Skin and Bones

Okay. Zucchini. Zucchini. Zucchini. I know I bought one. Where is it? Didn’t I put it in the fridge?

I walk out into the hallway to find my jacket. I search through the pockets.
Is that a zucchini in the pocket, or is my jacket just happy to see me?
Okay, lame.
And what’s even lamer is leaving a zucchini in your jacket-pocket.
And what even lamer is actually stuffing a zucchini in your pocket!
But hey, there wasn’t room in the bag, and I could only afford one, so…yeah!

I put the zucchini on the chopping block and chop away.
I’m being so lame right now! But I guess that’s what happens when you’re happy – perhaps when you’re in love, and the other person actually returns those feelings!

My stomach flutters at the thought of Gerard loving me – or just being in love with me. No matter what, I’m happy!

I throw the chopped vegetables in the bowl and mix it up with my hands. I’m actually real proud of myself! I haven’t thrown up yet. But I think it’s because of all the vegetables. They’re actually not so bad, ‘cause I know they’re healthy and low in fat.

This is gonna be good.

Suddenly a pair of lights shine in through the window. My hands freeze. My stomach clenches around itself – in a bad way.
I’m so nervous.

I hear a car door slam. I swallow some of the nervousness down and pick my hands out of the salad. I grab the bowl and walk over to the already set dinner table. I move a napkin a bit so it lies neatly.

The front door squeaks as it opens and is slammed shut. I flinch at both sounds.
My mom’s heavy footsteps walk through the doorway behind me.
I turn around.

My mom is holding onto the doorway as she looks at the table behind me. She raises an eyebrow.

“What’s this?” Her voice is somewhat steady and normal, but I can tell she’s been drinking.
I blink the tears away.

“I made us dinner.” My voice is so low and high-pitched. She already thinks I’m too much of a girl, and now I’m sounding like one! I suck at pleasing her.

“You call a salad ‘dinner’?” I bite my tongue to keep myself from losing it and breaking down crying and begging.

Suddenly she shrugs her shoulders and walks towards me – her footsteps heavy against the tiled floor. She hasn’t taken off her shoes.
She walks past me and I sigh silently as I close my eyes and let my shoulder relax. I turn around and sit down at the table next to her – her at the end.

She shovels some salad onto her plate, and so do I. I shovel more onto my plate than her. I hope she notices.
She shoves the salad in her mouth – chewing it with a bored and somewhat disgusted look on her face. She finishes that one bite, before she puts down her fork.
My stomach drops as my hopes die.

She gets up and walks away. I lower my head and squeeze my eyes shut.
I hear the fridge door open and a clinking of bottles. Then the fridge door closes and the clinking comes closer.
I lift my head up in time to see my mom sit down in her seat and place two bottles of beer on the table. She then grabs her fork again and shoves some more salad into her mouth.
I smile – a small smile.

As she chews, she opens a beer. She then takes a swig and swallows down the salad with the liquid. I’m slightly ashamed that she doesn’t like it enough to eat it without any ‘lubricants’, but I feel…appreciated that she’s actually eating it.
I eat my own salad quickly – proud of my own work.

When I’ve eaten more on my plate, I feel so excited and happy that I eagerly shovel more onto my plate.

“What brought this on?” My head snaps up. My mom takes a swig of her second bottle of beer – tilting her head back, but still looking at me.
I look down at my plate at the salad. Courage. Find it. Keep it. Have it.
I need to tell her.
I take a deep breath before I lift my head and look at her.

“A-“ I clear my throat.
“A boy at school got me to eat.” She raises her eyebrows – in disbelief. Oh, shit! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! You helped me too! You got me to eat too! Mom! Please? I love you!

“How?” I’m scared now. She’s disappointed. She’s angry. She’s hurt.

“I-“ I can’t say it. I know what to say, but I can’t say it. I should say it, but I can’t. I don’t know how she’ll react. She could get real mad, go drink and then crash her car because she refuses to not drive no matter how drunk she is! She’s gonna kill herself! Because of me!

“What?”

“I’m gay.” It just blurts out – my vocal cords spas out!
I clasp a hand over my mouth.

My mom just stares at me – just stares. Her intense, grey eyes bore into mine. I can’t read her stare. She’s just staring.
I slowly remove my hand from my mouth and open it to say something like ‘I’m sorry’.

My head whips to the left and my right cheek stings with pain. That sting soon turns into a throb.

“Don’t you dare say that in my house!” She’s screaming. My ears throb.
I turn my head back to see my mom’s raging, terrifying eyes quiver as they stare at me. My entire body tense up.
“Go to your room, right now!” I don’t even flinch at her words – my body is just too tense.
I get up from my chair and walk away. When I’m about to exit the kitchen, a plate crashes against the doorframe. I freeze.
“It’s that Way-kid, isn’t it?” How does she know? She doesn’t even know Gerard!
“Mikey, is it?” Her voice is filled with venom as she says his name. Her question is filled mockery and sarcasm.
“If I ever catch you with him again – if I ever hear that you’ve been talking to him at school – I’ll make you regret it.” She’s not yelling anymore. Her voice is now low, but filled with venom, hate and disgust. She doesn’t even sound drunk anymore.
The first tear leaves my eye.

I walk out of the kitchen, up the stairs and into my room. I lock the door behind me, before I walk over to my bed and crawl under the covers – still fully dressed.
I curl up into a ball and just lie there – still – as tears silently roll down my cheeks and onto my pillow.

Where’s my mom? What happened to my mom?

She used to take care of me. She used to love me so much, it sometimes became too much. She used to disagree with every bad thing my dad ever said about me before he left. She used to hold me when I was hurt. She used to kiss me when I was crying. She used to let me sleep in her bed when there was a storm outside. She used to cook me pancakes for breakfast every Saturday.

That’s what wrong. I don’t eat it anymore.
It’s my fault. I made her drink again. I hurt her. I’m the reason for my mom’s lost hope. I’m the reason she’s lost herself to her old bad habits.
I killed my mom.