Introduction: 'Aza Strange! The Accident'

Why did he just have to take the only car that we had?

My name is Aza Strange and I am 16 years old, technically I actually haven't gotten my license yet being that in reality my birthday actually wasn't all that long ago. And unlike most girls my age; I just admittedly wasn't ready to take my driver's test and hopefully pass so that I could go and actually get my license on the day of, like the rest of them seem to do. But this was one of those situations where I honestly couldn't care less if it was illegal or not. Or if my dad would've had my head once he'd find out about it, if I had the chance I would've gone speeding through all the red lights in the world if I thought that I just wasn't going fast enough.

At least I had my learner's permit.

Because, for once; maybe even the first time in a long while, my dad actually might've needed me and there would've been nothing that could step in my way of getting to him in the case that he did. That is if he hadn't taken the only car that we had and I had a way of actually getting there on my own.

And to make it even worse; nobody is telling me anything.

The second that I had gotten off the phone with Christine I had immediately gotten up from the bench that I had been so lazily perched on, and eating who-knows-just-how-much takeout, and I immediately ran straight to my closet and exchanging my both cozy and comfortable pajamas for a quickly thrown together but still cute outfit of: a creme colored knitted sweater dress that was both just a little bit too long in the length of the torso, to just passing my knees and also just a little bit too long in the sleeves, meaning that I could so easily cuff them into my hands and they covered over my knuckles.

But I actually kind of liked that; being that I thought the look was kind of more adorable and fashionable anyways but it was also very practical as well to keep my hands warmer being that we live in New York, and it's ALWAYS cold here. I also just pulled on a pair of knee-high socks, covered by my almost knee-high black boots, going over my dark brown colored cozy leggings. And then I finally topped it all off with an army green jacket that had a grey colored faux fur going around its hood.

But I realize that really isn't what was important right now. But I also needed some sort of a distraction.

Because nobody was telling anything.

The second that Christine had pulled up I ran right out of my front door so quickly to the point that I don't even remember if I actually stopped to lock it or not, but either way I don't care. The only thing that I did care about was my father and all I wanted in these moments was to know what had happened to him.

~

I was in front of the piano when I got the call.

Letting my fingers touch a key at a time, waiting until a note died down before hitting another, I let it ring. Not bothering to see who it was, half a dozen empty boxes of Chinese food that littered the top of the piano meant that I wasn’t especially interested in the idea of conversation at the moment.

But my phone rang over and over again.

Realizing that whoever it was would probably not be giving up until my ears go numb and bleeding from the sound of the ring tone playing over and over again, annoying me so much until I finally pass out....I picked it up and I answered without even looking at the caller I.D.

"Hello?" I was slightly agitated.

"Aza?! Where in the world were you?"

"Christine?" Knowing that she wouldn't be calling me unless it was really important, she'd be calling my dad not me. I felt all my current sense of annoyance and arrogance go right out the window, replaced with a laced feeling of concern.

"What's going on?" I asked.

“Listen, it’s your dad." I might've been disappointed with him but that didn't stop my heart from sinking all the way down my chest and falling into a pit the second that I heard the words, the abyss that is the bottom of my stomach. I immediately felt myself sitting up straighter.

"He was in a car accident. A bad one. Come to the hospital now.”

“I-Is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I really do not know.”

“I’ll see you when you get here.”

~

The only actual little bit of information that I was actually being given was what Christine had already told me on the phone; and I'd tried again...time and time again. Once I'd actually gotten into the passenger seat of Christine's car I had tried to ask her again what had happened, maybe then when I'd asked she just couldn't answer me because she didn't have the proper information? That's what I had wanted to let myself think, but once I'd actually been with her in person and trying to ask again and seeing the look, that look of that same worry that I felt in the pit of my stomach, playing out on her face. I knew that had not been the case.

When I tried to ask her again, she had reached her arm out and over the steering wheel and turning up the volume on the radio and cutting me off.

So I knew that she just didn't want to tell me and that made me feel even worse; being able to see the tears welling up onto the brim of her eyes, tears that for whatever reason she was just refusing to let herself release them. Maybe it was all just for my own sake. But I had even tried to ask other of the staff members at the Hospital but in the end they were all just only saying the same exact thing.

"He was in a car accident."

But to me that just wasn't good enough, I know that people get in car accidents all the time but each one is different, some car accidents mainly just damage the vehicle that the person was driving, some car accidents leave the persons involved with barely just minimal scars or bruising, and then there are some that leave somebody practically, if not actually; dead, almost, if not every single day. So I needed someone to tell me something but I also felt just as much that I was scared of whatever answer they would potentially be giving me because I did not want this to turn out to have been my father's last day.

I knew they were just trying to be as reassuring as possible whenever they would tell me continuously that it was all going to be okay by the end. I knew that they didn't actually know if they were telling me the truth, I may not sound like it but I did still appreciate the kindness intended from the small gesture.

