It was 11:00 in the morning when I received the Call. I was at a sleepover that was just ending when my cell rang. It was my mother. She told me to get a ride home with a friend. When I asked why, she dropped the bomb: she had gotten arrested for drinking and driving the previous night. When I hung up, my friends gave me questioning looks, and I started crying.
The month was March, the year 2007. After catching a ride, I ran inside. “What would make you do something so stupid?” I shouted at her. My nine year-old brother explained. He said that our step dad, Al, had called the police on Mom. She was driving his friend home, and he was with her. I started crying again. A few days later, a man came to our house. He said he was from DYFS. I went o the park, and her talked to my mom. An hour or so later, he said that we (my brother and I) would live with my dad for two weeks. I refused to go anywhere. It’s easy for me to talk about now, a year later, but then I was depressed. However, from the time we went to Dad’s house until now, things just got better. We wound up staying more than two weeks. In April, I found out that she had had marijuana in the car also. As far as I knew she’d never done drugs. You can imagine my reaction. I called her. She explained that she had just had it, but she didn’t actually use it. I believed her, but our relationship was tense.
Over the summer, things were calm. That is, until I found out that I’d have to start a new school. In September, I turned thirteen. The judge ruled that we could see my mom Sundays from 10:00 AM until 7:00 PM. On Halloween, I found out she was smoking, and cue huge argument. On Sundays, I would go there, go to church, and hang out with my friends until five. One Sunday in December, the church had a Christmas play. That morning, my mom told me that I couldn’t go. I walked out and went anyway, with a curfew of three. At three, I called home and got until 4:30. At 4:15, she came to get me. We fought at the house. She said that they had had a “family dinner,” and I remarked that it was about time. When Al saw me, he told me to sit in a chair. I sat and smirked as they hollered. He said he’d take my phone away. I told him that since they didn’t pay for it, and I did, they couldn’t do anything. An hour later, Mom and I made up. The next Sunday, Al made a threat to push me through a wall. I walked out, and the next day my dad and I filed a complaint. I never went back.
Today, my mom and I don’t talk. Her father, my Pop-pop, doesn’t talk to her either (she tried to put him in jail.) my grandfather and I are closer than ever. I live with my dad and his fiancée, Cindy. They are two wonderful people with generous hearts. I have a great new school with a bunch of friends, and I see my old ones once a week. Though I’m still angry, my life is better. I joined a Robotics team in school, and we won four awards and traveled to Alabama. I’m in drama club, with a semi-lead role. There’s a lot more smiling in my life. This I believe: Sometimes things must get worse to get better.
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