Ursa Minor (On hiatus)

Broken branches

Sorry for the long wait! Will update every two weeks from now on. Or try. Warning! Angst ahead! Dedicated to JazzStardust once again, for mail conversation that inspired one of Matt's train of thought. You'll know which one, Jazzie!

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The silence the Monday morning after the Thanksgiving weekend was more compact than usual. Me and my mom moved carefully around each other, making breakfast, not uttering other words then the odd 'can you?' and 'thanks'. It was a treacherous peaceful scene, the truce fragile. We were walking on eggshells already filled with hairline cracks. Coming back from my grandparents in North East, my mom had announced to me and Julie that she and Tim had talked about him moving in with us. Julie had shrugged, fiddling with her phone as usual, mumbling that 'he's here all the time, anyways'. I hadn't been that overjoyed about it. More the opposite. Like the total opposite in 'no way never'. And when mom had called me unreasonable I 'd lost it. After that it felt like we had been fighting non-stop. My throat hoarse from all the yelling. And not just about Tim moving in. Everything we'd managed to keep down came up to the surface, down to me leaving my towels on the wrong hook in the bathroom.

"Are you going to Susan's after work?" I mumbled as I was about to leave. 

"Not today, maybe this weekend. Me and Tim are going to-" 

"So you can discuss how he's not fucking moving in here?" I interrupted, getting up from the table.  

"Language!" my mom snapped, but her face softened immediately. "Can't we just try and talk about this? We're not getting anywhere-" 

"How can we? When you won't even let me speak!" I deliberately left my bowl on the counter top, the dirty spoon next to it smearing the surface. 

"Mischa," my mom pleaded. "Don't be like this..." 

I shook my head, backing out of the kitchen. 'I hate you'. Clenched my teeth to stop the words from spilling out. So fucking immature. And I didn't hate her. We both knew that. But still. I did know that nothing hurt as bad as throwing that in her face. I stomped out to the hallway, my hands shaking as I pulled on my winter jacket, grabbed my bag. Mom stayed behind in the kitchen and I didn't shout anything leaving. I did slam the door behind me though.

Walking down the road I noticed it wasn't just my hands shaking. But my legs too. All of me. My prediction of Tim's demise had been wrong. Completely. The reason he hadn't been around was new work, north of Glen instead of south. To get there in time he couldn't stay over here, get a ride with my mom in the mornings as usual. No he had to stay in his flat all alone. Poor Tim, boo fucking hoo. He didn't even live alone, he lived in some sort of hippie collective and grew carrots in old tires on the balcony or whatever.

It's more convenient, my mom had told me. Like I cared about Tim's convenience. And it'd be far more convenient for me if they didn't date at all, but did anyone care about that? No. If only my mom had just stopped dating until I'd moved out, I wouldn't have had to deal with it. She would still be pretty in a couple of years too, so why the rush? Maybe she was pregnant? I shook my head. No. Nononono. I wouldn't even consider that. It was like her fucking job to know contraception and clinics. To get rid of unwanted kids. Not that she'd ever considered getting rid of me. I shut my eyes tightly. No tears. I would get to school and it would be OK. I would do fine. With some help from my friends. Since my mom couldn't be bothered.

I skipped trough the grove, grabbing on to the trees passing, felt the bark scratching my knuckles. Comforting somehow. The scratching pain in my skin, the knowledge that trees don't care if you're messed up, they just kept growing taller no matter what happens. For a second I longed to be surrounded by them. To lie down and listen to silence. Trace the days back to the beach with Allen, feel the piece of glass in my hand, blue as his eyes. It'll be fine. I told myself, forcing my feet to slow down, my breath to even. You'll go to school and it'll be fine. But instead I heard my dad's voice in the back of my head. You look after you mom and sister for me?