*
That night I was sitting on my bed, flipping through a magazine and still fuming about what had happened at school, when my mom came to my room. She didn’t knock, just pushed open the door and looked around.
“I want you to clean this up.”
“I’ll do it in a minute.”
“I know you, Toni. You won’t do it until I come in here and nag at you again. Put down your magazine and clean this room. It’s disgusting.”
Okay, so my room had gotten a little messy. When I got home from school, if I wasn’t with Ryan, I just hid out in my room, napping or listening to music, dreaming about the day we would graduate—cleaning up seemed exhausting. It wasn’t too bad, though, just a lot of clothes mostly and a couple of coffee mugs with moldy coffee on the bottom. I was still pissed that Mom had never even asked for my side of the fight. I’d tried to explain on the way home, but she said I had to find a way to control my temper, like it was all my fault.
“I’m reading this article, then I’ll do it,” I said.
She snatched the magazine out of my hands and flung it across the room. I stared at her. Mom could lose her temper sometimes, but she mostly just yelled and screamed.
“I said now.” She spun around and slammed the door.
I waited until I heard her go downstairs, my heart pounding, then picked up the magazine. Screw her. I wasn’t doing anything she said now. My jaw was tight with anger, the words blurring on the page in front of me.
Nicole knocked at the door, whispering, “Toni? You okay?” I let her in.
She leaned against the doorframe. “Why don’t you just do what she says?”
I threw myself back down on the bed. “Because she’s not being fair—she’s just pissed at me about the fight.”
After dinner, I’d told Nicole about the fight, so she knew it wasn’t my fault. She’d been cool about it, giving me a hug and helping with the dishes.
Now she said, “She’ll get over it.”
“Maybe, but it’s not going to be anytime soon.”
“So what? If you just do what she wants, she’ll leave you alone.”
She was right, but that wasn’t the point, and it annoyed the crap out of me that her answer to everything was to do whatever Mom wanted. What about what I wanted? Ever since we were kids, anytime I had a fight with Mom, Nicole would check afterward that I was okay, giving me a hug or trying to cheer me up somehow, but she always wanted me to smooth things over and be the one to apologize. I used to do it sometimes, thinking maybe Nicole was right, but I was sick of being the one to compromise when Mom never listened to me.
“I wish you would just leave me alone.” I picked up my magazine.
She closed the door. A half hour later my mom opened it. When she saw that I was still reading, she yanked the magazine from my hands, grabbed the upper part of my arm—hard—and jerked me off the bed.
Too shocked to say anything, I pulled myself free but kept my arm held up as a shield. For a moment I thought she might slap me—her hand was raised, but then she dropped it and said, “I told you to clean this damn room.”
My fear turning to anger, I yelled, “It’s not even that dirty! You’re just being a control freak.”
She yelled back, “I’m sick and tired of your attitude, Toni!”
I held my arm, my eyes filling with tears that I blinked back. She was grabbing stuff off the floor and throwing it around. “You live like an animal.” She picked up a pile of my clothes, threw it in my face. I flinched when a belt buckle hit my shoulder. She picked up some shoes, threw them at me while I cringed.
“Clean this up right now or you can get the hell out of my house.” She left, slamming the door so hard this time my mirror rattled on the wall.
Crying now, I picked up my laundry. Soon Ryan and I can get out of here. Just a few more months. Then they can all kiss my ass.
Mom came to my bedroom later that night. This time she knocked, but then she walked in before I could even answer.
“Can we talk?” she said.
I rolled over, facing the wall.
“I’m sorry I grabbed you,” she said, “but you can’t brush me off when I’m trying to speak to you—it’s rude and you know it’s going to cause a fight.” I didn’t say anything. She sighed and said, “You and I need to start getting along better. I’d like to try, but you need to work with me.”
She was quiet, waiting for me to speak, but I just stared at the wall, tears trickling down my face. She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click that felt final, like I had just ended something, but I wasn’t sure what.
*
The next week I was lying on Ryan’s bed, going over my beefs with my family for the tenth time.
“Babe, you need to let it go,” he said.
“You don’t take crap from anybody.”
“I take crap from my dad all the time.”
“My mom’s a total bitch.”