My name is John Murphy. Here I am sitting on a park bench. I don’t remember how I got here. I must have wandered off. Last I remember is me and Billy getting high. I’m not normally like this, just when days get rough; today was a rough day because all I could think about was my childhood. It all started when I was about five years old. My parents always fought day by day with each other, until one day, it wasn’t only between the two of them; it involved me. I was beaten. Punched, hit, kicked, you name it, it happened. I only put up with it for so long before I moved my bedroom down to the cement room we called a basement. This was by age eleven. I now spend what I have of a life in that bedroom. I’m eighteen years old and I still have the same Pokemon bedroom set from when I was six. I have a nightstand next to my bed and one single light that hangs down from the ceiling. That is what I call home.

It doesn’t surprise me that I’m here alone. I don’t have much for friends and I sure as hell don’t have a girlfriend. It’s probably because I’m not the greatest looking guy. I’m 6’2”, and have long, shaggy black hair. It’s naturally blonde, but I dye it black. I have bright blue eyes and weight 160 pounds. I hate my appearance. I try so hard to be happy about it every day, but I find it harder and harder to do so. I’m a loner in school. The only time Billy talks to me is when we get high, but that only happens occasionally.
I need to get on with the shittiest part of my day. School. I walk to school thinking about the terrible times of walking with my headphones in minding my own business trying not to notice all of the other people that stare at me as I walk.
My day goes by through my classes. Every night after school I go into the music room and practice piano. No one knows this about me. This is the only good thing I have going for me in life. “I can’t wait to get out of this class to go practice. Two minutes until the bell rings.” I think to myself watching the clock tick by.
*Ding. Ding. Ding*
Finally. It’s time to go to the music room. This is my favorite room ever. I love this room because I don’t have to be anyone but myself in here. This is the room I go to when I get depressed. The sound of the piano and everything about this room makes me forget about the world and puts me in my own peaceful place. It’s the only place where my past isn’t sitting on my back weighing me down. It all gets released. I’ve made a few songs of my own that could potentially put me in a better place, but it’s not worth it right now.
But I should probably get to work.
Aside of playing piano, people don’t know that I’m actually really smart and I love to read. I’m silent and depressed on the outside, but on the inside, I have a whole head of knowledge. The last thing people don’t know about me, is my tattoo. I have a tattoo of a Mocking Jay on my right shoulder blade. I got it as a present for myself for my eighteenth birthday because no one else would ever buy me anything. I chose this tattoo because it resembles my relationship with my parents. Also, I heard somewhere that mocking jays are supposed to keep you safe.  Deep down somewhere I do  love my parents and I know they love me. It’s hard to show it because of the past. I talk to them on occasion. Sometimes more times a day than others. They’ve gotten help with their abuse problems and now they say it’s my turn. They want me to go to rehab so I can stop my drug use and become the fun loving son that they want, but I don’t agree. I don’t want to be who I’ve become, but I feel as if I can’t change now. I feel as though my life is already gone down the drain and I can’t do anything about it. I refuse to go. “It won’t help me” I tell myself as I look at the disgusting face of mine in the mirror. They say they have changed so now it’s my turn.
I’m basically on my own in life. I work part time at the local gas station, so I have money when I need it. I’m running out of money because I haven’t been working as much as I need to. My parents don’t pay for anything of mine except for the house. I pay for my clothes, food, gas, etc. I want to ask them for help, but I can’t because they won’t give me the help until I go to rehab like they want me to do.
Crap. I’m late to work again. Maybe I can think of an excuse before the boss finds me.
“John, where have you been?” My boss asked before I could even get a word out.
“I… uhh… I… I can explain” I stuttered trying to think of an on the spot excuse.
“There’s no time for any more excuses. John, this has happened more than just this once and you know that. It’s gone on far too long. I’m sorry, but you’re fired.”
I didn’t even make an effort to explain. He was right. I’m always late. “I’m sorry Greg.” I muttered as I walked out the door. Now what am I supposed to tell my parents? If they weren’t going to kill me before, they sure are now.
The whole way home I thought about what a screw up I was. I called up Billy to see if he was home.
“Hello?” Billy answered his phone. It was obvious he was high by the sound of his voice.
“Hey bro. So I just got fired.”
“No way! Why?”
“Because I’m always late and I’m a screw up.. Hey are you home?”
“Yeah dude. Why?”
“Can I come over?”
“Sure. I’ll go unlock the doors now. See you soon”
“Alright. See ya.”
I walked into Billy’s house. His parents weren’t home. I went to his bedroom and there he was. He already had a bowl packed and a needle ready. He knew what I had called for. I sit on the bed and think back to everything that has happened as I light the bowl and inhale. For a while the world felt amazing. My problems didn’t matter.
A short while later, I looked over at Billy; he was passed out as usual.  It was at that moment I realized. Drugs get me nowhere. They only make thing okay for a little bit and then I come back to the realization of how much a screw up I am. I now realize my parents are right. I need help.
