Glancing Back Part 1/1 COMPLETE

[Lorastar]

Title: Glancing Back
Author: Lora
Disclaimer: I own nothing Roswellian- except my pretty Roswellfanatics calendar!
Summar: Liz looks back at her escape from her tortured childhood. Max is her husband, Michael is her big brother, Maria is his wife. It's basically an awards assembly where Liz comes to grips with her teen years, and how she,her brother, and best friend saved themselves and each other.

Author's Note: I don't know why I wrote this, but if you like it, I'm going to write a companion piece from Max's POV. I hope you like it!
-lora

The distance between the dark wood podium and myself shrinks with each decisive step I take, the only indication of my nervousness is displayed by the prominent shake of my hands as I grip my prepared speech of thanks. The microphone reaches my chin as I glance around the room at my colleagues- all here to celebrate my accomplishments and me. Max smiles at me supportively and instant reassurance floods my mind and soul. Max was my confidence for so long when I was young, but now, I need to do this on my own.

The paper with the speech I spent weeks on trying to find the proper, impressive, but often illusive, words to portray my gratitude crumples easily in my fist. It’s finally time to tell the truth and not hide behind the safety of my present life.

I smile briefly at Max before turning and speaking clearly into the microphone, enunciating the words I had avoided for so long.

“My brother and I grew up the children of a meth addict.” I pause, letting my associated absorb the first thing they had ever heard about my past. If only it was the worst part of everything I had to say. I let the paper fall to the table so that they can see I am leaving that path of safety for something uncharted, something wild, something real.

“Our mother wasn’t any better. She would use anything she could get her hands on: crack, ecstasy, marijuana, valium, you name it. She would go away for weeks at a time- to rehab. My father would tell me the doctors were trying to fix her, but Michael and I knew she was broken beyond repair.

“My brother, Michael,” I pause and smile as I make eye contact with my brother and allow myself to relive all the times he had comforted me, and gave me hope to continue in life. Fresh air floods my lungs as I take a deep breath, struggling to expel the memories I had repressed. “Michael never got along with our mother well. They had different goals, different lives they wanted to lead. Michael wanted out of the hell we were all living in. Our apartment was tiny, one bedroom. My brother and I were forced to sleep in the living room, we alternated each night between sleeping on the floor and on the couch. After Michael and our mother, Susan, would fight, Michael and I would lie awake in the living room, listening to the sirens screaming down the road as they raced to try to save someone’s life. When I was younger, I would often wonder why the sirens never came to save us. He would tell me that he was getting out, that he couldn’t stay. I was only 9, and Mikey was only 13. We made plans about our escape. Mikey was going to get out first, and when he could, he would come back for me. He promised me.

“I tried to rebel against my parents by not doing homework, by getting into trouble, but my brother told me that everyone did that. He told me that to get out of all of this, we needed to be exceptional, that our education would be the key to our success in the future. Michael relied heavily on his academics, always making honor roll, and actually skipping a year because he was so advanced.”

Michael smiles at me, reassuringly, knowing how hard it is for me to recall the days of our youth. I know they’ve scarred him in ways that I will never be able to understand, even though I carry the same scars. Telling everyone the adversity out of which we have come is cathartic, it’s a freeing experience to be able to stand there and not hide anything. But terrifying all the same, to stand there emotionally and mentally naked in front of these people whose respect you have worked hard to garner.

My voice shakes slightly as I continue. “Our mother died when I was 11, and Michael was 15. I never knew whether to hate my mother or just wonder if things would’ve been different if she hadn’t died. I have diagnosed many youths that come from similar situations as displacing their anger of their situation onto one person, most commonly a parent. And maybe that’s what I did, placing all the blame and anger onto my father as the years went on. I never knew if I should’ve hated my mother in the same way I hated my father, because I did hate him with every ounce of my being.

