Isn't it lovely?
All alone.
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone.
I flipped the page as the song begins to unravel to the chorus; the beat producing before the lyrics showering down itself. I found myself mumble over the words a couple times.
My eyes scanned across the paper, taking in the words of the poetry book in my hands and picture provided. I crossed one leg over the other, one bent upwards, while the other hanging up its knee.
"What the fuck?" The sound of my brother is heard, and my head turns to his direction as I see him once more, in the hallway of our conjoined bathroom. A white light produced from the bathroom created a large shadow in front of him, and he looks at me, "why are you listening to sad, depressing music?"
"Hey," I tuck my thumb in the book, the spinal pressed against my finger as I dropped it right next to me, "you told me to listen to music."
"Yeah, and you know what music tells about someone? Their feelings. Why the hell are you still sad?"
"Your sister just found out that Julian practically hates her and she ruined all her chances with her crush because of what happened on Monday," I frown, trying my best not to seem too upset.
"Okay, first of all, why are you referring to yourself in third person?" Kenji questions, walking over to examine the placement of my music, "and second of all, who cares?"
"Because, Kenji, I like Julian and now I fuck up the possibility of us being together. Not to mention, I did something horrible to him and I feel entirely bad," I sigh, wiping the stray tear that disobey my commands, "can you just leave me alone? I want to be alone. Don't you see how perfectly happy I am?"
"I don't even think you're happy to begin with,"
"Shut up," I sat back against the stacks of pillow in my bed, "just leave me alone, Kenji. I want to wallow in my own misery."
"Okay, depressing theme," Kenji said, rolling his eyes. "I just gotta do one thing before I leave."
"What?"
He looks across the room to my Google Home, "Hey Google, play J Cole on Spotify." And he left.
The Google Home obeyed and changed the music into a more modern, hip-hop rap that blares through the air. I groan, commanding it to turn off the music just as a tap was heard from my window. I groan once more, can I just have a nice, sad and miserable day without interruption?
I dangle my legs over the bed, dropping to the floor as I walk over to remove the curtains to find Graham.
"Graham?" I unlock the window, allowing access for my best friend (who my father never allow in my room ever) to come in. "What are you dong here?"
"Can we do the questions later? When I'm not dangling on death?" I suddenly remembered Graham's fear of heights, and I move aside for him to come. He first drop his long leg on the ground, before scooting the rest of his body off the window and onto the ground. A ladder sound produced clank against my window. I rush to my doors, locking all of them. I turn back to Graham.
"Now that's done," I said, Graham's back facing me, "what are you doing—"
"Spit."
Spit is a word the gang and I formed; it is only used during needs of venting, and in need of a friend. We drop everything after hearing the word spit and rush to the person's aid — whoever the person said it to, depends on them. It's supposed to be a 'safe-word,' and rarely used within the group. I used it a couple of times, Iris used it in second place, and Graham used his chances the least. I first formed Spit as a acknowledge word that allows the group to hear into the problem without making judgement or commentary. Just pure listening.
My eyes widen and I shut my lips instantaneously; I walk around to see Graham looking to the floor, his eyes producing liquid as his green eyes stared. A hand on his shoulder, I tried to allow him the most comfort I could muster, "do you want to sit down or..." He nods, walking over to my bed as he takes the seat on the edge of the bed.
I take the seat next to him, waiting. My problems are thrown from the window, and I waited patiently for Graham to open up. The room filled with silent. It took a few minutes before Graham is able to gather himself, stuttering his first words.
"I—" He stops himself cold, and I patiently waited. "I haven't seen my parents for three years. They've been traveling with Tara, helping her build up her career and helping her with her schooling. They've completely ignored me; no phone calls, emails—" He runs himself short, coughing as he shakes his head, I see tears dropping from his eyes. "They don't love me. They see me as this failed production that sucks up to the Rivera name—they only think big accomplishments to be made in order to be a Rivera, and since the most I've conquest was playing on a good soccer team for my entire life, I wasn't much."
I was quiet, draping my arm around Graham in comfort as he continues to pour. "My dad never went to any of my games—thinking it's a waste of time and a delusional career. He rather watch Tara win an award for the next best whatever," he sucks in a breath. "My mom went to a few, but then she got sucked up in Tara's accomplishment, I became a black shadow."
He stops, looking at his hands as his palms were indented with his fingernails imprint. He chuckles sadly, "Tara and I were really close when we were little. She was overprotective big sister that never let my dad scream at me, or yell about how I'm such a failure. She was a good sister." He stops himself, "when she went into middle school, everything changed. She no longer paid attention to me, but paid attention to her newest goals. Whatever she wants, she gets. She's hardworking, I love that about her, but she's just too... much. She forgot about me and dug herself in accomplishments — accepting nothing else."
"I didn't have anyone during middle school. I wanted to be accepted, I wanted someone to like me for me, and when I found a crowd that seemingly likes me — I stuck with them. I made jokes to keep them entertained, I made lies to make them like me, I did everything in my power to be liked." Another tear drops from his eyes, falling onto the floor, "Then I met you, and suddenly, there was someone who cared. Enough to tell me from right to wrong, enough to actual go against me and explain to me rather than tell me I'm no good and leave."
