Their Broken Pieces by Jessica Gomez

Chapter Two

Jasmine

 

 

After.

When I woke up, days had passed. I found my entire world ripped into tiny little pieces, sprinkled with dog shit. My brother, my twin, my other half, was dead. They said he hit his head so hard against the doorframe when it collapsed inward during the rollover, it had caved in his skull, causing him to bleed out. No one could have saved him.

“Died on impact,” were their exact words. Did it make me feel better knowing that it was a quick death for him? That he felt no pain? All I knew was that he was gone, and even hearing that it was quick, that he didn’t suffer, couldn’t stop my grieving.

My dad survived… if you want to call it that. The seatbelt had gotten so entangled with him during the rollover that it broke his neck and paralyzed him. His eyeballs were the only thing they ever expected to move. He could not care for himself, and would need medication and twenty-four-hour care. Even with all of that, because of his health and lowered immune system, his life expectancy was, at best, five years. I love my dad beyond anything, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it would have been better for him to have died in the crash instead of living a temporary life.

As for me, I walked away. Okay, I didn’t really walk away, but came out better than my dead brother and paralyzed dad. I broke my left arm and wrist, broke three ribs on my right side, two more on my left, and broke my right leg so severely, the bone split right through my skin, which was painful and gross to look at. I had a contusion and a gash near my temple where I hit something, just not sure what. I had a great deal of internal bleeding too, but I survived. The doctors operated on my injuries, and I was going to live while my brother was dead, and my dad was a quadriplegic.

As if my family’s fate wasn’t enough, the car that slammed into us was holding my best friend Marisol and her father, who both died on impact.

My mom showed up in all her emotional glory, screaming about Jace and my dad. She expressed her concern about my wellbeing a few times for the doctor’s benefit, but I didn’t care. I was not the priority for her… Jace was, and we had both lost him. I believe she was worried about my dad, because if he died, she would have nothing. He made a comfortable living, but most of our money came from my grandma, who had been living in a retirement home for the past few years.

My grandma insisted on entering the retirement home because she enjoyed being with other people her age. She said it gave her the chance to socialize without having to go out. Besides, Grandma hated my mom. Sure, she liked her at first, but after she noticed the way she treated me compared to Jace, and how she showed no love for Dad, she slowly came to loathe her.

During my time in the hospital, my mom spent little time in my room. I think the time she spent in my room was for show, so the hospital staff wouldn’t think badly of her… she couldn’t have that, of course. She played the sympathy card with as many people as possible, but it wouldn’t work with me.

One of the few times she graced me with her presence, Maria Navarro, Marisol’s mom, stopped by to see how I was progressing. I was happy to see her and was on the verge of tears and hugs when my mom sprang through my door and screamed at her.

“This is your husband’s fault! The doctor told me he had been drinking! Your husband killed my baby boy.” Her words turned to sobs. There was no mention of Dad or me, but this time, I wasn’t the only one excluded from her concern.

Maria shrank back against the wall of my room as if my mom had punched her; her eyes and face stricken with grief and disbelief. She ran from the room and never returned. Alex never came, so I assumed his mom must have warned him to stay away. I couldn’t blame him, but it would have been nice to see him. I thought he considered me, not only my brother, his friend. We all grew up together, and now we were the only two left. I wanted him around for support, but he stayed elusive.

So with that, it’s time to get caught up to the present… my After.

The doctor released me from the hospital a little over a month after the accident. My right leg was in a cast, with metal pins and plates fusing the bone. Also, my left arm was in a cast, making getting around extremely hard to do, but I made sure that I managed. I didn’t want any help from my mom, not that she offered. My ribs were doing well, but the doctor warned that coughing and laughter would cause some discomfort, and since neither occurred, it wasn’t a problem.

Yep, I got patched up nice and tidy. Lucky me. They told me I would be back to normal in no time. Yeah, sure.

They obviously instructed doctors to hand out these lame sayings to their patients. I’m guessing they must have missed the part where my twin died, and my dad would never get to live again. Nothing would ever be back to normal, let alone in no time.

