“Yeah, but…”What does that fucking matter?!
“I’m sure they were just playing around. You’re too sensitive about things, Garrison.”
“The man dislocated my shoulder,” I say, my throat burning raw. “Mom.”
She sighs like I’m being unnaturally troublesome.
“I didn’t want to fight,” I say. “I didn’t want to even be there—”
“Then maybe you should try to be happier when you’re with them. They won’t give you such a hard time.”
I’ll never win with her.
After a short pause, she adds, “Your father says you need thicker skin, and you know, he’s right. The real world isn’t kind either.”
“Whatever.” I shut down now and grab my controller. As she sees me about to play my game and ignore her, she lets out this wounded noise, between a sigh and a cry.
I stare blankly at the paused television screen.
She sniffs loudly. “I just…” Her voice breaks. Ialwaysmake her cry in the end. “I just don’t know what to do anymore, Garrison.”
She acts like it’s her fault that animosity exists between my brothers and me, but then when she has the chance to make it better, she puts it all on my shoulders.Go spend time with them. Befriend them. Please.
“You could’ve gone to jail. Just like your friends,” she starts listing my terrible decisions, bad actions, awful characteristics. “You got tattoos without me knowing. You were found drinking vodka at school.”
Once.
I was caughtonce, but I’d done it plenty more times.
“You’ve been in trouble for vandalizing, backtalking, and cutting class.” She takes a pause to wipe a fallen tear. “But thank God you didn’t break into Loren Hale’s home that night. Watching your best friends get in trouble—I thought that was your wakeup call. But you’re still skipping school. You still won’t listen to me or your father. You won’t speak to your brothers. Nothing has changed.”
Everything has changed.
I’m certain that I’m not the same anymore. I feel overturned. Inside-out. I’m fighting against the person they want me to be and fightingforthe person I am inside.
The fact that she can’t even see this makes me wonder who she’s even looking at. Does she even know me at all? Or is she still resenting the fourth son she was given?
I shrug and turn on my game.
With the biggest sigh, she retreats into the kitchen, and I numbly scroll throughStreet Fighter IIcharacters. Every so often, I hear her sniffle like she’s silently crying. I make no effort to comfort my mom, and it’s fucked up.
I realize that, but a sick part of me wants her to feel as terrible as I do. How many times have I shown her bruises from Hunter’s fists and lacrosse stick? How many times has she repeated my father’s phrase,get thicker skin?
My skin could be superhumanly thick, and I’d still get bruises and broken bones. What then, Mom?
From the kitchen, I hear the sliding glass doors swoosh open and my oldest brother’s voice.
“Mom, what happened?” Davis asks. “Why are you crying?”
Shit.
I quickly pause the game and shut off the television. My brothers must file into the kitchen, one-by-one, because they each say a few consoling words while my mom blubbers something about wanting me to bewiththe family this Christmas.
“He’s with us, Mom.” Davis comforts her easily.
While I stand, I catch a glimpse of my mom through the archway, dabbing her tear-streaked cheeks with a dishrag.
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t run off to his friends,” Hunter says.
