Back to the phone curfew. I had engineered my own work around: I could talk on the cordless phone! No light would shine like beacon on my dad’s nightstand! Genius! Unfortunately, there was a flaw in my plan. I am not a quiet person, in any aspect. Some of you reading this might think that I can control this character trait, and that I could train myself to be less vocal. You would be wrong, and I will refer all claims to the contrary to my husband.
The violence escalated, and eventually culminated when my father grabbed the phone away from me- while I was in midsentence, no less- and tossed it into the pool.
You. Don’t. Know. The. Horror. To make this feeling relatable (especially for my younger readers!), it felt like losing your cell phone. Take that feeling- that dry mouth, shaky stomach dread that hits you full force. .. and add Teenage Girl Angst. It was AWFUL. I thought the world was going to end. As long as I live, I will never ever forget watching that phone soar through the air before splashing into the pool.
The phone did dry out. I lovingly placed it in the oven on low heat and hoped for a miracle. A week after it was thrown into the pool, my miracle came true. The phone was never the same after that. It cut out, the battery life was shot, and sometimes it was hard to hear. None of that mattered to me. What mattered was that my drama could play out, and that I could fly mostly under the radar.