Phoebe got of the horse and walked toward me with a smile like no ones else. She asked me something that would change my life. She said, “Will you come home and talk to mom and dad? ”. I really wanted to show Phoebe how mature and brave I was by saying yes, but I never really had a good relationship with my mom and dad. They would never support me on anything I did. For example I was in the NYC Little League Championship game. We ended up losing the game, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was Mr.
Sanders, the father of my friend Timmy, telling me my parents couldn’t make it because they were in Vegas gambling away my college savings. Ok Mr. Sanders didn’t exactly say that but that’s what I interpreted his words as. I said yes to Phoebe and later on I figured out that, it was the right decision. I was never really good at whistling because my parents never taught me, so I asked Phoebe. She whistled so loud it sounded like a siren. It hurt that my parents taught her not me. I ignored it and decided to address the issue of my parents caring more about Phoebe than me later, when I see them.
The cab reeked of alcohol and there was obviously some NYU college students who had just came from a party were in the cab the night before. The cab driver was small and had so much facial hair on his face you could mix him up with a gorilla at the zoo. He started rambling on about the how the economy is plummeting. I wasn’t listening, I was just focusing on how I would greet my parents. Maybe an angry approach, “How could you send me to Pency! ” or a calmer approach, “I am so sorry for behavior theses past years, can I please live with you guys, I have changed. Phoebe took out her wallet that had a Elvis sticker on it. She was obsessed with Elvis, she loved his hair and his music. You might ask why she was paying the driver and not me. This is because I was broke and I spent my last dollar on that carousel. As we got out of the car the cab driver gave me a look like I was the rudest person in the world.
I was stressed as hell so I pulled out a cigarette to ease the stress. Phoebe then slapped the cigarette out of my mouth and said, “I want you to make a good impression on mom and dad. We waited and waited until we heard a car door open. My mom came out of the car looking like she just survived a car crash her hair was messed up and her lipstick was on her cheeks. She had long fake fingernails and her feet were the size of my gigantic monster like hands. My mom ignored my presence and told Phoebe that her father will not make it home until after supper. After ten minutes of complete ignorance from my mom. She said, “My room, now! ” I don’t want to get into details but she suggested I go to a Mental hospital.
At first I thought it was crazy, but then I realized that It would make Phoebe happy and that is what’s important. My mother told me that to be ready to go in the mourning for a fifteen-hour drive to Idaho. That night I thought off all the terrible things the hospital would do to me. They would probably give me shots daily to relieve anxiety. I hate shots. After a while of thinking of all the cons to going, I thought of the good things that would come out of going. Maybe after words I would finally be happy and meet the one. Maybe the one is Jane.
I’m getting ahead of myself. So I walk up to the sweet aroma of bacon pancakes made by my mom. I finally felt apart of the family again. It was a great feeling. My Mom then packed up the old Ford which had been passed on from my great grandfather Jerry. I didn’t know much about Jerry, just that he was a tailor from New Jersey. The car ride was a long one, not because the duration but because my mom wouldn’t say a word to me. The awkward silence was soon stopped, when she asked me if I wanted to go to the bathroom.
I replied with a, simple “sure. We stopped at a mysterious gas station in Montana. As my mom pumped the premium led gas into the ford, I went into the old disgusting bathroom. Compared to the delicious aroma of the pancakes this morning the stench of the bathroom was like being in hell. We were on the road again and before I knew it, we were there, “The Comfort Institute. ” I said my goodbyes to my goodbyes to my parents and an young vibrant clothed women named Sandy greeted me and asked that I follow her to my room. The next couple of months I spent there I wrote a journal.