Skin and Bones

I went home from the Way house after Mikey’s parents came home. I don’t like intruding. Plus, they would force me to eat something. They always say that I look so thin. I never agree. I only smile. And that smile always disappears when I see Gerard frown at me. And that’s always why I leave – no matter how much Mikey and his parents insist on me staying for dinner ‘since it’s so late’. I just tell them that we eat late at my house. We don’t. But they don’t know that.

I open the front door and kick off my shoes as I close it again behind me.

“Frankie?” my mom calls. I poke my head into the living room, but I can’t see her. I turn around and walk into the kitchen instead.
“Hey hun’. You’re just in time,” my mom says, as she quickly looks up from the pot she’s stirring in. There’s food everywhere. Every surface of the kitchen is covered with plates and bowls filled with food. Steaks. Pancakes. Fruit. Spaghetti and meatballs. Salads. Pizza. Chocolate cake.

“Mom, you really didn’t-“

“Come on sweety. Sit down!” She sounds out of breath. It makes her sound manic – obsessive.
I don’t move. I just stare at her as she continues to stir in the pot.
“Go on, sit!” Her voice is calmer. She’s almost begging.

“Mom, I really can’t ea-“

“Sit!” she screams. She’s stopped stirring. She’s just staring at me – anger burning in her eyes.

“No.” My voice is nothing but a whisper.
She lets go of the ladle in her hand and turns to face me as she wipes her hands in her apron.

“Frank,” she says warningly. I swallow.

“No,” I whisper again. She freezes up. She looks so angry. She’s just staring at me – her eyes burning with anger and… hatred.

“Fine.” She calmly takes her apron off and throws it over a bowl of soup next to the heating-plates. The fabric of the apron is soon soaked.
My mom walks around the kitchen and opens various cabinets, then closes them again.

“Mom, you heard the doctor. I should take it slow. Just eat a little bi-“

“You’re an ungrateful, little fag! You act like more of a girl than your cousins!” She’s pointing her index finger at me. It’s shaking as she screams her words. I don’t even feel them hit. I just feel numb after the words have left her mouth.
She suddenly turns around and opens another cabinet. She sighs.
She pulls out a bottle of brown liquid in a clear bottle, screws the cap off and takes a large gulp.
I wanna stop her.
Again.
But I can’t move.
When the bottle is empty, she turn back to face me.
“You can clean this up, you selfish bastard!”
She then walks towards me. She grabs the car keys off the nail on the wall, and slams her shoulder against mine as she passes me. I almost trip.

I don’t turn around.

I hear the front door slam. I hear the engine of the car start up, and the light from the headlights shine through the kitchen curtains – streaks of light illuminating the pale yellow walls.

The light glides over the wall and shines in my face. I close my eyes.
I open them again when the light is gone. And there I stand – alone in the middle of a kitchen filled with food I can’t eat – feeling nothing.