Capítulo 34: I'd Skip This Chapter. I'm Kind of a Downer
This chapter title is a lie. A major under-exaggeration. I'm warning you; this is gonna be weird, weird I can't believe this happened to me weird.
"Kid, are you going to move or am I gonna have to move you myself?"
I felt my head lift. There was a man and two boys.
"Um, sir, are you sure he's breathing?"
"He's waiting for the terrorists."
"Shut up, Stuart." A big figure knelt over. Hey, I knew a blonde person with glasses who looked like this kid…wait. I fish-hooked for the name that belonged to him. It slipped. "Ben? Are you okay?"
My eyes clenched shut.
No, I was not okay. I would never be okay. But could I function?
"How long has he been sitting there?"
The foreign man in a janitor costume sighed, "I'm not sure. I called you guys as soon as I found him."
Stuart…I think it was Stuart, said, "Well, we finished therapy at about five or so, and then went to Stacks. We tried to call him, but Ben didn't pick up. We ate there, ran into a couple girls, bailed because I was convinced they were Heathers undead, and then we tried to call Ben again. He didn't pick up. We went to his house, but there was this driver dude who said Ben wasn't home; he thought Ben was with us. So we had the driver guy follow us around town, until we ended up here when you called me. Speaking of which…"
Someone else walked towards us, chasing his long shadow down the hall. I don't recall ever seeing him on his feet. He was always driving.
"Sweet cheese, you found him!"
(I censored this for readership purposes.)
The person walked faster.
Ed?
He towered over me. I realized that I was still sitting down. My eyes peered up at him. Definitely Ed. How did I know? Only my driver would shake my arm as hard as he possibly could and shout, "Ben!? Ben! You scared the living…"
I don't know if his voice trailed or if I just turned my ears off, but I stopped hearing him. My hands snarled through my hair to push it out of my face.
"Ben, what's wrong?"
A lump of coal formed in my throat—naughty list at Christmas size.
My eyes came into focus. Austin. Stuart. Ed. And some janitor. With the exception of the stranger, these were people I should be able to talk to about anything. People I should've been opening up to ages ago. But that stupid knot in my throat kept words out…well, in.
I pinched the water vapor in my eyes with a hard sniff of my nose. "I think I need to go home."
Eventually, somehow, I ended up in a car with Ed. I was in the front seat. He didn't question the unusual phenomenon.
"You've got some really great friends, you know that? What the heck were you…" He eyed me up when I swallowed. I guess he knew the nightmare ahead and decided to give me some peace.
I would have preferred interrogation. Anything but my dry thoughts.
It made the drive too quick.
When we pulled in, Ed said, "Hey, are you sure you're okay? We could drive around the block a few times, maybe go get some of those chocolate chip waffles?" My face formed a shape that felt like a smile, but I wasn't sure. I shook my head and opened the door. He turned his head to the road. "Well, good luck."
I wanted to talk to him about…everything.
But that lump. It was too big.
My feet should've dragged, but I paced to that door like it was my life force. Next destination, next goal. When I stepped inside, the first thing I saw was both of my parents. They looked…human. The clock by the family portrait read nine p.m. The lump got bigger. Bigger. It blocked my airway.
I bit my lip. Hard. My feet staggered towards the living room as I let the door close behind me. My eyes fell on my father's hard stare. "Where have you been? People are saying they haven't seen you since therapy."
I swallowed. The lump didn't go down.
"I thought we were done with these little stunts of yours!"
He was reasonably upset. After all the times Kyle came home late, I'm sure they didn't want me doing it too.
Sorry, it's hard to come up with snarky comments right now.
The lump swelled up. It blocked my throat and climbed towards my eyes. It wasn't cold. Why were my breaths so shaky?
Mom spoke this time. "Where were you?"
"I-I…was…"
I wanted to be anywhere else. I stared at the family portrait: Bill and Stephanie. Proud parents of Micah Wood Jr: ivy league school graduate with his own big successful family, Nicholas Wood: teen heartthrob, worshipped for the clothes on his back, and Kyle Wood: bright future ahead. My mind searched for some sort of happy memory between me and my parents, something to fall back on and remember during times like these. But…
There was nothing.
There were no happy memories to shine a big heavy metaphorical flashlight on, with every one of their attempts at a healthy relationship thwarted by my poisonous personality. Hugs pushed aside, ditched gatherings, locked up in my room while they were out here, getting closer to each other and every one of my brothers. I defined the relationship as much as they did, and I couldn't blame them anymore.
I realized something I never had before.
It was my fault, too.
A new feeling filled my chest. Something that made my feet heavy enough to fall through the floor. Never before have I understood the truth behind the word "hormones."
My eyes made contact with theirs, like meeting a stranger. "Mom? Dad?"
Their ears perked.
"I'm sorry."
My insides flooded with helium. A light switch blazed everything into the right place at the right time, while pushing me towards destruction. The load of bricks on my back toppled one by one.
Mom choked. "What?"
"You heard me." I didn't mean for my words to sound sharp, and I don't think they did. "For everything. All the crap I put you through. For the therapy and the news and the running and that…stupid bottle of…water an-"
My body racked over itself.
