MERRY CHRISTMAS! ♡
--
His screams filled the neighborhood
I wake up with a jolt, my heart plummeting as I stare heavy-eyed at the white ceiling above me.
The ceiling?
The light blue walls and Shia LaBeouf GQ magazine poster help conform that I'm in my bedroom, tucked comfortably under the covers on my bed.
Sunshine spills into the room from my window and enlightens everything around me. Sitting up and pushing the covers away from my body is a lot harder than it sounds. It feels like a marching band is holding practice inside my brain. I let my legs dangle off the side of the bed, my toes playing with the soft carpet. I see I'm still in my lovely dress from last night.
I step into the bathroom, cringing from the cold tiles. When I get in front of the mirror, I realize why I feel so bad. I look worse.
My hair is frizzy and wild. My blue eyes make me look like someone who has lived a thousand years, rather than seventeen. But the best part of my whole appearance are the gashes on my left cheek bone. I lightly trace my fingers over them, coming to the conclusion that they're not deep enough for stitches. There's no blood around them either, meaning someone must've cleaned me up.
The events from last night begin swimming back to me. My Mom, the banquet, Richelle, the tree house. Finally breaking down and feeling like I couldn't pick myself back up.
How did I end up back here though?
I change out of the dress, into some soft sweatpants and a t-shirt before returning to my spot under the covers, cross-legged. Ten minutes go by of watching specks of dust float effortlessly throw the sunlight till there's a knock on my door.
I grunt, and the door cracks open. Will Conway pokes his head in. "Breakfast?" He asks. His hand comes into view, holding a breakfast muffin.
I chuckle and nod.
Will sits on the edge of my bed and hands me the muffin. I begin unfolding the wrapper.
"Banana Nut?" I ask just to have something to say.
He nods.
The room is quiet as I chip off pieces of muffin and pop them into my mouth. I eventually remember something from last night that I know has to be true. "Thank you," I say abruptly and look at him.
He glances at the muffin. "Your Mom's the one who bought them. She said they were your fav-"
I shake my head and squash a piece of Banana Nut muffin between my fingers. "No, not for the muffin. I meant for....helping me last night."
He shrugs. His eyes shift slightly and I feel the pressure of his gaze on the cuts under my eye. "A little too late."
"How did you even find me?"
"I found your heels at the end of the block, than I saw you in that tree house, heard the crash."
Mortified. Humiliated. Embarrassed. Call it what you want. That's what I'm feeling.
"Actually, I came here first," he continues, looking away as he recalls the events. "But your Mom said you took off. She was..." Will struggles for words, causing me to grow more curious. "She was pretty worried about you."
I try imagine my Mom kicking everyone out of the house and having Will help search for me. Than cleaning me up when I'm found and tucking me into bed.
Will is watching me, his gaze weighing a heavy burden. I remember him saying "freaks flock together." How can we cast each other off as freaks when we all have so much in common? We're all here fighting our own battles.
For the rest of the daylight, Will and I sit on my bed watching 21 Jump Street and eating Banana Nut muffins. I come to realize that I'm quite in love with the show.
•••
I'm surprised to see my Mom sitting on the couch in the living room. Usually in her free time, she's in the study.
Will left around six, claiming he had had enough of me for one day. Than he laughed and told me he actually promised his Dad that he would let him teach him how to make some famous Italian recipe that I can't pronounce. So, he had to get home.
I've finally gained enough courage to leave my bedroom. It only took one hour of ridiculous pep talks that went a little like this: "You ruined her banquet, embarrassed her in front of half the people she works with and made her think you might die of hypothermia. Grow some balls and get your ass down there."
Standing at the top of the steps, I can see my Mom sitting on the couch watching the TV at a very low volume. The house is dark. The glow from the television is reflecting off her face. The vibrant look in her eyes I saw last night is long gone. That joyful smile has vanished.
I take a deep breath. The trip down the stairs isn't nearly as long as I hoped it would be. Will she be mad? Or will she be happy to see me up? Will she hug me tight and finally tell me everything is going to be okay? Will things be different now?
