It's November fourth. Thursday.
Home from school. Chris is here, he's doing homework. Which is what I SHOULD be doing. Ms. Smith (guidance counselor from Hell) is getting on me about applying to colleges and my GPA, and extra-curricular activities. She wants me to join the Inner Vistas, which I don't want to do because Maggie's editor.
Not because Maggie's editor. But because things are still weird. She never really looks me in the eye about anything. It's bad enough being in the band and having a lot of the same friends, do I really need to make more time for things to be awkward? Or would spending more time together make things be un-weird?
Either way, being on the track team apparently isn't even enough to get into a good college.
I've been thinking about college. I think I might skip a year, take some classes at Palo Tech, the gen eds, and then wait and see what Chris wants to do. What if he wants to go to college in Kentucky or something? Can I really base my life around what he wants to do? It's not like I know what I want to do.
Will Chris and I even be together in a year?
What am I supposed to do? I don't want to stop my life for something that might not work, but I don't want to believe that it won't work.
This morning was a surprise. I get up, wander down to the kitchen in my boxers, ready to throw together some cereal and milk (given that I remembered to buy milk) and I stopped in my tracks, waking up rather suddenly. Mom was standing in the kitchen washing dishes.
Uhhh, Mom? I asked.
What, Mike? She paused and then turned and looked at me. Justin, I'm sorry. What's up?
What's up? Um, Mom, what are you doing here? And we have a dishwasher, you know.
Right. I wanted to talk to you.
At seven in the morning?
I forgot it was a school day. Sit down.
I sat down like she asked and waited.
Justin, honey, I thought you should know that I met someone.
Uh huh.
She folded her hands, looking professional, but kind of nervous. He's a very nice man. I know he's not your father, but-
Mom, I'm seventeen. I'm over that.
Right, yes. He works with me, he's very nice. Uh, but there's something. I've been staying with him a lot. At his apartment and he'd like for me to move in with him. It makes a lot of sense, since he lives just down the road from the office and it's not so much of a commute.
Okay, I replied. I didn't see where it made that much of a difference to how I was living now.
I can understand that you wouldn't want to move and it doesn't even make sense that you would. So I was thinking that I could sign the house over to you. And then you'd be a property owner, but I'd take care of taxes and all of that, of course.
What?
I'd take of the mortgage, and everything, she said, as if this were the issue. I'd give you money for everything you need, like we do now. Nothing would really change. I realize you'll be going off to college soon, though. That's the only problem. And you turn eighteen soon, right?
In April, I said. That's not exactly near. And college... I don't know. I was kind of waiting to see what Chris was doing, and he's got another year of school.
I hadn't told ANYONE that, and here I was telling Mom and she doesn't even know about Chris.
Justin, you can't make plans based around someone else.
You're making plans around me.
She stopped. I guess so. But don't you WANT the house?
I... don't know. Mom, can this wait? Like, let me think about it? When I've been awake longer than five minutes and I'm not just in my underwear?
Of course.
I got dressed and left without eating. I had lost my appetite.
I know that Mom lost all her mom-ness after Mike left. Her calling me Mike was a big blow to the head. It's not like he's dead. She can call him anytime she wants. Not that he wants to talk to her or anything.
I'm the one still here. I'm the one who spends day after day in this stupid, empty house. Why can't she see that I'M STILL HERE? Dad left. Mike left. I HAVEN'T GONE ANYWHERE, MOM. WHY DON'T YOU GIVE A SHIT?
I wish it was something I knew the answer to. I have no idea why.
November Fifth. 3:50 AM.
I have to be awake soon for school, but I haven't slept. Insomnia is a killer. I'm used to it though. First the nights listening to Mom and Dad fight. Then the nights wondering when Dad would be home before he left for good. Then Mom and Mike fighting. Then Mike leaving. Then wondering when Mom would be back.
After almost four years of that, you get used to running on two or three hours of sleep. I've become a friend of computer solitaire and Nick at Nite.
It's just this house, though. The nights I've spent at Chris's, I sleep like a baby. Maybe I don't want the house. Do I want this thing full of memories so strong that I can't even sleep?
School night or not, Chris ended up sleeping over. He looks so cute when he sleeps. He stretches out on his stomach and sort of cradles the pillow in his arms. He's doing it right now.
I'm jealous of my pillow.
I think I'll go downstairs for a snack.
7:10 AM.
Chris is in the shower. I had to write this down. I have the feeling that Chris will spend study hall scratching this down in his journal, but since I don't have that option, I have to write it now. Before I forget.
I went down to the kitchen for my snack and I dug out some ice cream and I was eating it right out of the carton. Living alone has given me some bad habits. But who cares? Mint chocolate chip is only the best thing on the face of the Earth. Food wise, anyway.
I'm digging in the ice cream when -
Justin?
I looked up and Chris was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He looked worried.
Yeah?
What are you doing up?
Can't sleep. Want some ice cream?
Sure. Chris smiled and sat down next to me on the bench. We share the spoon.
What's going on? Chris asked. He's not fooled by a simple can't sleep excuse. How is it that he hardly knows me, yet he knows me so well? He's got some sixth sense of self-conflicting issues.
I sighed. My mom is moving in with some guy in the city. Which isn't a big deal, I guess, except she wants me to take the house. Have it in my name and everything. She really can't do anything, for real, until I'm eighteen, but the fact that she even thought about that.
That has to be hard, Chris said.
You know what it's like. You go through the same thing.
No, I don't. My parents are on the other side of the world. Your mom is half an hour away. It's not the same thing.
I guess.
I could tell Chris wanted to touch me, but he very rarely initiates touch. In fact, I can only think of one time he's be the first to kiss, or the first to make a move.
I reached out and touched his hand, hopefully to send the message that it was okay. He got the message and hugged me. I let myself relax in his grasp. Before I knew it, I was crying.
Chris held me while I sobbed into his shoulder. It was like everything, all of my frustrations with Mom, with Dad, with Mike, the house, living alone, all of it, it all came out then. I don't know the last time I cried.
Let it out, Chris said.
When I was done, or at least in the horrible puffy faced, sniffle stage, Chris said, Let's go back to bed.
We crawled back into my bed and Chris held me, my face buried in his t-shirt while one of his hands was on my hip and the other wrapped around me. I wanted to be his protector, yet I'd never felt more safe than I did when he held me.
Maybe it goes both ways.
