Mom stuffed the phone back into her purse and wiped tears from her face as she turned to face me. "Hey, son." She pressed a hand to my forehead and did her usual mumbling routine.
As the tingle faded from my forehead, I took her hand and looked into her deep blue eyes. "Mom, what's really going on?"
She smiled and brushed a lock of blonde hair from her face. "Just a rough spot at work." She patted the top of my hand with her other one. "Nothing to worry about. I need you to be strong and brave for me and your father."
"You know me," I said, flexing my non-existent bicep. "I'm the man."
She kissed me on the cheek. "That's my boy." Mom turned to the couch and stared at Dad's slumbering form. A new cluster of alcohol bottles had sprouted on the coffee table. Vodka had joined the beer posse. Mom's hands clenched into fists and I feared she might attack him. Instead, she took deep breaths and went into their bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
I sat outside her door and listened until she cried herself to sleep.
The next morning, Mom took me to brunch, a family tradition that didn't have quite the same meaning when Dad was still passed out drunk on the couch from the night before. Still, I hadn't seen Mom much lately and I jumped at the chance to spend some time with her although I would never admit it—even under torture—to any of my friends. Oh wait, that's right—I don't have any friends.
Mom asked me about school, my friends, and a million other little things I really didn't want to talk about since the epic pile of fail in my life was expanding exponentially. I did tell her my grades were great—the single bright spot in my existence.
"You know how much I love you, right, Justin?" she asked out of the blue.
"Of course, Mom." My face flushed with heat and I looked at the cute girls sitting a table over from us to make sure they hadn't heard. I pushed my empty plate away and stared at the puddle of syrup where once a stack of blueberry pancakes had been. "I just want to know what's going on with you and Dad."
She sighed and stared dejectedly at a happy nuclear family eating their brunch with big grins, giggles, and cheerful banter. "I feel like such a failure," she said after a moment. "I'm failing you. I'm failing your father. And there's nothing I can do about it." Tears glistened in her eyes.
I grabbed both her hands and squeezed. "Mom, don't say that. You're not a failure. You and Dad are the best parents I could ever have. You're a great mom."
She sniffed and smiled. "Do you really mean it?"
"Of course I do. I know I'm not the best son in the world, but I love you guys so much even if I can't say that around my friends."
A laugh broke through her tears. "Teenage boys." She sniffled, wiped her red nose with a napkin, and took another look at the laughing family across the room. "Sometimes there are things in life we have to do. Difficult decisions that hurt so much it feels like no matter which choice we make, it's the wrong one." She turned her eyes on me. "No matter what happens, Justin, know that I love you. Even if you hate me one day and refuse to ever talk to me again, just know that I understand. And I will never blame you for it."
"What would you ever do to make me hate you?" Worry gripped my chest with icy fingers.
"Things happen, honey. People change. Life doesn't always give us a choice."
Much as I wanted to dispute her, I knew it was true. But nothing could ever make me hate my mom.
I gripped her hands. Looked into the deep ocean blue of Mom's eyes and at the fall of a soft blonde lock across her face. Dad always fussed over that lock of hair, saying it couldn't behave as he pushed it behind her ear. I think he loved that rebellious strand because whenever it fell across Mom's face just so, he'd stop what he was doing and stare as though she was the only thing that existed in his universe. I'd thought my parents were one of the rare couples that had found true love. With everything that was going on now, it seemed I was wrong. The thought made me incredibly sad.
After brunch, Mom went back to work. Dad wasn't at home when I walked in so I pilfered some money from the shoebox with their stack of rainy-day funds in it and treated myself to a day at the movies so I could ignore the loneliness crushing my heart.
Monday, the day I'd been dreading more than any other, arrived and the anxiety in my chest was palpable: a living malevolent creature with claws in my guts, my heart, and my limbs. I couldn't think straight. Dad was asleep on the couch and Mom had already gone to work when I got up. As I opened the front door, Captain Tibbs jetted between my legs and raced into the yard.
"Are you leaving me?" I asked.
He gave me a curt meow. So long and thanks for all the fish. Then he trotted away into the neighbor's hedge.
"Thanks for abandoning me in my time of need," I said.
A faint meow from the other side of the hedge was all I received in reply. Now I really was friendless. I took in a deep breath to ward off the crushing pain in my chest and decided to take Dad's car. The school bus would be a pure nightmare.
