"I was afraid of change, but I was afraid of not changing." ~Hotel Books, Car Crash
10. Pt. 1
"Eddward." There was light knock at my door.
"Hm?" I answered not moving from my bed.
"You can't avoid phone calls by leaving your phone downstairs."
"I know, I'm sorry mother."
Her small feet padded closer to my bed. The bed shifted, plunging my back toward her. "Call him back, please?"
It was my side of the story that she finally got to listen; on why I was brooding all week and that I spent more time swimming. The guilt gnawed at my insides, possibly rotting. How could mother look at me after what I've done? After what I've done to Kevin, whom is like a second child to her?
I didn't realize how envious you were of me: The precious value family still present, of an overworked father who knew little of sports and more of numbers, and a mother who always baked with citrus. We were not perfect, but to you, We were Perfect. The relevance of your long held secret -you personally swore to take to your grave, that your parents should've never heard, and in my moment of vanity, I let myself rant ruthlessly. I swore that the world heard.
There it was again. Those flashes of images like the yellow sheen Polaroids. Deceit fell on your shoulders where my jacket was supposed to be and you pulled at your seam-stressed sleeves with wide frightened eyes, hazel-green brightened with threatening tears.
Mother's sweet scent of powder and citrus lulled me from my guilt. She rubbed my back and cooed sweet loving phrases, 'Its not your fault Eddward. You're the world to him.'