What She Didn't Say

The next two weeks after the emotional conversation with my mother were very quiet. I was the only one in the house during the day while my parents were at work. It was quiet and lonely even though my thoughts made an enormous effort to make me feel accompanied. It wasn’t the greatest feeling. My thoughts only made me feel more lonely. I like to share my feelings with people and confide in them. I like to tell them what I’m thinking and hear their thoughts in return. Now the thoughts that run through my mind are forced to remain caged in my brain, begging and pleading to be freed. They scream at me day in and day out telling me of all the people that would be interested in knowing what goes on in my brain.

When my parents return home from work it seems even more quiet and uncomfortable than when I’m home alone. They walk in with a thoughtful expression spread across their faces while they stride in without a word to each other or myself. They don’t even look at each other which worries me. I wonder if my mistake is the reason they don’t speak anymore. It breaks my heart to think that I could possibly be the one to blame for the loss of their close bond; they’re special friendship. Then again, I could just be paranoid.

My parents cast glances over towards me on the couch every now and then as they take their shoes off and put on their house slippers. It’s always an awkward glance like the ones eighth graders make at the screen of the projector when their health teacher is showing them pictures of STD’s on male and female genitalia. I squirm in my seat until they finally make it to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I can barely hear their voices over the rush of the running water pouring out of the faucet. I can’t tell if they’re discussing each other’s day’s work or if they’re only making small talk. Either way, I’m glad they’re talking even if they can’t do it in front of me.

School starts in three weeks on the fifth of September. Thinking about how short those three weeks are going to be only makes my thoughts rage harder into my school. It gives me a headache and it stresses me out. I imagine of how luxurious it would actually be if I could tell a single person every thought I’m thinking. I just want to throw everything out on the table. Forget my poker face.

As I’m sitting in my room thinking over everything that’s happened these past few months, I become lost in the mazes of my mind. I ponder each thought numerous times looking for an answer to anything and everything even though I never find an answer for the most part. I don’t keep track of time while doing this, although it always seems like it lasts for hours on end. It’s become a daily thing that I do. I sit on my bed looking out my window and across the street. Sometimes I wonder what problems lie beyond the closed door of each individual house. Do they even have problems? It’s always hard to tell when you’re looking at them from the outside. You never see anything shaken up unless you take yourself into the middle of the storm. That’s when you really understand its power of destructiveness.

Suddenly the sound of someone knocking on my door interrupted my train of thought. I turned around only to see my mother in the doorway. She had tied her hair up in a bun and changed into her pajamas early. It was only five in the evening. The only nights she ever did this was when she was stressed with work and needed to bring it home. I worried about my mother. She looked fine, but I still wondered if work was okay for her or if they were just having a busy month. Of course, I hoped she was just having a busy month because my mother works way too hard to have extra stress weighing on her slender shoulders.

She looked at me with distant eyes as if she was deep in thought and tapped her thin fingers against the door frame. Finally, she said, “Michael’s coming down to visit before he has to start college. Could you, uh, at least try to clean this room up? Maybe put some color into your cheeks? I don’t want him worrying about any of us when he goes back and I’m sure you don’t either.” With that, she left after rolling the vacuum cleaner into my room.

My brother, Michael, is twenty-two years old. He’s always been more than just a brother to me. He’s always helped me through the ups and downs of life when my parents weren’t able to whether it be due to work or them not fully understanding. My brother is my rock and I remember when he first set off to college after he turned nineteen, that was one of the most emotional days of my life. I’ve missed my brother, but he still comes to visit me as often as he can and he’s moving back to Stapleton after he graduates this year.

I remained glued to my bed as I thought even deeper about revealing my secret. I wondered how long I was going to be able to keep it in with Michael here. I’ve always spilled everything out to him. He’s always been aware of all my deepest and darkest secrets and never has he told a soul. I could trust him with this one, right? I wasn’t sure. Michael is a very protective guy, especially over his younger sister. There’s no telling what he’d do to Harley and what he’d say to the police. That’s the scary part. It would be hard enough telling the whole thing to Michael; my best friend and my brother, let alone the police; a stranger I’ve never met before.

I sighed and lugged my butt out of bed as I plugged in the vacuum and started sweeping, all the while still debating in my head whether or not to tell Michael. The roaring of the vacuum flooded my ear drums as I thought, only giving me a headache. I finished early knowing I only half-assed the job. Like Michael would care, though.

I unplugged the vacuum cleaner and wrapped the wire around the top handle. I set it in the hallway so my mom could use it for the living room when she needed it and proceeded back to my room. I stood in the doorway awkwardly staring around my room, not knowing what to do with myself. I didn’t know if I wanted to continue staring out the window or surf the Internet on my laptop. I chose neither, afraid to do both. My mind lingers in all directions, always leading to places I never want to be. I never want to see Harley’s devilish face plastered in my brain again, but staring out the window always inevitably leads to that.

