by Trisky
I turn, startled, and remind myself to lock the door behind me for future reference.
"Emmett gave me this sweater for my birthday, he said it matches my eyes."
"He's right". She fusses with the collar, smoothing the edges and pulling the sleeves to better fit them to my arms. I want to yell at her to leave me alone, stop touching me, it's only a sweater, but she seems far away. Looking at her how her baby boy has grown up, no doubt, filling out some dull blue sweater. What was it that Emmett called it? Periwinkle. Why does that word remind me of a shriveled up penis? "You know I brought you home in a blanket this color," she smiles.
Here we go, our vacant jog down memory lane, when she reminds me of how things used to be, how little I was, how much she loved me from the moment she found out she was pregnant with me, how I will always be her little boy, no matter how old I am. I've heard this story six trillion times, but I let her tell it over and over, because it seems to make her feel better, more useful somehow.
"And you were deathly afraid you were going to smother me or drop me," I offer with a halfhearted grin. She glances at me, amused at my ability to parrot back the story, word for word. But there's something different this time, some kind of sadness in the way she keeps stroking my cheek.
"I think periwinkle is your color, it's an evergreen you know, just like you." I nod and look away out of the corner of my eye, because that means absolutely nothing to me, though I get the sense that it should. "No matter what, you are always just so...."
She's doing it again, that wistful voice and strained smile. If I didn't know better I'd think she was about to cry, like when she told me about my turtle Leopold dying, she hemmed and hawed and talked all around it, about the circle of life and heaven and love and blah blah blah, when all I wanted to know was how we would bury him if we couldn't flush him down the toilet. His shell was too big to fit down the drain, I explained. She never did ask me how I knew that, and I never explained there was a reason Leopold was perfectly healthy one day and dead the next, it was just understood. I just wanted to see if he could swim in there, I seriously miscalculated. What did I know, I was only ten. I was always doing stupid things like that, testing things, testing people, or pushing my luck as she called it. But she has that same pained expression on her face, like she's preparing to hurt me for my own good. I've seen that look before, somewhere.
"So do you and Ethan have big plans for tonight?"
"It's just a movie." I move away from her touch, and turn my back to her. I so do not want to have this discussion with her. There's hardly any place to walk in this room, if I go a foot forward, I hit the wall, if I go a foot to the right, I hit the bed, I feel like a caged animal. "And I only agreed to go because the guy in it looks hot." I don't know why I feel the need to throw that in her face, but I can tell she's already getting the wrong impression of this "date", it's made her far too happy.
"I'm just glad to see you leave your room and do something fun."
"With Ethan," I add for her, to save us both the time and awkwardness. When he asked me, I only agreed to go because I'd already seen The Talented Mr. Ripley, so I figured I wouldn't be too lost watching some French version of it, Purple Moon, Purple Noon, whatever. He laughed and told me that I was seriously missing out on the finer things in life, like getting to watch Alain Delon act for two hours, that I would probably appreciate him in ways other people couldn't. I have no idea what he was talking about. God I thought he would slurp whatever oxygen was left in the room, when he was pronouncing his name, Alain Delon, Alain Delon. Why yes Ethan, I am too stupid to be as cool as you, and I have to look him up on the web to see what the fuss is about, this knowledge doesn't come naturally to me. Okay, so he is hot, like really, really hot and if anyone deserves to have their eyes compared to periwinkle sweaters, it's him. Maybe blue isn't such a bad color after all.
"So you must really like this Ethan," she nudges me.
"He's a nice guy." This Brian, that's what she used to call him.
"Tell me about him," she pushes her own luck.
"Mom, it's just a movie." This sweater feels so confining, it's too tight to wear in a room this small.
"Can I help it, if I'm happy to see you out and about with someone your own age, doing things you should be doing at nineteen, dating, having fun," she urges a little too much.
"Just say it, mom, you're happy I'm not with Brian anymore." There's no use dancing around the subject we've ignored for a week. If this is what fun looks like to her, then I seriously don't want to know what upset is supposed to look like.
"I won't deny that I'm glad you're experiencing life Justin, every boy your age deserves a chance at that, and I'm sorry your heart is broken, but you will recover, the world will keep spinning on its axis and there will be a ton more Ethan's in your life, to put a smile on your face, you'll see."
"I don't want a ton more anyone," I burst out of my skin, yanking the suffocating periwinkle collar away from my neck. Fuck this movie, I just want to walk outside and breathe in some cold, fresh air. I want everyone to leave me the fuck alone.
"Despite what you might think, I don't hate Brian, in fact I'm very grateful to him in many ways for caring for you, even from afar. I think it motivates, rather... motivated you in ways you didn't even know." She stops abruptly as if she's already said too much.
"What does that mean?" I can't help myself, anytime someone mentions Brian and love or caring in the same sentence, I feel like a man dying of thirst, waiting for some rainwater to fall magically from the heavens. I keep trying not to be that desperate.
"I just meant," she looks at the ground, at the wall, at anywhere but me, "that anyone who would sit in a hospital corridor for three days waiting to see if you lived or died and then spend six weeks coming to see you every night, without you even knowing, has to be someone who cares for you on some level."
