So the Season's Changed Your Face

I woke up to the sun shining in my face and to the sound of bacon sizzling and crackling in the pan. I was in Mike’s room, in his bed, using his pillows, and sleeping in one of his sweatshirts. The night’s events unfurled in my mind, but I found I felt slightly better now that I had had a good night’s rest.

I dragged myself out of Mike’s bed and shuffled down the hall, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. When I entered the living room, Mike was sitting on the couch, digging into a pile of pancakes slathered in butter and syrup. The television was on and I was not surprised to see that Mike was watching Boomerang.

Mrs. Carden was in the kitchen, tending to the three pans on the stove – flipping pancakes, scrambling eggs, and poking greasy strips of bacon.

I stood awkwardly in the hallway, not quite sure what to do. I smiled weakly at Mike, whose mouth was too full to announce my presence.

He didn’t have to, however, because at that moment, Mrs. Carden turned and smiled at me, her smile a bit too understanding. “I knew something must have been wrong because when I woke up, Mike was on the couch. Pancakes?”

I nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Mrs. Carden,” I started, “I’m sorry, it’s just that-”

“Mike told me, Vivi,” she interrupted, stacking three pancakes onto to plate. “It’s okay. You can always duck out here if things get bad at home.”

She handed me the plate of pancakes, and she had mercifully added a heap of scrambled eggs and a few strips of bacon. “Syrup?”

I nodded again, taking the syrup bottle from her. “Thank you, Mrs. Carden,” I said, hoping she would recognize that I was thanking her for much more than the proper breakfast.


Mike and I watched cartoons until Lucas called and requested that someone come and pick him up.

“Wanna come with?” Mike asked after his mom had politely informed him that he was responsible for picking up Lucas as he was the one who had dropped him off in the first place.

I shook my head. “I should get home and make sure they haven’t killed each other.”

I would have much preferred to stay at Mike’s for the rest of the weekend, but I knew that I had to go home eventually, if only to make sure both parents were alive and functioning.

Mike looked at me, clearly concerned. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. He continued to look worried. “It’s okay, Mike. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

He looked skeptically at me, one of his eyebrows cocked. “Call me if anything comes up, alright? And I mean anything. I’ll come and get you.”

“Mike,” I rolled my eyes, “It’ll be fine. I’ll just…see you on Monday, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, sighing, “Okay.”

I gave him a brief hug, which was completely abnormal behavior. Mike looked incredulously at me. “Are you feeling okay?” he joked, placing the back of his hand to my forehead.

I smiled. “Just…thanks, Mike. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Yeah, well, um,” Mike stammered awkwardly, scratching his neck. “I guess I’ll just see you on Monday, unless anything comes up.”

He walked me to the door, but paused quite dramatically with his hand on the door handle. “You will call me if something comes up, right?”

“Yes, Mike, I will,” I answered, rolling my eyes. “Don’t worry – I’m sure everything will be fine.” I repeated for what felt like the tenth time.

He opened the door, a gust of cold wind knocking us back. “Jesus, it’s cold,” Mike commented, his arms about himself.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, remembering I was still wearing Mike’s favorite hoodie. I began to carefully pull it off (don’t want to flash Mike, now do we?).

“No, no, you keep it,” Mike said quickly, “Keep it.”

I looked skeptically at Mike, one of my arms free of its sleeve. “Mike, this is your favorite sweater. I’m not going to keep it.”

“I really don’t care,” he assured, “Keep it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him while shoving my arm back through the sleeve. “I’ll give it back to you on Monday,” I started, feeling a chill wrap around my neck. “Too cold to go without today.”

“You honestly don’t have to give it back, Vivi,” he said, “I must have a million sweaters.”

“Okay, Mike,” I said, my eyebrows raised. “Are you feeling okay?”

He smiled. “I’m feeling fine.”

There was an awkwardly long silence between us as we stood at Mike’s front door, cool air whipping our faces. “I’m going to, uh, go now, Mike,” I said, finally deciding the silence was getting far too weird – even by my standards.

“Right, yes,” Mike said, seemingly shaken from his thoughts. “See you later, then.”

“Yeah, bye, Mike,” I called over my shoulder, heading toward my car, which was parked across the street. When I got into my car, I was not surprise d to find the interior of my car was freezing to the touch. I was actually quite thankful Mike had let me keep his favorite sweater, seeing as my heater didn’t kick in until I was on my block.

I parked on the street and slowly hiked up the driveway, dreading what I was to find inside.

The house was virtually silent. I checked the garage to find only one car – my mom’s – parked there. Dad must have not come home since his heated departure. I assumed my mom was sleeping, seeing as it was so quiet in the house.

The stained tablecloth was resting untreated on the kitchen counter, atop a pile of dirty dishes that smelled of rotting fish. There were two broken dishes on the floor next to the table, along with a broken wine glass.

I soon discovered what my dad had thrown at the wall – it was a brass candle stick, which was lying on the floor beneath a large dent in the wall. The candle had rolled underneath the table. I bent down to pick it up, deciding that perhaps I should clean up their mess. Perhaps if mom woke up to a clean house, she wouldn’t be so angry at Dad anymore.

I sighed and set to work, starting with the dishes, which were setting off a smell so strong, I was beginning to get a headache.

The tablecloth, it transpires, could not be salvaged. There was a large stain in the middle of it, presumably from a glass of red wine. I dumped it into the garbage can along with the broken china and wine glass and the spoiled chicken which had been left in the oven overnight.

I knocked on my mom’s door gingerly, not quite sure what to expect. “Mom? I’m going downtown.”

I did not ask her if she wanted me to bring anything back – I would regardless, but in all honesty, I did not want to see her, let alone talk to her. Before she was able to respond or open her bedroom door, I was in my own bedroom, swiftly replacing my pajama pants with jeans and slicking on some deodorant.

Before leaving, I took another look at the kitchen. If you ignored the dent in the wall, it would seem like nothing had transpired the night before. It looked like a normal kitchen, one that did not fall witness to the terrible things my parents do to one another.

I locked the door behind me and set off toward my car, thinking only of which antique shop I would visit in order to find a new tablecloth for my mom.