“It wasn’t because I wasn’t capable of feeling any other emotions: I was. I loved my brother with all my heart, he was the beacon of light in otherwise stormy skies. And my best friend, now my husband, my dear friend Max Evans, I loved him, too.” I smile down at both of them, relieved to finally tell them both the secrets I had kept from our childhood. In our lives, love wasn’t something you openly expressed.

“Max’s life wasn’t much better, but we had each other. We also had goals, and plans. I can still remember one of the rare days Max and I were playing at a park when we were 12. My mother had died the year before, and my father was currently MIA- he did that often. Father would get a job, hold it for two weeks, and as soon as pay day rolled around her was gone for as long as he could make the money stretch. Michael had to work in order to support us, and I did little things for people who could afford to pay me. We had a stash of cash that we survived on, but it never seemed like enough.

“Max and I were sitting on the top of the jungle gym in a nicer neighborhood than our own, talking about the future. He looked at me and told me that someday the world was going to know who Max Evans was, and they were going to respect him. He didn’t know what he was going to be, but he achieved his goal: the world knows who Max Evans is, and they respect him for being himself.”

My darling husband of fifteen years blushes, even his ears blaze, which makes the crowd of my associates smile wistfully and laugh. I smile, too, unable to pretend that Max doesn’t affect me, even after all the years I have know him.

“Michael began spending more and more time away from our shabby apartment, and bringing in more and more money for him and me to live on. Our father found it, one night after he came, stoned and looking for a fight. He yelled at my brother for stealing money from him. He called us both names, horrible name,” My brow furrows as I remember the details of that horrible night.

The sun was setting rapidly, turning the dingy walls sepia toned. The light flashed in Michael’s eyes, revealing the anger and hatred he felt towards his father. The elder man’s hands were balled up in fists in Michael’s shirt. His breath was rancid as he yelled into his son’s face, spittle flying as he quickly lost control.

I huddled in the corner, not wanting to antagonize either of them. When Michael and I had walked in to find our father pacing and tearing everything apart with a handful of money in his hands, he had knelt down to my level and told me to hide myself. I ran quickly for the corner. My father scared me, I wasn’t too proud to admit it. When he was stoned, he was never responsible for his actions, but afterwards he always apologized.

“Maybe what made me hate him most were his heartfelt apologies. After he beat my brother- and later me- he always apologized, and cried when he thought we didn’t love him. When I was younger I felt bad- thinking this was only a stage - and flung clumsy arms around him, whispering words I thought would make it better. But later, I realized that he choose this life. And he choose to pummel his calloused fists into first my beloved brother, and when he was gone, me.”

Jeff glared at his son, screaming obscenities for the neighbors to hear, not that they would do anything. The apartment building was always humming with rampant fights, no matter what time of day. “How could you do this to me? Stealing money from me? You lousy, son-of-a-bitch! Maybe if you stopped reading all those precious books and got a job you would have your own money! But to steal from me! How am I supposed to feed your little sister if I can’t even trust you not to steal from me!”

Anger flashed in Michael’s eyes as he pushed Jeff who lost his footing and fell to the floor. Michael stood over him, the time for yelling his. “I do have a job! When you’re off doing drugs and doing whatever you do, I’m working at a restaurant, scrounging up the money to pay for food and clothes for my little sister. You think you even classify as the provider of this family? You’re not. You’re nothing, DAD.” He added sarcastically, turning to walk away and to take me with him. He didn’t notice our father rising off the ground and grabbing a glass vase from behind him- an artifact some relative had left to us.

I called out, not wanting our father to hurt Michael. Without Michael I wouldn’t have anyone to turn to, or anyone to feed me. I was only 13, I needed my big brother to protect me. “Michael!” I yelled, “Watch out!”

Michael turned around and noticed out father holding the vase above his head, ready to slam it down. He reached up and caught his wrist, shaking it until the vase fell and hit the ground, smashing into tiny pieces. Unfortunately for me, our father also turned when he heard my voice. He glared at me as I tried to make myself smaller in the corner of the room.