That lump was back, and my face fell into my hands. I allowed my joints to fall into the couch. Oxygen. I needed oxygen. But I couldn't grasp onto myself…at all. Just when I thought I couldn't be any more pathetic.
For the third time(ish) in my life, I was crying.
"I'm sorry." I shielded my face from emotional death rays. "I'm just so sick…and tired of…being…me."
Everything I'd ever tried to hold back was just flying high, bright enough to light up a projection bored and entertain rich people for decades. Something I recognized as shame built up in my head.
Even when I tried, I couldn't fix this.
I'd done too much damage.
That's when a pair of arms wrapped around me. Home. I felt home. I'd only felt that with a handful of people. Never my parents.
Mom squeezed me tighter. "Don't you ever say that. We don't ever want you feeling like that, and I never meant to-" Her voice broke like an old VCR, higher and croakier than mine. She managed three more words before losing all her mascara to salt water. "I'm sorry, too."
Touching. But…what? This was my fault. Julia hated me, Austin hated me, Stuart was afraid of me, I didn't even know Kim or Willie, even Doctor White thought I was a lost cause, and my brother…I'd pushed away every person who'd ever tried to reach out to me. My parents had nothing to do with it.
My parents didn't have anything to do with anything.
I guess that was the problem.
"For what?"
Dad ruffed my hair gently, then rubbed his own eyes. I'd never noticed how they speckled gold, just like mine did.
"Everything," he said.
The declaration needed no explanation. It was a common understanding on both sides of the Cold War.
We were done fighting it.
Dad's phone vibrated. I'd never seen him frown so hard, but he firmed his shoulders and disappeared up the stairs. Mom didn't budge until I gently tugged away. I wish I didn't have to. But I have become accustomed to the ability to breathe.
"So." She smudged her eyeshadow. "What happened?"
Sometimes, things change for the better. More often than not, they never do.
And that's okay.
Sure, I came up with an elaborate story explaining why I was at the school until eight-thirty. Yeah, I didn't see Dad again all week. Yes, Mom got a phone-call in the middle of my phony (get it?) story.
The war was over. We'd battle in the future. But the constant grudge-matches, the gunfire, the fear of nuclear explosion…I'd never have to do that again.
I wish I was right.
As usual, I was wrong.
I didn't have to wake up the next morning, because I didn't sleep. But I did feel better. I couldn't remember why my eyes were wet. I would never say it aloud, but a part of me owed the relief to that insanely cheesy conversation with my parents that we're going to pretend never happened.
Got that?
Good.
My phone beeped.
Text from Austin:
Hey Ben, just wanted to say that I'm sorry about everything. I've just been having a really rough time lately and I didn't mean to take it out on everyone.
I paused, and then another block appeared.
Word got around about yesterday. We're all here for you if you need us. Definitely get if you needed a few days off of therapy.
Therapy.
Well, I wasn't going to be a… What do you call a person who fears things? Right, a Stuart. I was going to go to therapy like the stupid ignoramus I was. I would make Julia be the one not to show up, and I would pretend that my soul wasn't slowly falling apart. It's not like I had one. I'd plugged my tiny person in last night.
Shoot, that's right.
Julia.
The whole situation was numb, like it wasn't even about me. Then it flooded back, and I was no Noah's ark. It hurt like Hades.
I feel like going to therapy would be a big mistake.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Yeah?"
Mom cracked the door open. "Ben, how are you doing?"
I couldn't remember what I'd told her yesterday as an excuse. "Fine."
"A boy called…Austin? He said he goes to therapy with you and asked if you're okay. Did something else happen yesterday?"
I was growing up. But not that much.
"Nope."
She smiled through cherry pink. "Well, if you're not feeling up to therapy we can always let Dr. White know."
"Yeah okay."
"Is that a yes?"
"Nah. Thanks though."
"Sure."
Then she was gone. I heard a car pull out of the driveway. This politeness thing was working out pretty well.
My tiny person knocked his metal fists against my brain.
There was something else bothering me.
I flipped through my phone until I found a picture Julia had sent me a while back. We were all in Valerie's mega-car torture RV chamber thing, smiling for the most part. Julia was standing next to…
That hat. That kid in the blue hat with gold lining. The hat that was now on Julia's head.
Alexander.
I flashed back to our conversation.
What had I wanted to happen? I knew anything I said would've been met by rejection. A classic Julia conversation: I say stuff and she yells at me. Like that day on the fountain, or literally any conversation I'd ever had with her.
You don't love me, Ben. Not like that.
She'd said I was "conforming to the opinions of the world." What opinions? It came out of my mouth. Does that automatically mean it wasn't true? After all, I'm prescribed to mess things up.
Yes, you are Nobody, Tiny Person said.
But she didn't mention her feelings for someone else. She told me I was wrong. I didn't know what I was talking about. It sent a hive of wasps through my ribcage.
She's probably right.
I eyed Romeo and Juliet. Before I could regret it, I stuck the binding between our happy pamphlets and Dad's baseball dreams, where I knew no one would find it. Tiny Person put up a fight, but I tossed him in the cage with the snapping turtle. The pain wasn't going to stop because I wanted it to. There was only one way to make this remotely bearable.
I had to go to therapy.
I had to talk to Julia.
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