“Billy? Billy?” I shake him to try to wake him up. It was pointless. So I just left.
On my way home, I thought about how angry my parents would be. Maybe they’d kick me out. Maybe they’d be proud if I go get help. I arrive at home to my parents sitting in the living room watching the football game. They gave me an odd look because I normally don’t come in the front door; I enter in the basement door and go straight to my bedroom. They might also be looking at me weird because I should be working.
“What are you doing home already? Why are you coming in the front door?” My mom looks at me with a look of curiosity.
“I have something to tell you both. I was fired for showing up late again.”
“Then why are you just getting home?” My dad asks looking angry.
“Because I went to Billy’s again…” I say, disappointed of myself. “But before you yell at me and say anything further, I want you both to know I took into consideration about when you said you would give me the help I need.”
“What do you mean?” My mom now looked confused.
“I want to go to rehab. I’m done being a screw up. I want to be known as something other than the now jobless kid who lives in his parent’s basement forever.”
“Okay.” My Dad says with a strange look of relief. He seemed a lot calmer than a few seconds ago. In my mind, I can’t help but think that he knows that he is the cause of a lot of my problems. Maybe he feels bad? This decision could be good for all of us. I could get a break from them. They could get a break from me. Suddenly, everything seemed okay. A weight felt lifted off of my shoulders. This was going easier than I thought.
“Okay?” I said, waiting for a loophole.
“I’ll make the phone call in the morning.” Mom said. She seemed relieved as well. I know she’s been waiting for this moment for a long time. And seeing her face assured me that this was what I needed to do.
We didn’t converse much after that. I went down to my room and laid in my bed thinking about the decision I just made. What would tomorrow be like? What am I supposed to tell Billy? He’d probably hate me.
I started feeling tired. It’s been a while since I’ve actually laid in my bed and been okay with how the day has gone. I feel my back where my tattoo is at. It’s a little reminder to me, once again, that everything is going to be okay. I close my eyes and fall asleep peacefully, something else that I haven’t done in a very long time.
I’m woke up by the sound of my phone ringing. It’s Billy. I hesitate to answer, until I realize I have to tell him. He needs to know. I slowly slide the answer bar over.
“Hel..Hello?”
“Hey man it’s Billy. When did you leave?”
“Shortly after you passed out.. But hey.. I have something to tell you.”
“You can tell me anything.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“Yes. I’m leaving. I’m going away for a while. To some place that’s going to help me become less of a screw up.”
“Like where?”
“Rehab. Billy. I’m going to rehab. After leaving your place, I realized how drugs do me no good. They make me happy for only a short period of time and it’s done. I want to become closer to my parents and this is the start of it. My mom called this morning and they’re on their way to get me now. So I’ll see you in a while, but I have to go. It was nice talking to you.”
“That was a lot to take in, but I’m happy for you man. I’m glad you’re making the decision you’ve always wanted to make. I’ll let you go though. I’ll talk to you later John.” And then he was gone. He didn’t seem mad like I thought he would be. But he really didn’t exactly seem happy either. Oh well, time to get my bags ready.
“John! Your ride is here!” I hear my mom yell from upstairs. I grab what little stuff I’m aloud to take with me and head up the stairs. Here goes nothing.
Eight Weeks Later
The sun comes shining through my window. It’s one of the many things I never had in my gloomy basement room. I’m happy to be awake, which is another thing I could never say before this experience. So many things have changed in the few weeks I’ve been here. Most importantly, I’m clean, happy, and going home a changed person. But then there are other things. My piano skills are no longer a secret. In fact, I’ve performed for people here and they say I may have a future in playing. Who knew? I told my parents I’ll play for them when I get home. It’s been a therapy for me while I’ve been here. I also told my parents about my tattoo. I told them I believe it’s helped to keep me safe through everything. They understood and praised me for coming forward about all my hidden secrets. I think that’s the best part. There are no more secrets.
I’m going home today. I haven’t seen or spoke to Billy since the night before I left. I hear he’s still stuck in his old ways. But like they say, you can’t fix what doesn’t want to be fixed. My mom said she’s talked to my old boss and he’s considering hiring me back at the gas station. It’s not exactly the best job in the world but, hey, it’s a start. That’s my new outlook on life. Everything takes time. I’m not perfect, my parents aren’t perfect, but we’re working on it. We’re a hell of a lot farther than we were eight weeks ago.
*Knock. Knock* I think that’s one of the nurses at my door. “John, your parents are here to pick you up. It’s time to go home.”
Home. For once in my life, it sounds like a great place. Mom already told me she moved my room back upstairs and finally ditched the Pokemon bed sheets. The future looks bright and I can’t wait to see what’s in store. New room, new life, new me. Well, as long as I catch my ride home, that is. Here’s to starting over!