"What...?" My mind is a cocoon of seawater, drowning me in questions, the sweater creeping up on my neck, itching my skin, the room feeling even more claustrophobic than it already did, if that's even possible. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Her face looks tired of me, of the never ending drama that is my life. I almost want to tell her it's okay, she doesn't have to explain, I'll go live my life with a thousand Ethan's and have fun until the day I die, just don't give up on me yet. "Because if he had wanted you to know, he would have told you himself. He would have shown himself. For whatever reason he felt it was best to keep you at a distance, but that doesn't mean he didn't care."
I chuckle at the absurdity of all of this. This is like that evergreen thing right, I'm supposed to know what the hell she's talking about, I'm supposed to know why some old French actor that's probably dead by now would resonate with me. I'm supposed to read all these carefully crafted cryptic messages from everyone around me and just understand because I'm supposed to be a fucking genius who can read people's minds. I should just know that he cares, just know it, even if he never says so, and just accept what he's offering and just know that he gives a fuck, even when he's a million miles away or right outside my hospital door. I'm supposed to just figure all of this out on my own and just make the right decisions, always, say the right thing, do the right thing, appreciate whatever crumbs people want to give me by way of explanation. I'm just supposed to stop caring and go live my life with a big smile and fuck a thousand Ethan's and make everyone else happy and comfortable. And he can die tragically loving me from afar because he's too goddamn afraid to show his face. Well you know what, hell FUCKING no!
I start toward the door, I desperately need air, need to get out of this damn sweater which is probably two sizes too small for me. I think everything in Torso is two sizes too small, what the hell was Emmett thinking buying me this thing.
"Justin wait. Please stop!" I turn at the sound of her broken voice. Because she's my mother, and I'm the cause of all of this. "Honey, I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to explain that I don't hate Brian, that you not being with him isn't the reason I'm glad to see you living life." She sounds almost sincere. At least she tries, even when she doesn't get it right, she makes the effort. "I'm just glad that you are alive and well, which isn't something I was guaranteed a year ago, and because you are, I can watch you run around and be stupid and do stupid things, date every boy you meet, get your heartbroken ten times before the week is over, grow into a beautiful young man whose heart is wide open, and the person who gets it, is the luckiest one of them all, even if he doesn't know what to do with it. This is the time for you to figure all of that out, figure out what you really want, without having to settle. That's all I meant, I promise." She closes her eyes, resolving herself not to cry. "That's why I want you to leave."
Well at least there are no Leopold in turtle heaven explanations accompanying this blow. "You want me to what?"
"I want you to move out, and live your life. You can't do that here, because I can't have you coming and going at all hours, not in front of Molly, because she still needs rules and structure. And I know you hate being here, having to live with your mother all over again," she pats my sweater absentmindedly, growing more adamant with every word.
"Where would you like me to go? I can't exactly afford a place of my own." Where the hell is this coming from?
"I've spoken to your father..."
"Oh I get it," I cut her off, no further explanations necessary "he doesn't want his queer son influencing his precious little girl."
"Justin!" My mother never raised a finger to me, all she had to do was raise her voice. "That's not it at all, he's in agreement with me, that you need to be a man. And I'm sorry to tell you, that yes he is happy that you've broken things off with Brian."
"Of course he is, now if only I'd knock some girl up and marry her and complete the picture."
"You need to give him a chance Justin. He wants to help you out, he'll pay the difference in your living expenses. We'll look for a place that's reasonable, I'm sure I can find something. It's one of the perks of being a realtor" She's just got it all figured out, doesn't she? How come I didn't get that trait in the gene pool?
I wonder what he would think if he saw me in my too tight periwinkle blue. "You mean he's willing to support me again, because Brian is out of the picture? He'll pay my tuition?" I don't know why, but the price of my dignity suddenly feels like it's been cut in half.
Her face blanches, something is not quite right with her, maybe she's sick. "No, he's still adamant that you're attending the wrong school, he won't pay tuition."
"So wait a minute, you're telling me he'll help pay for my own apartment, but won't pay to put me through school? Forget it, I don't want anything from him." Why do I do these things over and over? Let myself hope for things that will never happen and get smacked down every single time.
She puts her hand to her temple, like she always does, when a migraine is about to set in, that must be why her face looks so drawn. "He's not ready to get back to the relationship you used to have, he's taking baby steps, maybe the next step will be seeing you face to face. I don't care if you have to think of it as just using him for his money, and getting a good laugh and a big fuck you out of it, I want you to do this Justin, for you, not for him."
"Mom!" Some things I just don't need to hear. "You really want me to do this, don't you?"
"Don't do it for me Justin, do it for yourself. That's all I've been trying to tell you." She gives my sweater one last tug and holds my chin in her hand. "Go be young, and be free, Justin. Be alive and be happy."
She studies my face for a moment, as if to memorize it for all time, because she may never see it again, before closing the door.
Something tells me though, no matter what I look like now, or what I'll look like ten years from now, upset, happy, she'll always picture me as that baby boy she brought home in his periwinkle blue blanket, terrified of smothering me.
But I'll be free. I'll be evergreen.