I resorted to sitting in my chair staring through my vanity mirror back at myself. My eyes had dark circles under them from lack of sleep. I kept having constant nightmares of that horrid night. Play, stop, rewind. That’s all that happened in my nightmares. Play, stop, rewind. It went on and on until I finally awoke. Play, stop, rewind. My hair was straightened and pulled back into a sleek ponytail. It was greasy, for I had not showed in two days. My cheeks were pale and shaped around my cheek bone as those of a model. My appearance was decent, yet tired. I needed sleep and rest. I needed comfort like a seven year old needs after having a nightmare about a monster under her bed.

I sighed, slipping my jeans off and putting on a pair of fuzzy, pink pajama pants. I planned on skipping yet another shower to catch up on sleep. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin and closing my eyes as I breathed in the smell of the fabric softener still lingering on the cloth. My thoughts eventually started to fade out as I drifted into a light sleep dreaming of all sorts of things.

* * *

The next afternoon my parents and I were waiting outside on the front porch for Michael to arrive. He was supposed to be arriving at any minute. While we waited we talked about memories we had of Michael and things we missed. It was a rather happy moment talking about him. And it only made me want to see him even more. My heart felt as though it was about to explode. It was getting impatient. My heart needed Michael as well.

“You know, I never thought I’d miss putting the toilet seat down after every time Michael left the bathroom. I always thought that would be the best part of him moving out, but now I miss it. It almost surprises me to walk into the bathroom and see it down,” my mom laughed at the thought. My father and I joined her laughter. We all missed him so much. I’m sure Michael knows that, but there’s always a doubt in the back of our minds. It’s human nature. We want to give him more than we can.

Just as my dad was about to go into a story about Michael’s first football game, Michael pulled around the corner towards our driveway. We stood up, all of us smiling like jubilant idiots. As he climbed out of his car he carried a huge bag with him that more than likely held surprises for my parents and me. I smiled even wider and pulled him into a tight embrace when he climbed up the steps. He hugged me back and the feeling of having my brother right there again after not having him for the past few months felt like my pain medicine. It was all I ever needed, I realized. He’s big brother; my rock. And now: my pain medicine.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a small notebook with a small girl holding a dandelion in her hand and looking up at the sky. She had her eyes closed and the picture looked warm and comforting with the sun setting behind her. Above the little girl’s head was a quote from the bible about hope. I smiled at the obvious thoughtfulness behind this gift. I loved it and I would keep it forever.

“Write down everything in there. Your troubles, your hopes, your dreams. Reach out to yourself and to God in this notebook. It will make you feel better,” he whispered into my ear and patted my back. I looked from the notebook to him and then back to the notebook again, still admiring it. I didn’t know whether or not I’d be able to actually jot down everything I was thinking and have it make sense, but I was going to try to make my brother happy. He cares so much and he’s so supportive, it’s hard to go against what the intentions for his gift were.

After dinner, I went outside to begin writing in my journal. I sat there for fifteen minutes trying to gather my thoughts so I could explain them in words on lined paper, but I was failing to do so. I looked into the horizon and thought. I summarized in my head what I was thinking, but it was still so hard. So much had happened that night in Jody’s room and there was so much I was feeling when it was happening that it has put a layer of fog over my present thoughts.

Michael walked outside as I was staring at the horizon still trying to think of what I wanted to say to this empty page in front of me. I put the pencil behind my ear and motioned for Michael to sit down. He obeyed and pulled a chair next to me. “Are you okay, Mal?” he asked after sitting in silence for a few moments.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Mike.”

“How do you feel…like about the baby? Are you excited?” he wondered.

I frowned. Once again, I didn’t know what to say. Was I excited or wasn’t I? I didn’t even know the answer to that myself. I had never chosen to have the possible option of conceiving a baby, so there was no way I was ever expecting it. I hadn’t even known he guy that the baby belonged to and now I don’t even talk to him for a good amount of reasons. I’ve been lost through this whole process. I looked at my brother’s round face and sighed. “I’m scared, Mike. What if I turn out to be a lousy mom or…What if I don’t even keep it? What do you think Mom would say?” So many questions were running through my mind as I hesitantly let these thoughts escape my mouth.

“Well, you know how Mom is,” he said, staring into space. I nodded knowing exactly what he meant. My mom knew how hard it would be for everyone in the family if I gave it up.

“Mom thinks I’m dirty. I think if I gave the baby up, she’d only be madder. I don’t know what to do,” I told my brother helplessly.

He stared at me sadly and pulled me into my arms. I got up from my seat and sat in his lap. I curled up into his arm as I had did my mother when I was a young girl. Michael held me there as I wept. He knew what I was feeling even though he had never really personally gone through any of it. Especially what I was keeping from him. He knew enough, though, to be aware that I was hurting. He petted my hair as he held me and rocked back and forth. I felt like a small, helpless child, but this was comforting. I needed it.