Sorry for the horrendously long wait between chapters, but distractions
were a-plenty. Here you go, Chapter 4. There will probably only be one more
chapter after this.
Standard disclaimers apply
Chapter 4
I swallowed a hearty spoonful of strawberry ice cream, keeping my eyes trained on the bowl, not looking up, not saying anything. That is pretty much how the whole meal went, with my parents and Ryan holding up a pathetic conversation. There was no banter. There was no hearty laughter. The pizza was eaten in ten minutes. All I had to do was suffer through the dessert phase and I was home free.
My eyes flick up to look at Ryan, see how he was doing now that he has to be the Mr. Talkative of our dynamic duo.
His face is tense, his eyes roaming all over, his back hunched. It's obvious that he's had his share of family tension. He notices me looking and nods in acknowledgement. It's nice to know that someone sympathizes with my plight.
A slight shift of Mom's hands brings my eyes to her. She smiles at me, a tight, uncomfortable, but loving smile. We haven't said anything to each other than since my big hissy fit. I wonder what she's thinking, if she's mad. Maybe she feels guilty. Mothers are known to do that.
Dad clears his throat and suddenly my eyes turn to him. I have lost my self- control. It's the final phase of the operation and I'm slipping. I'm doing crazy things, like looking at my parents. What kind of sick, twisted freak am I?
Dad's blue eyes burn into mine, and I feel a little queasy. His smile is sympathetic, a little sad. I know he wants me to open up to him like I would when I was little, when I'd climb onto his lap and pull out the Starbust he always kept in his shirt pocket because he knew it was my favorite. That was so much easier; I didn't even have to think about the fact that I was baring my soul to another human being. (Or whatever.)
I stand up, needing to get out of there, away from their little smiles and the looks they sneak at me when I'm pretending that my food is a fascinating work of art. I'm stupid. I'm dumb. I'm a baby. I'm making everyone crazy and uncomfortable over my petty teen angst.
I slam the bathroom door shut behind me. My gut is clenching like crazy. The world spins. I am so going to hurl.
And I do. I fall to my knees, hug the porcelain throne, and let loose.
The water is instantly pink. I'm shaking like crazy.
How did this happen?
My stomach pushes violently on my throat. More pink-ness.
There's a light knock on the door.
Oh, God. I've been discovered.
"Seth? Sweetie? Are you okay in there?" It's my mom.
I close my eyes.
"Yes. I'm fine."
I want to say no. I want her to come in and rock me like I'm a baby and I can forget all about everything that happened at that stupid dinner. My mother is not the most maternal woman in the world, but when she tries she always hits a grand slam. Except in cooking. Never in cooking.
"Seth." Mom's voice is frustrated; she is well aware of my blatant lies. Her hand twists the doorknob and she sighs.
Locked.
I hear her footsteps walking away quickly and I stand up. I flush the pink disgustingness and slam the lid a little too hard.
My reflection is a nightmare. My lips are white and my face is paler than usual. Dark purple rings swallow my eyes. I groan and assault my face with handfuls of cold water.
I'm downstairs five minutes later, on edge, hoping to avoid all human contact. All I need is some animal crackers and I'll be dandy. I can curl up on my bed with some Death Cab, some Salinger and edible circus animals.
Sitting in the middle of the counter is a steaming mug and a silver plate of saltines. Mom stands behind it, the same tight smile on her lips. She gestures for me to sit down.
"Tea," she explains quietly.
I slip into the seat and take a tiny sip, wondering what the hell was going to happen.
Mom drops a kiss on the top of my head and walks away.
I smile. Easy and painless, no words, no explanations or expectations.
I sit in silence of a few minutes, munching my crackers and sipping the tea. My stomach is calming down a little bit.
"Hey, Seth."
I nod at my father as he enters. I feel his hand on my back and I want to shrug it off, but I just sit stiffly and don't say a word.
"Your mom told me you threw up."
I nod again.
"You sick?" Dad tries to look me in the eye but I'm staring at my plate. His places his hand on my forehead lightly. "You don't feel warm. Did you eat too much?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled, pushing my chair out. I need to get out. Everything is too much, and I can't hurl again. Pink is an ugly color.
"Why are you avoiding me?" Dad asks, his voice cracking, sounding exasperated and tired.
"I'm just getting animal crackers," I choke.
Dad grasps my arm. "What's going on? Why won't you just talk to me?"
"Because I can't!" I yell, before I can even think about how to react. "Be- because the words..they-they don't come out. I-I try. I-I want..I want to tell you..and Ryan..Mom..but I-I just can't." I swallow. "It's too hard....I just can't."
"Seth, it's okay," Dad says, rubbing his hand gently up and down my arm. He maneuvers his head and looks me straight in the eye. "I'm not going to get mad. You can take your time. You can mess up the words." His hand stops at my shoulder and squeezes it slightly. "Just tell me what's wrong."
"I just...can't," I say, my voice squeaking. "I-uh, I'm going for a walk, okay?"
I don't want to do this. I don't want to leave him. I want to tell him everything and make him understand why I freaked out at dinner, why I can't talk when I want to. I want to help him see who I am, why I talk so much. I want him to understand. And I know that he can understand if I let him. So could Mom. And so could Ryan. But I just can't seem to form the words necessary for the job. I can't even talk right. Suddenly I'm the stuttering mess I was before grade school speech class. Suddenly, I'm speechless.
"Don't stay out too late," Dad says, disheartened.
I start to walk away, then turn around slightly. I don't want to hurt him.
"I'm sorry," I say, biting my lip.
"I know," he replies, nodding, his face weary. "I know, Seth."
I take a deep breath and walk to the door.
Dad sighs and I can hear the loud smack of an open palm against the refrigerator.