“You!” He started yelling. I shrank back as he started towards me, shaking Michael’s hand off of him. “You little skank. You’re my little daughter, I thought I could trust you! But NO! I hear the stories about you that are circulating around town. I know the things you do to the boys. Do you like it, HONEY?! Do they pay you well? You little whore.” He was leaning down now, in my face, glaring at me, his tone hurting my ears, his words scarring my soul. His hand raised and I waited for the moment it would impact with my face for the first time, I anticipated the pain, but it never came.

I opened my eyes and saw Michael pushing him. Our father stood to meet him and they both raised their fists. Michael restrained himself from yelling, growling moderately: “Don’t you EVER hit her.”

Our father lunged at him, punching him in the eye. Michael stumbled back, unaccustomed to actually fighting. He was the kind of guy who tried to resolve problems with words, in a civilized manner. But our father wasn’t that kind of person. Michael steadied himself and dodged another blow. He punched our father in the stomach and he went down with one blow. Father sat on the floor, glaring at us both as Michael took me by the hand and we left the apartment.
“After that fight, nothing was the same. It was June, finally, and school let out. Michael graduated, head of his class, and I wasn’t looking forward to starting the next school year without my brother there for me. Michael was the recipient of a full scholarship to a university in New Mexico. I went off to find small chores to do for people, as Michael had told me I would have to do all summer to come up with money. One day, I left early in the morning, I had heard that a new restaurant needed some workers for menial labor, and Michael was still sleeping on the floor- it was his day off work. Father was off on one of his vacations, as Mikey and I called them then, and we didn’t know when he would be back. We didn’t think it would be for a while, seeing that he had taken our hard earned money. I’m sure he knew it wasn’t his, he never had money that actually made it into our apartment.

“I never understood how we managed to stay in the small apartment that we did. Father never paid rent, and Michael and I never made enough to cover all the expenses. I’m sure the landlady must’ve taken pity on us, seeing as how our father never took care of us. I worked hard, for twelve hours, that day, and they paid me a hundred dollars in cash. I was so proud, and practically skipped the whole way home. Michael would be so impressed, I couldn’t wait to show it to him. But when I entered the apartment, the only noise I heard was our father sobbing on his bed.”

Michael looks at me, worried now. We never really talked about the days after he left, he has never heard the events that followed. I glance quickly at Max. I know that he understands why I’m doing this, he’s done it in his books, but now he’s looking at me like he wishes I would stop. But I can’t. This was my life, and I have to tell people, I can’t go another fifteen years in silence.

“Father cried every time he felt something akin to remorse after beating my brother- and then me. I asked him quietly where Michael was- I didn’t want to be alone with my father, even then I knew he wasn’t to be trusted. Father told me he had no son anymore. I panicked, thinking that Michael was dead. But after quickly examining the apartment, I realized he had left. He had left me alone with out father.

“He left soon after that, he had come across some quick money and he didn’t return for over a month. It was summer time, and I had my hundred dollars to live off of. I looked for more work, but nothing really seemed appropriate for me. My fourteenth birthday came and went, and Father came home the day I had a little celebration for myself, alone. He walked in, drunk and stumbling over each step he took. His voice called out to me, but I stayed hidden in my corner. That corner was my little refuge, my spot of safety.”

Michael tenses as I recall the memories, but I don’t see him anymore, I’m lost again in my mind. Max rises out of his seat and starts to walk up to me, but I shake myself out of my reverie and hold up my hand to him. I smile weakly and he hesitantly retreats to his seat next to my brother.

“For the year that followed, by father took his anger out on me. He beat me, almost nightly when he was home. One night he crossed the line, beating me until I was passed out in the bathroom floor.

“I ran away that night. I couldn’t stay in that apartment with my father, I could return when he left, but I vowed I would not get caught there alone with him. My place of safety was Max’s apartment. His mother was a drunk, but she at least tried to support him. His twin sister lived with their father, and I had never met her. Max went with me to try to find work for the rest of the summer. He gave me half of all the money he earned, knowing that as soon as my father left I would return to the apartment. Max tried to keep me there, but being independent was something I needed.

