Bound

Kate

May 2013 -- Kate

My fingers lingered over the strings of the bright yellow tassel on my graduation cap in the old metal trunk in Mom's basement. I'd been wearing it six hours earlier and had wasted no time packing it away for storage.

Today had been ... exhausting. Hugging squealing girlfriends, smiling for pictures and thanking the aunts, uncles, cousins and friends who'd come to my graduation party had taken all the energy I could muster.

This wasn't how I pictured graduation day. But then again, only the first month of my senior year had been anything like I'd imagined. The past five months had been a lot like today – going through the motions. Studying like hell, packing up my apartment, applying for jobs ...

But all I wanted to do was sleep. The moment I pulled the covers up to my neck was the only honest moment in my day anymore. It was when I could let go of the fake smile, stop pretending I was excited about graduation and just let the sadness exist without worrying about anyone seeing it.

When I closed the door on the old trunk, I felt a little lighter. I wouldn't be reminiscing over college memorabilia anytime soon. Or maybe ever. This year had tested me in ways I'd never imagined.

The narrow wood staircase took me up to Mom's kitchen, where she was wrapping leftovers from the party.

"Need any help?" I asked.

"I'm just about done. Did you ever get a chance to eat? You were so busy visiting that I never saw you make a plate."

"I nibbled. I'll have some cake later."

"Thanks for doing this," Mom said, meeting my eyes.

"What? I should be the one thanking you. You did all the work. And you helped me with college, and you're letting me move back in since I can't find a job."

"I'm glad you're moving in, Kate. But I know this day wasn't easy for you."

The hair on my arms stood up. Was it that obvious I wasn't feeling the graduation day ritual?

I opened the dishwasher and poured detergent into the dispenser. "Mom, it was good. It was a good day."

A plate appeared on the counter above the dishwasher. "Please eat," Mom said. I eyed the pulled pork sandwich and potato salad and though my stomach growled, I didn't feel like eating it.

"It was just a long day," I said, sighing while I pushed the dishwasher closed and turned the knob to start it. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed early."

"You don't want to go out with Laurel and Emily?"

"No, I'm too tired." The last thing I wanted was to hear about Laurel's wedding plans and Emily's great new job. I'd offered the appropriate amount of excitement already. I headed across the wood kitchen floor toward my old/new bedroom, eager to escape.

"Kate ..." Mom paused, holding the refrigerator open. She sighed, looking at me. "I'd really like you to try the grief support group at the hospital."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Mom, let's not have this conversation again. I don't want to sit around and cry with a bunch of sad people. It's been five months, and I'm fine."

"You're not fine, not even close." She pushed the refrigerator door closed and approached me. "What happened was—"

"I don't want to talk about it." There was warning in my tone, and I willed her to hear it.