February/March Creative Piece: I Change When Everything Changes

Written by: Sindura Nagabooshan Vidhya

I slouch in the corner of my treehouse, cupping my hands to my mouth to prevent the sound of panting to be heard. It almost feels like all of my energy is used up. I have no more adrenaline left. The thought of what to do next makes me feel more nauseous. I am just sitting here with my heart skipping every time I feel any slight movement. There is fear creeping over me and I let it. I have no other choice. After a few minutes, everything sounds quiet, except for the bristling leaves. I make the decision to go back to my house to see if they have left. Just when I build up my confidence to get up, I hear a bang from my house. And then I hear another. It almost sounds like gunshots. I race back to my original position. I am putting in effort to breathe in and out but it feels like there is no air around me. My brain makes up the worst scenario it could ever make: what if this, what if that? As my pupils are barely able to focus, I realize that the soul in my body is slowly slipping away. A part of me now feels peaceful because I don’t have to deal with what’s happening next anymore.

__________

I hear synchronized beeping sounds. I am laying in a hospital bed and I see my grandma beside me. My emotions take control of all parts of my brain as my tears fall down my cheeks. My head is throbbing and my lungs are suffocating, but at the moment there is nothing that can stop me from crying.  

“It's okay Eloise, let it all out,” my grandma says empathetically as tears stream down her own face. 

“I didn’t know what to do. Dad told me to get into the tree house. I –I heard this noise,” I stutter.

“I know. You didn’t deserve to face something like this.” she says.

“What happened to mom and dad?” I ask her. I desperately hope to hear that they are okay.

“I’m really sorry to say this honey, but –” she stops in the middle of her sentence and my heart starts beating faster and faster, desperate for those words. The heart monitor suddenly makes alarming noises. The nurses come rushing in to check on me. But right now, I am only waiting for the words from my grandmother’s mouth.

“They aren’t here anymore,” she says as the nurses leave the room.

I pause for a moment. A few seconds later, I can’t help but continue to sob as my grandma holds me tight even though there aren’t any tears left to cry. The heat of my blood rushes to my face and my ears but my hands and my feet are cold as ice. My eyes are so red that it seems like my tears are mixed with blood. I want to know how they died and who did it. I am too afraid to ask because I know I won’t be able to move on. 

One of the cops calls my grandma over to ask her about something. My body trembles as she leaves the room. My mind starts playing all the memories I had with my parents, almost like a movie. It makes me regret my worst moments with them. It is an epiphany of the life they gave me. Imagining that I could not make more memories with them makes me have no hope towards life. 

My grandma enters with the cop that called her. Behind them is a man who almost resembles what my father used to look like. His eyebrows and eyes look very similar to my dad’s. If my dad had a brother, he would look like this man.

“Hello, Eloise. I am Detective Harrison. I will be investigating your case. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about the incident?” he requests.

“No, I don’t mind,” I say lazily as I feel weak and weary with no energy.

“Your mother’s name is Anne Clark, and your father’s name is Ben Clark. Yes?” he asks.

“Yes.” I respond.

“Can you clearly explain to me what happened?” Detective Harrison continues.

“I -” I begin. “I was in my room working on my school project. My dad was working at the dining table, and my mom was cooking. I heard screaming noises so I rushed downstairs. My mom and dad knelt down with their hands behind their back. And there were two guys with masks pointing guns at them. My parents were begging them not to do anything to me. One of the men started running all over the house searching for some valuables, but the other guy nodded his head towards me. My dad begged me to run away from them, so I climbed up to my treehouse and hid there,” I explain carefully. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to you. Thank you for sharing the details with courage. I’ll see you and will give you more updates of the case. Take care,” the detective says with pity. 

I don’t want pity. I want someone to take action. I will never forgive the people who did this to my parents because what did we ever do to them? My parents and I always wished good for everyone, even for our enemies. Suddenly, everything seems unfair. This is something I never thought would happen in my life. 

__________

The next morning, Alan - dad’s colleague and best friend since college - comes to visit me. He brings flowers and cake. I understand the flowers, but why the cake? Why would someone celebrate a person’s loss with a cake? Alan has always been an introverted person, so I assume he has probably never done this before. Alan always used to come visit our house, and just like he and dad became friends, Alan and I became friends. He was the first person I would go to talk to when I felt sad. It almost felt like a friendship with someone my age. But now, I run out of tears when he walks in. I feel numb. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I need to be alone with my own thoughts. For some reason, I feel the need to be in school, to be distracted with other things.