So admittedly I was kind of just lost: just staring at all the walls that I have actually seen already probably hundreds of times at the very least, re-reading over the same health and safety posters that I had already traced over a million times in my mind, and also the tiles of the ceiling. I was just fidgeting with my hands, picking at the fuzz on my sweater, buttoning and unbuttoning my jacket over and over again, as well as continuously moving the zipper up and down. I was running my hands up and down my sleeves over and over trying to really get warm, and just doing everything that I could possibly do to try and distract my mind from the situation at hand.

Of course none of it actually was working.

~

“Where are you going?” I asked my dad as he entered the living room. He was dressed up nice, hair slicked back perfectly. I even put down my book, one of my very favorites that I was currently re-reading. “I didn’t know we were going somewhere.”

I started to stand up off the couch and get ready, excited to pick up my jacket from it's hanging in the closet.

“We aren’t, I’ll be back tonight. Don’t wait up for me. Find some dinner.” He was cold and distant - same as always.

“Oh.” I stopped myself and felt myself slumping back into the cushions on the sofa, feeling like I wanted to just curl up into myself. I wanted to make myself as small as he made me feel. “Have… have a good time, I guess.” Grabbing my book, I stood up from the sofa.

Stephen, I hadn't really called him dad, except to his face, in a really long time. He grabbed his coat. “Hey,” he said.

I stopped, turned around to face him, - and I tried not to get your hopes up.

“You can order whatever you want, okay? You know where my credit card is.”

I just nodded. Why did I always let myself get my hopes up?

I'd wanted to say "I love you", but he never paused long enough for me to have the chance. It was like he didn’t care at all if I'd said it or not...

~

I looked up and immediately fell as I shot out of my seat when I realized that it was Christine who was shaking my shoulder that caused me to wake up, and me being woken up made me realize that I had actually fallen asleep in the first place, her eyes being all red rimmed and bloodshot. By the expression on her face and the amount that she had been crying I immediately felt my own tears starting to well up in my own eyes, just at the sight of it, because I just couldn't imagine that she would probably be crying this much if he had actually made it.

I thought that my dad was dead.

I thought that my father was gone and all I could think about was the guilt berried heavily inside of my chest. How I felt that even though we hadn't gotten along very well and had this amazing father-daughter relationship, that I'd missed so much, in such a long time I still felt awful, I still loved my father more than anything else in my life. Even if it felt like he didn't love me anymore. And it just felt even more awful that I was just dreaming about the last conversation that we had and how so mad I was at him for leaving me alone again.

I thought my father was gone and it was only one second, but that was already all it took to start eating me out alive.....

That is until she pulled me into a tight hug and over the sounds of both of our sniffles mixing together I somehow still was able to hear her manage the small but oh-so, strong words coming out of her whispers.

“He survived the surgery, he’s in the ICU now. He should make somewhat of a recovery.”

And so I clung to Christine, the tears finally beginning to fall as I held on to the woman for dear life. “Thank you…”

A couple hours later, Christine led me to his room, opening the door quietly. But I immediately froze when my eyes first fixed upon his body laying on the bed, the various pins holding in place on his hands. I stumbled back running and bursting into the nearest bathroom, emptying my stomach into one of the toilets. Christine followed, holding back my hair and and rubbing soothing circles on my back. I sat back down on the floor, resting the back of my head on the stall wall. Christine murmured sweet nothings in my ear. I know she was trying with everything she had within her to ease my pain.

I just wish that with all of her efforts that maybe something would've worked.

So I was there when he woke up. After three whole days and nights went by. I was finally actually able to bring myself to sitting by my father's bedside. I wouldn't leave him for nothing. And I cried as he grunted in pain and shook, learning that his hands were scarred and broken and partially paralyzed. I was distraught because even though I knew that he probably wouldn't have appreciated the gesture anyways, if I could, there wasn't anyway that I would be able to try and hold his hand. And so I settled for second best as my hands rested on his side as he trembled.

"How are you doing?"

"How does it look like I'm doing?" He answered with a bitter tone. "I have cables connected to my body in order to stay alive, and I can barely move."

"I know.....But you'll get better. After some month maybe you'll be better again and-"

"I won't be! After some months I'll still be ruined! After some months I won't have a job....The doctor's warned me...I won't be able to control the shaking of my hands...Have you ever heard of a neurosurgeon with shaky hands?"

"No but-"

“No one could have done better,” Christine told him.

He looked over at her. “I could have done better.”

“Dad,” I whispered softly. “No one could have done better-”

But my father just simply shook his head, refusing to look even slightly towards me, at his own daughter. My smile fell as I turned and looked at Christine, who had even more tears in her eyes.

“Dad, can you please look at me?” I asked quietly, coming to sit closer to my father. But he just squeezed his eyes shut.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Why did you let them do this to me?” He asked furiously, and I knew he was directing his words at me, even if he wouldn't turn around and look me in the face.

I pulled back. Finally, his eyes met mine. And I don't think I've ever seen him look so disappointed.

“You should’ve stopped them.” He murmured, finally turning his head forward and making eye contact with me. “You should’ve stopped them from ruining me.”

I felt a lump in my throat, tears spilling over my cheeks. “I’m sorry."

“Why didn’t you stop them?”