to my back as I slammed the door. “Kyle!”
I threw my backpack down and tried not to notice the comparison between my behavior and a kid that needs a nap. My mom went through phases like this every few months, and it drove me crazy. She’d get this new zest for life, swear off drinking and getting high, become obsessive-compulsive about getting her life back on track, fail at it badly, go out at the first sign of failure to commiserate with her old friends, get wasted, go on a binge.
Lather, rinse, repeat, puke.
During those times, though brief, she became aware of how distant we were and she’d try to compensate by being a cross between Donna Reed and a serial killer. She’d want to know how I was feeling and how school was and even if I had homework or not. It was nauseating to me on many levels, the main one being that over the years I had grown used to rationalizing her behavior as if she was clinically insane. As long as she continued to act insane, I was okay with it. But when she came at me all normal-like and sounding like a mom, it just reminded me that she wasn’t crazy, she just didn’t care whose life she ruined with her antics.
That was normally when I got really pissed.
Before I could get a good head of steam under me, she threw open my door and walked in. “I can let a lot of crap slide because normally you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, but when you walk in the door in the middle of a school day and don’t even bother with an excuse, that’s when I know something is wrong.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “So what’s happened?”
“What do you care?” I shouted, unable to handle the frustration that was quickly fermenting into rage inside of me. “Since when do you care about anything around here but yourself?”
I don’t know if I was surprised or disappointed that she didn’t look hurt or even slightly uncomfortable. She just kept staring at me. “Since now. What is wrong?”
“Go away,” I said, sitting on my bed. “Just leave me alone.”
I could feel her just standing there, not moving, not talking, just staring at me. I didn’t want to cry in front of her. I didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, if we are bringing the topic up, but life always seemed to have other plans. Finally she began to turn and then stopped. “You know, Kyle, you say I’m never there and all I care about is myself, and I understand why you’d say that. But later, when you are busy hating me in your mind and you tell yourself I never tried, I want you to think about this, right now. I am here, trying, and you are the one telling me to leave.” Her voice sounded tired and sad. “And we both know this isn’t the first time.”
She was right. She had tried before, and I always pushed her away. I didn’t want to get used to her being there or start to depend on her. I never wanted to get used to being able to count on someone besides myself because I knew sooner or later they would just screw it up and I’d be where I started in the first place. Alone. At least this way, I was ready to be alone and was never disappointed.
She began to close the door, and my mouth moved before my brain could stop it. “I’m gay!”
She paused before turning slowly to come back into the room. My heart was pounding so loud it felt like it was going to burst out of my chest all Indiana Jones-style. There was a buzzing in my ears that made everything muffled as I waited for her next words. I thought she might take some more time to consider it, but instead she just responded with a simple “Okay.”
I blinked a few times, not sure now if I’d heard her.
“Okay?” I asked back.
She shrugged. “Okay.”
I stood up. “Just okay? Seriously? I tell you I’m gay and all you can say is ‘okay’?”
She cocked her head. “Are you upset because I’m not reacting?” She laughed shakily to herself. “Did you want me to be upset at you?”
I didn’t know what I wanted. Did I
I threw my backpack down and tried not to notice the comparison between my behavior and a kid that needs a nap. My mom went through phases like this every few months, and it drove me crazy. She’d get this new zest for life, swear off drinking and getting high, become obsessive-compulsive about getting her life back on track, fail at it badly, go out at the first sign of failure to commiserate with her old friends, get wasted, go on a binge.
Lather, rinse, repeat, puke.
During those times, though brief, she became aware of how distant we were and she’d try to compensate by being a cross between Donna Reed and a serial killer. She’d want to know how I was feeling and how school was and even if I had homework or not. It was nauseating to me on many levels, the main one being that over the years I had grown used to rationalizing her behavior as if she was clinically insane. As long as she continued to act insane, I was okay with it. But when she came at me all normal-like and sounding like a mom, it just reminded me that she wasn’t crazy, she just didn’t care whose life she ruined with her antics.
That was normally when I got really pissed.
Before I could get a good head of steam under me, she threw open my door and walked in. “I can let a lot of crap slide because normally you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, but when you walk in the door in the middle of a school day and don’t even bother with an excuse, that’s when I know something is wrong.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “So what’s happened?”
“What do you care?” I shouted, unable to handle the frustration that was quickly fermenting into rage inside of me. “Since when do you care about anything around here but yourself?”
I don’t know if I was surprised or disappointed that she didn’t look hurt or even slightly uncomfortable. She just kept staring at me. “Since now. What is wrong?”
“Go away,” I said, sitting on my bed. “Just leave me alone.”
I could feel her just standing there, not moving, not talking, just staring at me. I didn’t want to cry in front of her. I didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, if we are bringing the topic up, but life always seemed to have other plans. Finally she began to turn and then stopped. “You know, Kyle, you say I’m never there and all I care about is myself, and I understand why you’d say that. But later, when you are busy hating me in your mind and you tell yourself I never tried, I want you to think about this, right now. I am here, trying, and you are the one telling me to leave.” Her voice sounded tired and sad. “And we both know this isn’t the first time.”
She was right. She had tried before, and I always pushed her away. I didn’t want to get used to her being there or start to depend on her. I never wanted to get used to being able to count on someone besides myself because I knew sooner or later they would just screw it up and I’d be where I started in the first place. Alone. At least this way, I was ready to be alone and was never disappointed.
She began to close the door, and my mouth moved before my brain could stop it. “I’m gay!”
She paused before turning slowly to come back into the room. My heart was pounding so loud it felt like it was going to burst out of my chest all Indiana Jones-style. There was a buzzing in my ears that made everything muffled as I waited for her next words. I thought she might take some more time to consider it, but instead she just responded with a simple “Okay.”
I blinked a few times, not sure now if I’d heard her.
“Okay?” I asked back.
She shrugged. “Okay.”
I stood up. “Just okay? Seriously? I tell you I’m gay and all you can say is ‘okay’?”
She cocked her head. “Are you upset because I’m not reacting?” She laughed shakily to herself. “Did you want me to be upset at you?”
I didn’t know what I wanted. Did I
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