The following morning started off wonderfully. Alexandra went to breakfast at ‘Mickey Dee’s’ with her mom before going to a training session at the local hospital to become a volunteer. After returning from the hospital, Alexandra didn’t have much time before she had to go to work at her town’s Oktoberfest for a school club. She just needed to kill an hour or so. Bored out of her mind, Alexandra went into her utterly unique bedroom in search of something to do. With a smile, her eyes danced around the screaming walls of her room. They were covered with drawings and collages Alexandra had done. The contrast of the pastel, flowered wall paper and the brightly colored creations covering most of it made her happy. Then an idea hit her. Alexandra had wanted to paint stars on her ceiling in the shape of constellations, but hadn’t been able to find glow in the dark paint. So, she ran off to the kitchen to get the phone book and “Let her fingers do the walking”.
Alexandra’s father was at the sink in the kitchen. Instantly, tension filled the room, as it always did when Alexandra was near her father. Instead of being like oil and water, as most parents and teenagers are, Alexandra and her father were more like sodium and oxygen, they didn’t just ‘not mix’. When they came together, the reaction was usually violent.
This instance was not exception. When Alexandra found that the phone book was not in its usual residence, she questioned her father, “Where’s the phone book?”
“It was on the floor of your room,” he replied.
“No, I put it back.”
“Really.” That sarcastic comment set Alexandra off.
“Really,” she answered in a mocking tone.
“You don’t talk that way to me!” he yelled, grabbing her arm and pushing her into her sister’s bedroom door. Alexandra screamed, more our of rage than fear or pain. She broke free of him in a fit of fury, her eyes glistening and red with angry tears.
“You’re insane!” she yelled, her voice screeching and cracking, “Get away from me! You’re insane!”
“Oh I’m insane,” her father said, running after her.
Alexandra tried to shut her bedroom door on him, but she couldn’t. He pushed her violently down and said for her to stay there. She stood and opened the door to show her defiance. He came back into the room, shoved her onto her bed and hit her. Alexandra fell off, her shoulder slamming into the bed frame.
Alexandra cried and screamed. Overcome with emotions, dominated by rage, she screamed obscenities at her father.
“You don’t swear at me,” he yelled.
He walked out of the room, leaving Alexandra on the floor, and returned a moment later with an orange bar of half-used scented, glycerine soap from the bathroom. He yanked Alexandra up and pushed her into the wall. Her back slammed into a wooden pegboard. The pegs stabbed her in the back before the entire thing crashed to the floor.
“I hate you! I hate you!” Alexandra screamed as her father grabbed her face and shoved the slimy bar into her mouth. The perfumey taste coated her tongue as he twisted the bar and smeared the soap over her face. When it mixed with her tears, Alexandra’s face was covered with a thick, soapy film.
Finally, he left. Alexandra sank to the floor. Nauseating soap coated her face and hair and filled her mouth and nostrils. She couldn’t breathe, but she stood. Alexandra ran around the room throwing things, wanting to kill everyone in the world, including herself.