Radio Hell

Full Body Chills


Of dogs and babies on Youtube or whatever because you won't find wholesome and uplifting here. I guess you could call my story a tragedy, but not like a sad romance movie kind of tragedy more like one of the old ones you know the ones where an audience watches the main character make a terrible decision yet she's completely oblivious to how badges messing up her life. Yes that's this. I. Think they call that tragic irony. Anyway, life's been tough recently. Know Life's been a huge pile of shit recently, if I'm being honest after my leg in a skiing accident with no insurance, I've been practically drained of any savings which means once again, I'll have to delay going to college and still work my job at the mall where Sharon will be asking my I haven't left yet and consequently blame it on my poor attitude in the fact that I don't smile. Enough. Shortly, after the injury my boyfriend left me and I don't blame him it was my fault. I mean, he was kind and smart. But obviously to tie down by girl WHO's only got a high school diploma and can barely afford her rent to really follow his dreams traveling the world in teaching advanced physics to students in Berlin and. I was too much work ruined by my first boyfriend and traumatic abuse that left me to quote my therapist Vulnerable and defensive shutting out the few people who might have ever come close to loving me whenever I needed their support the most. And then three days ago my mom died. Police say it was an accident she was going above the speed limit on that highway that passes through Mount Ada. This time of year, the mountain road is sleek with ice. So you could be going twenty under the speed limit still wind up down a hundred foot drop. It's easy for them to explain how she died but no, one can tell me why. Why was my mom even traveling on that road? I keep thinking that maybe she was coming to see me not like she normally does but. Even, then you would have to go out of your way to take that old highway I mean, my mom lived back in her hometown of Cops Hill. So it's less than an hour drive west of weird but that highway splits through the mountains to the south. I. I don't know where she was going. And another thing my mom hated driving it's the reason she asked me to pick up groceries whenever I'd come to visit. While Bat and she knew I would never pressure her to pay me back. She was very much a stay at home mom but not really in a good way. So. Why why was she driving in? Where was she going? I mean, there are some rumors stories local too weird about the mountains and the abandoned highway about even all the hikers who go missing and whose bodies are never found about the highway calling people and those who drift away at the wheel, even purposefully steer off the road. But. My mom wasn't like that I mean maybe she was reckless up there but. Why Now she's dead and I'm left planning her funeral and figuring out her estate and I don't even have the first clue of what to do. Why did she have to leave her only daughter with no extended family to manage the grief and aftermath of her death alone? I had to trade some of my off days at work just so I could sort out all of MOMS belongings I mean you'd think a death in the family would be the one excuse to get some time off will apparently not when your attendance and support is required during this busy season and I would have called in sick but I've received enough verbal warnings to know I'm step away from being fired. You never realize just how much junk you have until you have to move it. It's worse when that junk isn't even yours. I don't think my mom was a hoarder, but she didn't make my life easy by saving every souvenir to go cup and Mayland magazine. There's a thousand little knickknack she must have called antiques, but we're really just aging memories of time she can never get back. Without her they looked to me to find some sentimental value. Day only remind me she's dead. So I sort them in the bag marked trash. Somewhere in the field of stuff I signed an old picture book. I, never saw my mom is someone who would save photos i. mean her antiques were one thing but I'm sure she justified her collecting believing she could. I don't know resell on for some small profit, but family photos don't buy you cigarettes. I opened the book to find a vibrant young woman. She appears to be maybe sixteen seventeen. Her hair is a lush amber tone that blooms into frizzy curls her makeup enclose scream eighties even though her fashion is out of style I'm taken back by just how beautiful she is. I can see it in the frozen Hazel, gays and by the thin line of the mouth. This is my mother. I flipped to another page. My mother's sits at the bottom steps of a Pearl White Porch. An older couple looms above her her parents. The patio itself is cracked and peeling and mccomb poses if the family are decidedly staged. I never knew my grandparents and my mother always seem to withhold her comments about them. I- ignorantly wrote them office. Typical grandparents caring and humble always with their door open in a plate of dinner to take home. But the rough features of my grandfather's hands tight lear of my grandmother's face. The photo makes me doubt their pine nece. I see less and less of them as I turn the pages taking their place is my father. I. Barely knew him more than my grandparents because he died when I was four murder actually beaten and left for dead late one night when he was strolling town. I just remember my mom being in shock I. Mean I was still too young to fully understand what had happened but just old enough to miss him. He appears charming but he has that look of immaturity that you'd see in any high school boy. I'm sure my mother loved him I mean their prom photos beamed that bright naive romance. There are their wedding pictures, high school sweethearts that married as soon as they turned eighteen. My grandparents are absent here but I'm there though. My mother had me when she was only seventeen she actually dropped out of school to take care of me. The following pictures tell of our short time as a family. I remember my father in little ways house. He would play with me, pick me up and tossing the air how he would settle me down on my bed and some nights read to me. But the photos don't share my idyllic memories. Instead I see a family struggling to survive both financially and emotionally. Recycled between trailer homes and two apartments,

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