problem in the United States. We need to speak up and help those in need. About 14 million Americans battle with this disease. Half of these people will die before the age of sixty. These alcoholics are mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers, and teachers. Keeping silent won’t help anyone; it just makes things worse until it’s too late.