Monday, a true story by Jessica Wierzba 


This is a true story written by my best Friend Jessica Wierzba.  
Any feedback should be mailed to me, because Jessica does not have and e addy.

	



Title: Monday
 
 
Author: Jessica Wierzba 

 
Rating: G


 

I never wanted to go to school especially on Mondays.
I would always complain and ask, "Why do I have to 
go to school?  I don't need it."  Then I would do 
what I always did, get dressed and go on with my life.  
I had no other choice.  What could an eight year-old 
kid do?  When I woke up that Monday morning on 
February 22, 1993 I didn't know I wouldn't have to go 
to school, and that this one morning would change my 
life forever. 
"Why do I have to go to school?  Why couldn't 
we get a day off?" I scream to myself.  Mondays, I hate 
Mondays. "Why does school have start on a Monday?" 
These thoughts keep running through my mind as I gather 
my clothes.  "Mom, where are you I need your help."  
I say, talking more to myself then anyone else.  Where 
could she be?  "Does anyone even live in this house?" 
I mumble hoping to gather some attention.  Tough luck, 
I don't.
I crawl down the stairs with my clothes in hand.  
Of course I whine with each step I take.  I had to whine 
it was only right because it was a Monday.  As I go to 
the bottom of the staircase and turn around to see my 
grandma.  "Grandma where is mom?  Is dad home yet?" I 
say with the same whining tone. 
"Something has happened…to your dad," she replies cautiously, 
"he got hurt at work."  My mind went numb it didn't sink 
into my head.  She doesn't seem to notice my confusion and
continues, "You don't have to go to school.  Your mom and
Chris are at the hospital.  She tells me to tell you not 
to worry because she thinks he just broke something."  My 
grandma bends over and gives me a hug as she whispers in my
ear, "Sit down, it's okay they should be coming home soon."
"Okay." I mutter as I slowly walk to the chair, the 
numb feeling now moving all over my body. I sit silently in 
the brown chair in the corner of our living room, and stare 
at the wall. I sit there and try to analyze what has 
happened.  It finally hits me.  I bolt up into a standing 
position as if in panic and break down crying.  I slowly sit 
back down and keep repeating to myself, "My dad is hurt, my 
dad is hurt." I sit in that chair for maybe a half an hour to 
an hour, numb with my pondering thoughts.  I hear the door 
open to the house not giving much thought to it until my mom 
calls out my name.  I slowly turn my head up and look at her, 
and then realize my dad is never coming back.