“Our sophomore year of high school was tedious, working wherever we could find jobs, accompanied by my staying with Max for two weeks out of every month. I didn’t run into my father once the whole year. When I would return home, I spent the whole day cleaning the apartment. My father would leave the remnants of his drug usage everywhere. I got rid of everything. When he was gone, I would stuff everything he touched in the closet, not wanting to think of him at all.

“My fifteenth birthday came, and Max was the only one who remembered. He took his money and bought me a new sweater. It was black, my color of choice, and so soft. And he took me to dinner. It was the first time anyone had ever cared about me, or my birthday before. That night was the best night of my life, and it gave me hope that even better days would follow.

“Finding little jobs wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted to fit in with other people. Max and I both walked miles to school everyday so that we could attend a better school. Max at least fit in, his mother often went into debt so that he could at least look nice. She splurged on him often, and he always gave half of his money to his mother.”

I smile at Max, still touched by the loyalty and selflessness he had displayed as a teen. Those qualities first attracted me to him, and they still play a prevalent part of who Max Evans is.

“I found a real job, working at a tattoo and piercing parlor downtown. The people were nice and took pity on a fifteen-year-old girl. They always found something safe for me to do. Of course, the drawback was that they needed me to actually look like I trusted them enough to pierce me. And I did trust them. They pierced my nose and belly button for me.”

I laugh slightly. “Oh yes, I was a real wild child. Of course, Max loved it. He thought it was sexy.” I add with a smile on my face. Max blushes again as laughter floods the room, and my brother rolls his eyes at his best friend, my husband.

My tone turns serious again. “I actually kept the nose ring. I know some of you see it and think of me as being unprofessional, but I never try to flaunt it. I keep it as a symbol of my past. Even though I don’t actively talk about it, it’s always a part of me.”

I turn to show them the small stud that takes residence in my nose. Some of the audience squints, trying to make it out. I’m glad that at least now they understand the message behind it.

“Those two years that I worked there were probably the best years of my high school life. Of course, I was furious at my brother. He left me here and never tried to contact me, not for four years. I got the impression that he sent me letters, but that our father always intercepted them.

“Our senior year, I turned seventeen. And Max took me out to dinner again at the restaurant that he worked at. He was a cook at a café and knew how to make the best dinners I had had in my whole life. He gave me a ring, and told me that it was a fake, but that someday he would buy me a real diamond ring, if I would only promise that I would be his forever.

“After the lives we had both lead, I thought for sure no one else would ever want me. And even though I was too busy to have a real boyfriend, or to even think of anyone as such, I still went with it. As we spent more and more time together, I realized that I had been developing my feelings for him since we were twelve, and that what he had was truly love in it’s most pure form.”

Rounds of “Aaawww” reach my ears and I laugh lightly, agreeing with them completely. I resist looking at Max and Michael, knowing that the next part has to be something I tell without their reassurance. I have to tell our escape my way.

“On the night of my seventeenth birthday, I went home, back to our apartment. Father had left some weeks before, and I thought just to be safe, I should pack my stuff up again. I had splurged with my paycheck and bought new clothes that actually fit me. For the first time, I actually felt like I fit in with my peers at school. As I was packing my belongings, the door creaked open and my father walked into the room.

“I turned to look at him, hoping that he was only a nightmare. But the murderous glint in his eyes made me realize he was very real.”

Jeff opened the door. He had watched as his daughter danced around the living room, throwing items of clothing into the air before catching them and folding them neatly, through the windows. It was the first time he had seen his precious daughter in two years, somehow she had managed to avoid him. But not anymore, her father was back, and he was angry. He walked slowly into the room, watching as his daughter turned around to face him. He watched as she clutched the black sweater to her, and he watched as her trim body retreated towards the window.

