Life before it had fallen apart was so simple.
There was something humbling that could have been said about the fact that life was now more interesting. But the harsh reality of that was simple. Interesting didn't always mean better.
No one in our family liked to talk about it. It was this thing that compressed us to the edges of the room. We'd all decided long ago to try and skirt around the issue for as long as possible. After all, it wasn't like it was having a clear negative effect on our lives; we still had room to grow, and space to breathe. But the more we tried to downplay the issue, the more apparent the issue became. My dad, in all of his pride, had decided that he didn't want something like this bringing down our family.
It'd been close to two years, and still her name had not dared cross our lips. It felt like if we did, then this façade would crumble down and we'd be forced to face the fact that we weren't fine.
Instead of being shimmering specks of light, we'd all become victims of the black hole. The memories in our minds would threaten to drown us in an infinite sea of despair. As fun as that sounded, I was already busy drowning in a bunch of other things to take one more on board.
Dad stared out at the road ahead, briefly lit by the setting autumn sun. His tongue poked at the ends of his cheek, and every few seconds he would reposition himself on the seat. In hindsight maybe it hadn't been the best idea I'd ever had, but at least it forced him to have some sort of interaction with me.
"What were you thinking?" he growled as he took a turn far too sharply.
For a moment, I slid in my seat, only stopped by the seatbelt. Immediately, I made a grab for the car door handle, gripping on for dear life. No one in our house liked him behind the wheel of a car period, but it was times like this were his careless driving habits were brought out to the surface.
Taking his eyes of the road for a second or two, he looked at me with intensity. His lip curled down, and his brows furrowed. I'd seen him angry before, but this felt different. My dad, a man who rarely let anything show, looked exasperated beyond all belief, consumed by what he had just been told.
Harshly, his eyes turned back onto the road, just in time to take in the red light. As he slowed down, a breath left him. "I just don't get it Xavier," he tried, bringing his voice down a few levels to try and meet me. "I don't know what to do anymore."
My face remained turned away from his. I knew if I looked at him I'd have to face the repercussions of my actions. It would bring that sting back to my reddened fists, and it would force me to think the one question I still didn't know; why? Why now, and why today? Why did I even need to blow my lid in the first place?
Why was one off-hand comment with a stranger affecting my head so much?
"You know, I've tried and tried to be understanding," my dad spoke through the static of the radio. "I've done my best to be there for you, but you're not making this easy on any of us kiddo." His voice lilted for a moment into sadness before abruptly changing as he took his next corner a little too fast. There was a brief moment where the car had managed to mount the sidewalk, before bouncing off again. "We all want to be fine, and we're all coping, so why can't you?"
I winced.
This was an argument I'd heard many times over the past few years. Every time the wording changed slightly, but the point was always the same. It wasn't so much a call for action, as it was a call for trying to get me to see that I was somehow stupid. Stupid for clinging onto the past and cherishing all of those memories.
It hurt to think that he could easily throw that away. I wanted to know how he felt, but he'd put up these walls that stopped me from talking about her. But I wanted to talk about her; I wanted to let everyone see that she wasn't just a ghost.
And therein lay the problem. It was superficial and stupid on the outside, but so complexed and deep on the inside.
I shuffled further into my seat, turning more and more away from him. Houses passed us outside the window in an incomprehensible blur. I'm pretty sure that if we hit a speed-bump, we'd be rocketed up at least five or so feet. I tried not to pay it much mind though.
Dad sighed, the sounds of his hands gripping the leather wheel tighter filling the air. "You know what you're problem is Xavier," he said in a condescending tone, "It's that you're so quick to throw everything away after a minor setback."
My nostrils flared with an internal scoff. If he bothered to pay attention to me (and if I was actually turned to face him), he might have seen the generous roll of the eyes that followed. It was funny how he called it a minor set-back. As if all these feelings inside my head were just so miniscule that they couldn't be traced.
They were small grains of sand in the infinite of the universe, slowly being sucked down into an empty vacuum. My good thoughts were few and far between these days. The good thoughts that I spoke aloud were even fewer. Every time I opened my mouth, it just felt like I was speaking into a void of nothingness. There was zero point of me putting a foot forward, because it was going to get me sucked in sooner or later. Why fight the current when I could just relax and let it take over me.
And slowly but surely I get it. I have come to the conclusion that I was not made to be saved. I was made to be yet another brick in the wall of destruction. This inevitable tidal wave that will consume me shows no sign of stopping. As much as other people want to pretend that I'm doing fine, surely someone has to see the truth in the madness.
I am drowning, lost in a sea of my own nihilistic thoughts.
And I'm sitting here, watching life pass me by, second by second. And my dad is busy ranting at me about how he wishes I was like most other kids. And I'm probably throwing my personal and professional relationships down the drain. And in the end all I can think about are two things.
'Always be kind' and 'It's to give them a reason... an excuse.'
As I try to rest my head against the cold glass, these two thoughts seem to cut up through the swamp of my mind. My eyes shutter close for a second as I try to focus on what Garth had said. It didn't make a hell of a lot of sense, but for some reason I just can't stop thinking about it. There's a puzzle there, and my brain is too busy trying to decipher and decode the meaning behind what was said.
Being there for Mom is out of the question now. The only way I could do her any good would be to live vicariously through her words. We both knew that would amount to nothing if today was anything to go by. The sting in my fists flared up for a second as I thought back to it.
But Garth is still out there. He's a person who might understand what it's like. It's selfish to try and play off your emotions like that, but he gets it in some way. There's something about him that makes me think he could appreciate what I'm going through. And the more I thought about it, the more attractive the thought was. As much as Dad wanted to ignore my feelings, and Sabrina wanted me to encompass my feelings, what I really needed was someone to just be there regardless of what I had to say. It didn't matter much if it was about the confusing swirl of thoughts, or the constant latch of something that made it impossible to go further.
But I never dreamed about the chances of meeting someone who was like me; lost, confused, and alone. Not until Garth.