__________

A week later, I am sitting in my first period math class. The teacher looks at me with pity, just like the detective. I take a seat next to Luna, my close friend. She asks about how I am feeling. I don’t say anything because I don’t know how I feel. As days and weeks go by, there is a sudden sense of rage sprouting inside of me. The detective has not reached out again; he has probably forgotten about our case. His job is to find who did it. I don’t know why I compared him to my father. My dad always got his work done and never leaves anyone hanging. Especially the people who trusted him. 

__________

Alan visits me and my grandmother once a week to check in. I told him about the cops not taking initiative to solve our case. He said to me, “I know this is hard for you to take in, but the detectives have a lot of other cases that they have to deal with.”

“What? Are you serious? So our case is not important?” I argue.

“No! That is not what I meant. It was just a case of robbery. Robbery happens almost everywhere. Literally, anyone can rob anybody, including myself. Which I never will,” he says with a sarcastic laugh.

“Start focusing on yourself,” Alan says. “Don’t let something like this stop you from what you want to do. It is what it is and it has all happened. There is nothing we can do about it, it’s all over. You need to move on.” 

After analyzing what Alan told me, I start thinking that maybe I am the one making it a big deal. I suddenly decide that I need to focus on myself. I start doing things that make me feel better about myself. I start journaling, scrap-booking, painting, and a lot of other activities that heal parts of myself. I start to feel happy again. 

10 MONTHS LATER

I don’t see Alan anymore. He used to come check in on me. But I haven’t seen him for a month. Where could he have gone? If he went somewhere else he would’ve told me or my grandma. 

Once I return home after school, my grandma is sitting with Detective Harrison. All of those memories begin flashing back again. My heart beat increases like it used to before. My grandma asks me to take a seat next to her. I don’t want to. I don’t want to know anything about what happened. I just want things to return to the way they were.

“Eloise, nice to see you again,” the detective says with a straight voice.

“Hello, nice to see you as well,” I exclaim, even though I am still mad at him and the cops. 

“I am here to talk to you about the case.” 

I think to myself, what is he going to do now? It has almost been a year since my parents died!

“We have found the person who killed your parents,” he states. “It is Alan Franklin, a guy who works at your father’s company, and also studied at the same college as him.”

I turn to my grandmother. There is no way this is true. I am convinced he is blaming an innocent man just to close the case.

Detective Harrison explains, “Alan confessed that he did it because of jealousy.” 

Jealousy?  What did my family have that he was jealous about? We were a simple family. My mom was a teacher and my dad was the owner of his company. It wasn’t even a big company. Alan even had a partnership with him.

I suddenly feel the urge to express all of the thoughts spiraling in my mind: “It isn’t possible! Alan was my dad’s best friend. He can’t be jealous of anything. You need to investigate more. You are coming and telling us this after one whole year? This is unacceptable!” It feels cathartic to yell. I never used to do that. 

“I’m afraid I need to leave now. Your grandmother will tell you the rest. Thank you, " Detective Harrison says patiently.

I’m crying to my grandma because I just know that Alan wouldn’t do such horrendous things to his own best friend or me.

A few minutes later, she says, “El, Detective Harrison is telling the truth. Alan did it. I went to his office to talk about this and he showed me all the evidence. His fingerprints were all over our house. I saw him confess to the detective during the investigation. He had no fear in his eyes. I will never forgive what he did to us. I never thought Alan would kill Ben because of a futile emotion. How could he ever forget everything Ben did for him? If Ben knew that Alan was jealous, he would have given him everything he wanted. I know Ben, he always wanted good for everyone.” She leaves the living room as she begins to tear up. 

It takes a moment for me to realize how Alan’s behaviour changed when it all happened. I thought he was mourning for his loss too, but he was the reason for it all along. I wish I had never met him. If my dad was never friends with Alan, him and my mom would have stayed here with me. I will never forgive Alan, or forget what he did to our family. How could he ever live with the shame to eradicate someone’s existence to feel powerful? How have I loved someone who could go that far? These questions spiral in my head, and an intense fury starts to consume me. There is just one thing that seems clear now. I know what I must do.