Every head seemed to swivel my way as I walked into school. I avoided the gymnasium like the plague. In homeroom, Jenny directed a gleeful smile my way and shook her head.
"I'll give you this," she said. "When you screw up, you go for broke."
Annie laughed. "Epic meltdown, dude. God, I love this drama."
I tried to smile. "I got a little drunk."
"A little?" Jenny smirked. "Katie hates your guts. You got a lucky punch on her boyfriend and then called her a tramp on Facebook."
"Yeah, well I guess I won't win Mr. Popularity this year."
"More like Mr. Infamous."
Annie giggled. "Mr. Douchebag."
"I was super drunk," I said, the desperation plain in my voice. "I don't even remember writing that stuff. Can you help me out with Katie?"
Jenny gave me a "yeah, right" look. "I'm not helping you, Mr. Creep." She and Annie turned their backs to me. Fury roared like an inferno through my chest and into my head. I wanted to pick my desk up and slam it on the floor. Scream to the class that I wasn't a loser. The room wobbled and a wave of dizziness hit me. It would make perfect sense if a blood vessel decided to explode in my head right that second as the universe executed the final punch line to my joke of a life.
My vision blurred and I winced in anticipation of another headache. Instead, the room snapped back into focus and my head only tingled for a split second. My hand hurt, however. I was clenching something painfully tight. Upon closer examination, I realized I was gripping the snapped-off corner of my desk. I hastily tossed it into my book bag before anyone noticed the vandalism.
I must be going insane.
The bell rang and I jetted out of there.
At lunch, I discovered how Andy Dudowitz, the obscenely fat kid felt. He and his palpable body odor had a table in the corner all to themselves because nobody wanted to be within smelling distance of him. I couldn't find a seat. Everyone locked me out with angry glares or derisive laughs. Even Andy shook his massive head when I looked his way. Mark and Harry shot dark glares when I glanced in their direction. I was positive even the lunchroom ladies would reject me at this point.
One of the Goth guys motioned me over. I figured they were going to invite me then diss me at the last minute, but anything was better than standing alone in the middle of the lunch room. The Goth girl was with them. She had enough metal piercings in her nose, mouth, ears, and tongue to construct a battleship. Next to her sat a short guy with a hazardous amount of eye shadow and a red Mohawk flopped over to the side. I stared at them for several seconds before deciding I wasn't getting a better offer.
I sat uneasily next to the girl. If she sneezed, the flying metal would probably kill me.
"Hi," she said. The trailer hitch in her mouth clacked against her teeth.
I lost my appetite.
"Screw the system, dude," said the Goth guy who'd invited me over. "I'm Ash Falls." He pointed at the Goth girl. "She's Crye Rayne, and that," he said pointing to the Mohawk guy, "is Nyte Cradle."
"N-y-t-e," Nyte said.
I'd already figured out how to spell their names since Crye had written them in depressing Goth letters all over a notebook titled Poems of Dark Souls.
"Where'd you come up with those names?" I asked.
"They are our true names," Crye said. "You have your own waiting to come from the darkness of your soul."
"Mine is probably Stinky Crap," I said.
She burst out laughing. "Nice, Stinky. By the way, I was just kidding about the true names stuff. We like to act weird and mysterious since everyone expects it."
"Do I have to wear eye makeup too?" I cringed inside soon as the words left my mouth. Last thing I needed was to be a smartass to the only group in school that hadn't ostracized me.
Ash laughed. "You fight the systems, man. I like that. Doesn't matter whose system it is."
"Everyone belongs to a system," Crye said. "Even if they're alone in it."
"Like me," Nyte said.
"Fight the man?" I said. "Even if it's just you?"
"Especially if it's just you," Ash said. "Otherwise the man in your head will keep you down."
I opened my mouth to spit out another witty repartee, but Ash's comment hit a tender spot. I had been keeping myself down. I'd been scaring myself into submission over and over again. I wanted to take control but I didn't have a clue how. How did people like Brad not give a crap and do whatever they wanted even if it hurt people like Katie? How did people find the guts to put on eye shadow, black lipstick, and color their hair red? There was a fine line between not giving a crap and making it work, or ending up like the Goth crowd.
"I guess I don't have much use for those people," I said, nodding my head at the rest of the lunchroom.