He grinned, impressed that his daughter had turned out so beautiful since the last time he had seen her. Her long dark brown hair fell in smooth waves down her back, and her short jean cutoffs showed the lengthy legs that she had inherited from her mother. Her torso was clad in a skimpy black tank top, lace edging the holes for the neck and arms. He blithely wondered who she was dressing for. The small stud in her nose shone brightly and he glanced away from it, upset that his daughter would deform herself like that. His anger grew as he noticed the hoop in her bellybutton. Who was this temptress in front of him? And what had happened to the daughter he had raised to be classy and elegant?

She could tell that he was sober, his movements were no more jerky than Michael’s and his eyes narrowed on her painfully. She retreated towards her corner, childhood habits being awoken. Her back hit the wall and she stood in fear as her father continued to approach her. He grabbed her arm and ran his other hand down the side of her body. She swallowed nervously, afraid of what he could possibly be thinking.

It was true that he was sober, but the years of drugs had permanently screwed with his mind. His thinking was cloudy, he couldn’t comprehend right from wrong anymore, and he couldn’t comprehend that he had come to be angry with his daughter, and had suddenly found a beautiful temptress in her place.

He leaned closer to her, pinning her effectively to the wall. He muttered “You’re beautiful.” Into her ear and she flinched visibly. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You already have.” She replied, terror making her voice shake beyond comprehension.

He took a step back, suddenly realizing that this was his daughter. He grimaced, confused as to what his next step should be.

The door burst open suddenly, and Max and Michael ran into the room. They stopped, taking in the situation. Michael saw that his little sister was being trapped, hurt, by the monster they had to call a father. He ran to him, and pulled him off Liz. Michael threw Jeff to the floor.

Jeff lay there, giggling, as he recognized his son. “Look, it’s my little bastard son here to save his sister.” Michael pounded his fists into his face, releasing the anger that had been building for 20 years.

Max ran to Liz, and took her in his arms. She cried openly, allowing the tears to carry with them all the frustration and anger she contained. He ran his hands soothingly down her back, walking them towards the door. He pulled back and grabbed her jacket, pulling it on and wrapping his arms back around her.

He called out to Michael: “I’m taking her to my apartment. Bring her stuff when you’re done with him.”

Michael nodded, pulling himself off of his father. He looked at the broken face, almost unrecognizable to his own son. His nose was at an odd angle and blood covered his face. He smiled, content that he had finally gotten revenge.

“Max and Michael saved me before he could do me any physical harm, but once again, he completed his goal in emotionally scarring me. It seemed to be the one thing my father could do well, besides being a complete screwup.” I wave my hand flippantly through the air, making it seem like the whole thing was no big deal.

“Michael had managed to graduate college and get himself a good job in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He took me away from my father, and we legally had me emancipated. Max came with us, I told them I wouldn’t leave without him, and so we all moved in together in a small apartment in New Mexico.

“Max and I graduated at the top of our class and both went on to further our education with full scholarships. I am happy to say that that is the end of the sad story, that everything after that was our happily even after story. And it truly is, because, Max, Michael, and I have all managed to find happiness. Thank you.”

The claps that greet me are loud and thunderous, which amazes me. I never thought that telling the truth about one’s past would be so freeing, or that the people I work with would be so receptive to hearing my sob story. But I guess that’s what psychiatrists do: they listen. And now that I am the head of the psychiatric department at the Berkley Research Center and Hospital, they feel obligated to listen to me. Maybe.

Max meets me halfway to the table and envelops me in his arms. I smile brightly, still finding comfort and happiness in his arms. Slowly, I untangle myself from him and hug my big brother tightly, I whisper apologies and thanks into his ear, and he nods, a gloriously happy smile on his face. I guess he needed that as much as I did. I turn quickly to my sister-in-law and best girl friend Maria and hug her tightly, careful of her protruding stomach in which my two newest nieces are still living in. She wipes away her tears and smiles at me wistfully.

“Congratulations, Liz.” She tells me.

I smile graciously. “Thank you.”