Misconstrue

FOURTEEN. Why?

It took a lot of convincing to get my dad to agree to send me back to my grandmother. I remember days when I would bring up the topic in a random dinner conversation, Victoria would get annoyed that I was always breaking the flow of conversation, but I could care less. I didn't know it then, but I was probably losing my mind at the fact that I would never see my mother again.

My grandmother knew though. She could always tell when something's off with me. At the time I just thought I wasn't adjusting well, I mean, the food was different, the weather was shit, and the varying accents were confusing. 

My dad didn't take me seriously, he thought that I was just homesick and so he promised me that we would return for a visit in the summer. But I wasn't homesick, that was actually the start of it all. I began to shut down, I avoided unnecessary conversations as well as the people around me, and then I fell into the unhealthy habit of binging movies. 

So, not only was I losing my everlasting mind, I was a depressed teen carrying around a bottomless sack that housed my anxiety, and insomnia. I got sick. Mentally first, then physically shortly after. I ended up confessing to a school counselor who decided to stomp on my belief that she would never say anything to my father. And thus, my aversion to therapy began. 

That was the first time I ever confessed anything to any living soul. My confession got me what I wanted but of course it came with consequences. I told myself that I would never speak my truth unless I was absolutely sure that I was strong enough to handle the aftermath.

But now, I've arrived at a dilemma. My dark, depressing teenage years didn't provide me with certain weapons, and so there are a lot of things I don't know how to navigate. I know what to expect after I confess, but what should I do when I'm the one being confessed to?

"Balei!" I slam my journal shut as Ben knocks then enters. "I heard through the grapevine that you rocked your exams."

"You know how it is." My chair swivels to the left as I turn to face him. "Black girl magic and all that jazz."

"Right." My roommate makes a face as he looks around my bedroom. "Well would it hurt to use some of that magic to clean your room?"

I roll my eyes at him as I stand. "You're beginning to sound like..." I take a deep breath as I pick a stray sock from off the floor. "...my very dead mother."

"Don't." I shove my freshly washed laundry to one side of the bed as I take a seat. "At first I thought it was the stress of exams getting to you, but something's definitely off. What's going on, B?"

"Sorry." I run a hand over my face. "These days I keep getting reminded that my mother's not around anymore and it's kinda fucking with my head, you know?" 

Ben slides downwards, taking a seat by the door as he gets ready for yet another rant. "I tried to make Johnny cakes the other day. When they didn't taste right, I realized that I couldn't just pick up the phone so my mother could tell me where I went wrong with the recipe. I can't make the food that I liked growing up because she was the one who knew how to make things exactly the way I like them."

"I'm so sorry, Balei." 

I could only nod. "But you know what's worse? Not having her around so she can give me meaningful relationship advice. I think that's one of the main reasons why I always fail at starting anything with anyone. And also..." I flash him a pointed look. "...don't freak out. I think she would know what to say about Emilio."

Ben sits up with a twinkle in his eyes. "What about Emilio?"

"So much for not freaking out." I mutter miserably as I stand once again. "You were right. He's into me."