Some Days

Sometimes I stop to wonder. Not about a lot, or that often – but I wonder about things. Like why me? And various what-if’s? Occasionally I’ll wonder up some is-it-worth-it’s? Most of the time it’s about nothing in particular, the thoughts spurred by a fleeting thought or distant memory.

Right now was one of those moments.

I looked at the boy next to me, a little collection of sweat glistening on his forehead. His hair was matted and his naked top-half was covering my naked top-half. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t sleeping. He was never sleeping.

What had I done in a previous life to deserve these things in my present life? Why had he chosen me, of all the girls in town, to stick with? How had this happened? Were there any real answers to these things? And would I ever be able to forget the worries, no matter how seldom they come about?

“What on Earth is going through your pretty little head right now?” John lazily asked.

I was tongue-tied. I was always tongue-tied. Does that go away on its own? Eventually, right? It would have to. “Just some thoughts.”

“What sorts?” he questioned. His words were innocent for all intents and purposes but I couldn’t figure out the easiest way to answer.

How do you begin to explain the feel of dread to someone who hasn’t been exposed to it before? The deep-seated fear that one day, you’ll lose everything you’ve ever loved? And no amount of fighting can prevent it? So there’s no use in worrying, really, because the end is inevitable. Right?

“I found out some news,” I said slowly, tasting the words on my tongue for the first time. It was foreign in my mouth, something I hadn’t spoken aloud since my mother had sat me down days ago and told me herself.

John looked up at me, tilting his head on my chest and looking past my chin. I lazily trailed my fingers through his hair, playing with the wisps that hadn’t stuck to his skin, but refused to look at him. With my lack of response, he sat up in a panic.

“Nolan – Jesus, what kind of news?” he nearly demanded. “Are you okay?”

I licked my lips slowly.

I could feel everything clicking and shifting into place. The news was settling in and speaking it out loud would mean it’s real – it’s just so unbelievably real. And there’s no turning back once I say it. Everything became amplified and I was suddenly hyper aware of the little things my body does – the little things you don’t have to worry about, like breathing or breaking down food or splitting cells to make new ones. I felt it all. I was aware of everything.

“Get off me, please,” I muttered, nudging his lower half with my shaking hands. I was trembling. My stomach churned and because of my hypersensitivity, I wasn’t able to calm it down. It crept up my throat. I counted the seconds until I wouldn’t be able to keep it inside any longer.

“What is happening? You’re scaring the fuck out of me, Nolan!” he shouted. His voice echoed through my empty house. My parents were gone for a long weekend.

“Get off!” I shouted back, and gave him a heartier shove. “I’m going to throw up!”

He scrambled away, tearing the blankets and sheets away with him and I was left naked and exposed. I rolled off my bed and grabbed clothes from the floor as I rushed to the adjacent bathroom. I had just fitted the shirt over my head when I dropped to my knees, clad in hastily-pulled-on sweats, and skidded to the toilet.

“Jesus. Fuck. Jesus Christ, Nolan,” John murmured, over and over, from somewhere in my bedroom. He was undoubtedly dressing himself as quickly as he could. When he finally sat beside me on the cold tile floor, I shifted and leaned against the lip of the bathtub, flushing the toilet. “What the hell did you eat?”

“Nothing,” I chided.

“Nothing? Nothing and you throw up that much,” he sarcastically replied. “That certainly is odd. What was your news?”

“You’re an idiot,” I yelled. “We’re both idiots!”

John recoiled. “That’s not new-”

I began to hit him. Not enough to hurt him, but maybe enough to knock the sense into him. This wasn’t my news, however. Throwing up wasn’t new, nor news. My news wasn’t the news I was occupied with, either.

I hit him until he grabbed my wrists to stop me. But by then, my eyes were flooded and my throat was constricted beyond the point of an easy return. And then, the walls I had built up over years had crumbled all at once. My independence was suddenly gone, escaping farther and farther the longer I cried. He coddled me and stroked my hair and kissed my eyelids.

“My mom has early onset Alzheimer’s,” I finally choked out. “And you’re an idiot. We’re both idiots.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” John reminded me. “I’m sorry about your mom, Nolan. When did you find out?”

I couldn’t sit on the bathroom floor and rehash everything. He would never understand the coldness of the hospital room or the empty look in her doctor’s eyes or the drop in his voice as he told us. John would never hear the strangled cry from my strong, brave, brilliant mother when she found out her life – her memories – would be ripped away from her when she least expected it.