I run out the door, needing to be anywhere but here.
Standard disclaimers apply
Chapter 4
I swallowed a hearty spoonful of strawberry ice cream, keeping my eyes trained on the bowl, not looking up, not saying anything. That is pretty much how the whole meal went, with my parents and Ryan holding up a pathetic conversation. There was no banter. There was no hearty laughter. The pizza was eaten in ten minutes. All I had to do was suffer through the dessert phase and I was home free.
My eyes flick up to look at Ryan, see how he was doing now that he has to be the Mr. Talkative of our dynamic duo.
His face is tense, his eyes roaming all over, his back hunched. It's obvious that he's had his share of family tension. He notices me looking and nods in acknowledgement. It's nice to know that someone sympathizes with my plight.
A slight shift of Mom's hands brings my eyes to her. She smiles at me, a tight, uncomfortable, but loving smile. We haven't said anything to each other than since my big hissy fit. I wonder what she's thinking, if she's mad. Maybe she feels guilty. Mothers are known to do that.
Dad clears his throat and suddenly my eyes turn to him. I have lost my self- control. It's the final phase of the operation and I'm slipping. I'm doing crazy things, like looking at my parents. What kind of sick, twisted freak am I?
Dad's blue eyes burn into mine, and I feel a little queasy. His smile is sympathetic, a little sad. I know he wants me to open up to him like I would when I was little, when I'd climb onto his lap and pull out the Starbust he always kept in his shirt pocket because he knew it was my favorite. That was so much easier; I didn't even have to think about the fact that I was baring my soul to another human being. (Or whatever.)
I stand up, needing to get out of there, away from their little smiles and the looks they sneak at me when I'm pretending that my food is a fascinating work of art. I'm stupid. I'm dumb. I'm a baby. I'm making everyone crazy and uncomfortable over my petty teen angst.
I slam the bathroom door shut behind me. My gut is clenching like crazy. The world spins. I am so going to hurl.
And I do. I fall to my knees, hug the porcelain throne, and let loose.
The water is instantly pink. I'm shaking like crazy.
How did this happen?
My stomach pushes violently on my throat. More pink-ness.
There's a light knock on the door.
Oh, God. I've been discovered.
"Seth? Sweetie? Are you okay in there?" It's my mom.
I close my eyes.
"Yes. I'm fine."
I want to say no. I want her to come in and rock me like I'm a baby and I can forget all about everything that happened at that stupid dinner. My mother is not the most maternal woman in the world, but when she tries she always hits a grand slam. Except in cooking. Never in cooking.
"Seth." Mom's voice is frustrated; she is well aware of my blatant lies. Her hand twists the doorknob and she sighs.
Locked.
I hear her footsteps walking away quickly and I stand up. I flush the pink disgustingness and slam the lid a little too hard.
My reflection is a nightmare. My lips are white and my face is paler than usual. Dark purple rings swallow my eyes. I groan and assault my face with handfuls of cold water.
I'm downstairs five minutes later, on edge, hoping to avoid all human contact. All I need is some animal crackers and I'll be dandy. I can curl up on my bed with some Death Cab, some Salinger and edible circus animals.
Sitting in the middle of the counter is a steaming mug and a silver plate of saltines. Mom stands behind it, the same tight smile on her lips. She gestures for me to sit down.
"Tea," she explains quietly.
I slip into the seat and take a tiny sip, wondering what the hell was going to happen.
Mom drops a kiss on the top of my head and walks away.
I smile. Easy and painless, no words, no explanations or expectations.
I sit in silence of a few minutes, munching my crackers and sipping the tea. My stomach is calming down a little bit.
"Hey, Seth."
I nod at my father as he enters. I feel his hand on my back and I want to shrug it off, but I just sit stiffly and don't say a word.
"Your mom told me you threw up."
I nod again.
"You sick?" Dad tries to look me in the eye but I'm staring at my plate. His places his hand on my forehead lightly. "You don't feel warm. Did you eat too much?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled, pushing my chair out. I need to get out. Everything is too much, and I can't hurl again. Pink is an ugly color.
"Why are you avoiding me?" Dad asks, his voice cracking, sounding exasperated and tired.
"I'm just getting animal crackers," I choke.
Dad grasps my arm. "What's going on? Why won't you just talk to me?"
"Because I can't!" I yell, before I can even think about how to react. "Be- because the words..they-they don't come out. I-I try. I-I want..I want to tell you..and Ryan..Mom..but I-I just can't." I swallow. "It's too hard....I just can't."
"Seth, it's okay," Dad says, rubbing his hand gently up and down my arm. He maneuvers his head and looks me straight in the eye. "I'm not going to get mad. You can take your time. You can mess up the words." His hand stops at my shoulder and squeezes it slightly. "Just tell me what's wrong."
"I just...can't," I say, my voice squeaking. "I-uh, I'm going for a walk, okay?"
I don't want to do this. I don't want to leave him. I want to tell him everything and make him understand why I freaked out at dinner, why I can't talk when I want to. I want to help him see who I am, why I talk so much. I want him to understand. And I know that he can understand if I let him. So could Mom. And so could Ryan. But I just can't seem to form the words necessary for the job. I can't even talk right. Suddenly I'm the stuttering mess I was before grade school speech class. Suddenly, I'm speechless.
"Don't stay out too late," Dad says, disheartened.
I start to walk away, then turn around slightly. I don't want to hurt him.
"I'm sorry," I say, biting my lip.
"I know," he replies, nodding, his face weary. "I know, Seth."
I take a deep breath and walk to the door.
Dad sighs and I can hear the loud smack of an open palm against the refrigerator.
I run out the door, needing to be anywhere but here.