"You're up," she states when I move to stand by the couch.
"Been up for a while," I inform.
"I wasn't sure if you wanted some time to yourself. After Will left." She raises her eyebrows. "He seems to care about you."
A small smile starts to form on my lips. "Yeah."
She sighs and turns the volume down on the TV. "I turned the heat up for you."
I nod and start to bite my nails, unsure how to continue this conversation. It should never be like this between mother and daughter. I should be in her arms right now sobbing about everything I felt last night. She should be giving me advice about how to handle it.
"That's an awful habit," Mom says, looking up at me thoughtfully.
Staring at her, I'm not sure if she knows what she just said. I chuckle. "You sound like Dad."
She starts to stand. "Do you want something to eat?"
I scrunch my face. "I'm not hungry."
"All you've eaten are those muffins-"
"Stop-" I step in her path as she tries to walk past me. "-always changing the subject when it comes to Dad."
She furrows her eyebrows. "Danielle, I was just-"
"No, you weren't," I say. My insides begin to burn. "I can't keep living like this. I can't keep walking around on egg shells in this house. It's fucking nuts, Mom," I practically shout. "This isn't what he would've wanted for us."
She's staring at me so hard I fear that I might shatter like glass. I can't imagine her staying and acting like a real mother, but I can't let her walk away from me again. I won't let her. I remember the thing Will said to me in the girl's bathroom at school. "There are two reasons why people don't talk about things; either it means nothing to them or it means everything."
She seems deep in her own thoughts now, with her head turned from me
"Don't try to tell me Dad means nothing," I finish.
She turns to me then. I know it's completely terrible to be relieved to see your Mom's eyes pooled with tears but all I can think is finally! Of all the years we've spent dodging each other in this eerie, cold house this moment is as close to meaningful as we've ever gotten since Dad died. This place has been nothing but awkward good mornings and desperate attempts to fix one another and by doing that we've almost completely washed away the memories of my father. And now, our hopelessness could either be the death of us or it could help revive us.
My Mom falls back on to the couch. She stares down at the carpet, and begins to sobs.
The last time I saw my Mom cry was right after my Dad's funeral. The whole day had been a blur, as people say. I just went through the motions. The funeral was long and senseless and anything but original. People I've never seen before came and cried. I cried. My Mom did not. I didn't get why then.
Connor and Craig came home with us. My Mom told the three to go in the back yard to play so we hung out on the swing set. I remember slowly swinging on the blue swing as Connor tried his hardest to cheer me up by chasing Craig around the yard with worms. I forced a smile, mostly so he would knock it off. In reality, nothing was going to make me okay. I had just lost my Dad. And, even though I wasn't aware of it then, I had lost my Mom too.
I caught my Mom crying in the study after Connor and Craig left later that night. It was the first time I had ever seen her in there without Dad. She was sitting at his desk holding her chest as she drowned in the loss she was trying to bear. Quietly, I trudged over to her. We started at each other's tear soaked eyes before I fell into her arms. After that night was when things began to change.
Now, as we hold each other and she sobs into my shoulder, I wonder about that night and maybe we will finally pick up where we left off. I remember what Craig said about talking to his Dad about the internship. I wonder if he's done it yet. If not I hope he finds the strength to knock on the door of his Dad's office, and his Dad finds the humanity to let him in.
For the rest of the night, Mom and I talk. It's like we're making up for lost time and I'm going to call this a victory. Although we're crying and we've just cracked open a recovery case that's been put away for seven years, I've never seen my Mom's eyes look so clear.
I used to think grief came from a little red demon, striking it's victims with this feeling of brokenness in places that no one ever knew pain could reach. Stupid, I know. That was just the way I avoided the truth about grief.
The truth is, grief has nothing to do with demons or angels or how good of a person you are. Grief lives in every single tiny fiber of our beings and waits every day for the right moment to reveal itself. It finds the strongest people and rips them to shreds.
No one told me grief feels so much like fear, or that sometimes the hardest part is merely putting one foot in front of the other. No one told me the only true cure for grief is to simply grieve.
I guess those are the kinds of things we are meant to learn on our own.