About a month after I returned home, Dad returned too. My mom hired a twenty-four-hour nurse and rarely visited. To her, he was already gone.

When I looked at him, I could see it in his eyes; he was as there as he always was, just without the words or body movements. The doctor said that if he worked on it, he might speak again. I can see in his eyes all the things he tries to say, “I’m so sorry honey… I love you… I’m sorry about Jace.” It breaks my heart to think that he blames himself, and I hate what the accident has done to him. This is his new normal; living, but not living, every day for the rest of his life. I would always tell him that none of it was his fault—that it wasn’t anyone’s fault—it was just a horrible accident.

At least that’s what I thought, at first.

Come to find out, Mr. Navarro had a blood-alcohol level three times the legal limit. He was stressing out over the current layoffs at work and forgot about picking Marisol up from volleyball practice. Instead of calling us to give her a ride, he got behind the wheel and drive.

My entire life knowing the Navarro family, I had never seen Antonio Navarro drink—not once. Because he decided to drink and drive, two families lost their loved ones that night.

The police said he ran a stop sign, plowing into our car going fifty miles an hour; twenty-five over the legal speed limit.

I couldn’t imagine what Marisol was thinking, or what was going on inside that car before he crashed into us. Did she try to stop him or try to drive for him? Did she even realize what was wrong until it was too late to stop? I couldn’t imagine her letting him drive if she knew of his impairment, but that is just one of many things I would never know, or be able to ask her.

I missed the rest of sophomore year, and my entire junior year due to injury, rehabilitation, and depression. I couldn’t fathom seeing people, let alone talk to anyone. Physical therapy took a sizeable chunk out of the year because I had to learn to reuse my leg after it was out of the cast. Lucky for me, it was a clean break.

I sought to wallow in misery and sink into an abyss, but my mom wouldn’t have it. She hired a tutor for homeschool. This is the one decision I’m glad she made. I wanted to graduate on time so I could go to college and get the hell out of this house.

Now the Navarro family was down to two members, Mrs. Navarro and Alex, and they were broke. Their bank foreclosed on their house, forcing them to move to the rougher side of town. My mom forbade me from speaking to that family when I returned home from the hospital, calling them every horrible name in the book. Mutual friends online claimed that Alex had gone wild by getting into fights, getting thrown into jail, and running with a gang after his sister and father died.

Alex joined a group of bikers, running as one of their recruiters—getting junior members to pledge themselves to become future prospects. The most recent story was that he had proven himself to the leader, which allowed him free rein to lead the recruits. I haven’t seen or spoken to Alex since before the accident… which was almost two years ago.

My doped-up, alcoholic mom said that I needed to grow up and put the accident behind me; that it was time for me to move on from sulking in my room and avoiding the future, even though she clearly stayed frozen in time.

She forced me to start my senior year back at Oakboro High. In many ways, I was excited about returning, yet I couldn’t help but think of how my brother and I looked forward to our senior year. Although I would have to go without him, the urge to do him proud inspired me. The senior trip was going to be at the beginning of the school year instead of the end, and all the seniors were eligible to go. The school had paid for each person themselves, with the help of fundraisers and donations throughout the summer.

Our destination… Hawaii!

So here I am, in my After, waiting to start senior year in two weeks. Even though it’s been almost two years since the accident, each day is still a struggle. With my brother gone, it feels like phantom pains from a lost limb, but I still experience the aches. His emotions were so tied into my own that it’s as if half of me was missing—half of me died with him.

I still have my dad. I love talking to him and spending time with him, but we aren’t able to hold any kind of conversation. He can only say my name, yes, and no. Speaking experts offered little help, so we came up with our own way of communicating; one blink for yes, and two blinks for no. It’s not very original, but there isn’t much else we can do. The most important thing is that he’s here, and he remains the only person my mom controls her mood swings around. She continues to curse and scream at me every day as long as Dad is out of earshot. I don’t understand why since he can’t do or say anything about it.

So this is it… this is my life now, wrapped in a not so pretty little package for everyone to dissect.