“I have to go to the store,” I said, pushed myself up and ambled over to the sink. I wiped at my eyes and cheeks. “And you should probably come with me.”

I had thought things would get a little easier after the funeral. I hoped, I suppose, that a sense of normalcy would return. But it didn’t. Maybe it was because I hadn’t gone inside the church or because I hadn’t said goodbye. Maybe it was the guilt. I felt guilty. It weighed me down.

I wanted to stand with my face to the sun for days. I wanted to bathe in the sunlight. Is that weird? Was it normal to want things like that? It just felt so good to stand there, my mind blank, and being hyper aware, feeling the vitamins soak into my skin and the cells eat it up and utilize it. Was that okay? Was I okay?

Would I ever be okay again?

My eyes burned in the relatively dull fluorescent lights of my house. I sat numbly on the couch, wanting to curl in on myself and cry and stare at the wall and continue counting. But there were too many people here. And unlike John and Jenny and Payton – these people would prod and question and just be all-around pests.

Someone sat next to me and I turned, slowly, to assess the situation. I wasn’t in the mood for talking. Or eating or drinking or breathing or making new cells. But I especially wasn’t in the mood for the boy next to me. I inhaled slightly, tilted my head a bit, and then exhaled the little puff of air I had sucked in.

I wasn’t prepared for anything anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Garrett said softly after a few moments. “For your loss. For everything, really. I’m sorry I disappeared. I’m sorry I have no idea what to say but I’m just sorry. I shouldn’t have blamed you-”

“Blamed me?” I asked. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. “What could you possibly blame me for? I did nothing wrong.”

“I was mad at you, that morning,” he stuttered, cheeks reddening as he fiddled with his fingers in his lap. “You left me alone without a word and I just – I was mad.”

“My mom was in the hospital, Garrett,” I snapped. “You- You can hate me all you want and be a child and blame me for not calling you back after having sex with you, but my mom was dying. She is dead, Garrett. I will never see her again. So keep your grudge and your blame and your pointless anger, because- because-”

“Stop,” Garrett softly said, looking at me through his fringe of soft, copper hair. His blue eyes were watering and his shoulders were rising – or maybe his neck was sinking? – and he looked afraid. “Don’t say you’ll hate me back. Because I never hated you. I was just mad at you. I couldn’t believe that after you let me in, and let me stay, that you would run away like that.”

I sighed softly. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “You should know that I’m confused and at a loss. I don’t know what I want or who I need.”

“I’m okay with that,” he softly replied, and placed his hand on my thigh. I sucked on my lower lip, eyeing his hand carefully. “I just. I want to be here for you. John talked to me the other day and- and I just can’t let you go. Not yet. Not now.”

I nodded and licked my dry, cracked lips. I stood without another word and left him there, alone on the couch.

Wordlessly, I ambled through the crowds of people suffocating my house and my eyes searched everywhere. I scanned high and low for the one face I needed the most at that very second. Without avail, I pulled myself up the stairs to my bedroom and collapsed against the door as it shut behind me.

“Too much to handle?” John asked quietly from my bed.

“Where’s Regan?” I immediately asked, panic flooding my chest. I had left John with her hours ago.

“Mom took her,” he replied gently. “She was getting fussy and for some reason, she knew exactly what Regan wanted. Is that something parents just.. learn? Will I learn those things?”

“Instincts?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. He stood and made his way over to me. I hadn’t realized I was still plastered against the door. “Yeah, I suppose it’ll come to you eventually. You’ve only been around for a second compared to how long she’s been alive. It’ll take some time.”

His eyes flickered as he stared down at me. They landed on my lips. “Tell me about when she was a baby.”

His lips were closer to mine now and I could feel his breath ghosting against my skin. He raised his hand to my cheek and traced his thumb across my lips. My heart was thumping in my ears. I shook my head slightly as his body pressed to mine. I parted my lips in anticipation, his still inching closer and closer.

“She’s always been just like you,” I breathed heavily. “Knows exactly how to get what she wants.”

He smirked before finally crashing his lips to mine. My heart faltered and I swear he ripped it right out of my chest. I gave in to him as he stripped me of my black dress and tugged my hair out of its elastic. I let him have my entire being, once again, and I even felt myself smile as my head hit the pillow.