He turns sideways, giving me a teary-eyed smile as I recall the memory. I pull him closer to me, as he leans against my shoulders and I rub his back in support. "Rose and you became my real family," he smiles against the tears, "and I no longer cared about what my parents thought of me—what they wanted me to be. It seems that it was enough for them; no contact, no speaking about them and leaving me alone with a trust fund of money was enough. That's their parenting."
He quiets, no saying anything as I continue to listen. Lips sealed for the moment I'm allowed to speak, ears opened for anything he says. He sucks in a shaky breath, "It's been three years. I haven't seen them in three years. Now, they're calling me in, telling me that they're coming home in a couple days to take me to this dinner. No asking how I've been, now asking how was school, nothing to show support to their son. They wanted me as a picture, they want me to come and support the family, showing a big lie in front of the camera as they make chats with their business partner. I-I don't know if I can do that."
He leans off of me, his green eyes glassy as they stare back into my own, "I don't know if I can fake up a day for them. If I'm not the son that they want, who am I to them?"
That's my cue.
"You are," I pause, allowing my voice to slice into the silence delicately, "Graham Rivera. Someone who tries, someone who picks himself up from the ground. The Graham Rivera, where he would accept his ignorance and become better. You secluded yourself in the box because you're afraid that we're going to leave you one day because of your problems when in turn, we're all a bit fucked up. Look at me, I'm the daughter with a motherless parent. I'm the girl that built herself in emotions and lacks a second barrier that allows me to think through stuff. Iris, she's the girl that sucks up to perfection, never once letting the social ladder break her. She has the voice of a lion, and refuses to roar lower than so. Iris has to suck up to being two—half black and half Indian. She told us; when she greets her dad's side, they think she's too Asian for them, and when she greets her mother's side, she's too black for them. Tell me that doesn't destroy you just a little bit."
I sigh, eyes turned on the wall before me, "Iris refuses to let her extended family be the judge of her character, I refuse to be known as the girl without a mother, and you—" I turn to my best friend, "refuses to let your parents' judgment to come into your view. So, fuck them."
"Be the guy I know, the guy I love and would die for. Who gives a fuck about what they think of you; no matter their words it may stings, just remember you have a family that loves you back here. Go to the dinner, be yourself. Who cares what they think to it."
He gulps, but doesn't say anything. Wiping away any evidences of tears, I knew he didn't take my words in fully. "Graham Rivera. I love you. Iris loves you. We're here and we're always here for you, just tell us when and we'll be there for you. If all else fails, remember that."
He nods, wordlessly as he stands up. He nods, trying to sink in the words for himself when he begins to pace around the floor. I stood up from my seat myself, as Graham bury himself into his palms, "God." He mumbles under his breath. "It doesn't help, it doesn't help!"
I grab a hold of Graham's arm, pulling his hand away from his face. He was crying again, swollen cheeks as his tears ran. "I'm sorry, Francena, I know you're trying to help me but it's not working–I just can't—" He sucks in a breath and I nod, understanding.
I pull him into me, engulfing him into a hug. I wrapped my arms around his waist as his arms slowly come around and wrap itself around my body. Graham begins to shake, his breath quivering, "I'm not enough. I'm just not enough." He spoke quietly, his voice cracking in between his words. I close my eyes, allowing him to let it out.
"Why can't I just be enough? Why wasn't I enough?" He mumbles into my shoulders, and I frown. Emotional trauma. I remember from sociology. "I act like I can handle them, but it's been three years. I can't. I know I can't, Francena. I'm sorry, I thought I was stronger."
I suck in a breath. Comparing mine and Iris' issues didn't help, telling him he was loved wasn't enough. I've never ran into this problem before, Graham never used Spit to this large extent before.
"Do you... do you want me to comfort you, or drive your mind away from the problem?" I ask quietly, hoping he heard. He begins to unravel and pull apart, keeping me at arm's length.
"I-I don't know." He said slowly, wiping the tears that stained his eyes.
He just was support, I come to realise, he just wants someone here. That's all.
I pull apart as I grab a hold of his hand, dragging him back over to the bed. I pointed to the floor at the end of my bed, and begin to sit down. Graham shared a look of confusion before deciding to take in the action and took the seat next to me. "I'll just sit here. I won't say anything. Vent all you need, I'll be quiet." I said, "you don't want me to give you advice, you don't want me to guide you away from the problem. You just want someone who listens and that's all."
"So, I'll do that. I'll stay up all night if I have to, and holding onto the bare minimum of energy I have. But I'm here." I announce, knowing the result of having Graham in my room but refuse to tell him. I don't care, get me grounded, get me in trouble with my father; this is my best friend we're talking about, I served a thousand chores and whatever my father decides to punish me with. It's worth it. "So, just... talk."
With that, his silence filled the air for a moment. He didn't speak immediately after I clarify but then slowly begins to open back up. Like I said, I was quiet, listening to his every words and sharing glances to announce that I'm still awake. Still here.
It took all night, like I predicted. It wasn't until five am where he begins to become drowsy, falling asleep as his head leant against my shoulders and I against his.
We fell asleep with each other by our side.
And it was finally enough.