Eat My Heart Out

“Hi, Gerard.” My head snaps up to see the person who I didn’t hear enter my room.

“Mom.” She’s fucking silent. Crazy ninja-mom.
I get up from my stomach and push the science book away.

“How’s the studying going?” she asks as she picks up the pair of pants I threw on the floor a week ago and put them in the hamper she’s carrying around.

“Pretty good.” I get up from my bed and start digging out the dirty t-shirt I’ve been pushing in under my bed for the past week.

My mom laughs at me.

“Oh, boy. How’re you ever gonna make it on your own?” I smile up at her, before I disappear underneath my bed to reach a t-shirt that’s wedged itself under one of my magazines.
“Finding all your good dirty magazines under there?” I freeze on my way out.

What?! How does she know?

“Don’t worry,” she laughs loudly at me. I slowly pull myself out from my, apparently, not-so-good hiding place and look up at my mom.
“I just bumped into one in Frank’s room and three in Mikey’s.” I slowly let a smirk settle on my lips.
“I swear, teenage boys,” she laughs as she shakes her head and picks up a pair of my boxers. I think I’m flushing, but it’s hard to tell.

She turns and walks towards me and I gather up my t-shirt – ready to load into the hamper.

“Great, now follow me,” she says and walks right past me. I frown quickly, grin and then follow her across the concrete floor and into the laundry room.
“I know you know how to wash your sheet, but I think it’s time you also learn how to sort your clothes.” I’m definitely blushing now.
“Blacks here,” she says and tosses my black pair of boxers onto the floor.
“Whites over there,” she says and points at the top of the dryer,” if any ever turn up.” I grin.

I drop all the t-shirts in my arms in the pile on the floor. I notice one white one and pick it up to throw over onto the dryer, but I stop myself mid-toss.

I haven’t seen this t-shirt in forever. It’s a Poison t-shirt – the one with the scull with a hat and a rose. I should wear it more often.

I toss it over to join a white pair of underwear. Probably Mikey’s.

Ew!

“So, have you decided on a college yet?” I look up at my mom with a sense of fear. I honestly fear her reaction. I haven’t told her yet. I haven’t told my dad either. Mikey’s kinda guessed it, but yeah… I’ve only told Frank.

My mom turns her head and looks at me – expectantly.

“I, uhm…” I swallow the growing lump in my throat, only to have it jump right back up.
“I’ve decided not to go.” She frowns at me.
“At least not for now.” She keeps frowning.
“Maybe next year. Or after Christmas. You know…” I don’t know what’s she’s supposed to know. I just know what’s she’s supposed to understand.

“So you’re not gonna go to college,” she asks, her tone of voice disbelieving. She turns towards me and stops sorting the clothes.

I shrug.

“I’m just tired of school.” I look away from her eyes. Her frown is still there and it’s makes me uneasy – insecure about my own decision.
“I don’t wanna fail every class and waste your money because I can’t handle the pressure.” I know I’m exaggerating, but I guess it’s true to some level. I’m tired of school and I don’t want to waste their money on my poor, crappy grades because I don’t wanna do what I would be doing.

I could probably handle the pressure, but I would probably still fail a lot of classes.

My mom sighs.

“And what are you gonna do in the meantime?” I cringe at the boredom in her voice.

Lie on the couch?

“Work, of course.” It’s what she wants to hear, and it’s what she will here. It’s what she just heard.

“And you’re sure of that? You won’t just lie on the couch all day and pretend to be looking for a job?” I cringe again.

It sucks. Just because I “went looking for a job” once during a summer, she won’t trust me.

“No, I won’t.” I feel so pathetic. Right now I’m staring at the pile of mainly my clothes on the floor, just to avoid my mom’s strict, disappointed, slightly angry stare. I’m 18-years-old, and I’m afraid to look my own mother in the eyes and be proud of who I am.

It’s easy to tell why.

“I can’t say I’m not disappointed, Gerard.” I lower my head a bit further and bite my lip.
“I was looking forward to seeing you go to college and be on your own, but if you’re not ready, you’re not ready.” She doesn’t sound sincere. She sounds like she means it – likes she supports me – but there’s still a tinge of hollowness in her voice.

She sighs heavily.

“Have you thought of how to break this to dad?” I swallow and stay quiet. I have thought about it, and all I’ve predicted is some yelling, a few disappointed looks and a couple of heavy, silent moments, and also a lot of guilt on my part. More than now.
“I’m gonna go talk to him,” she says and steps over the pile, before she walks past me.
“Finish the laundry, will you?” she asks over her shoulder.

She doesn’t have to ask twice. The guilt kicks my butt into gear.