How do I tell him about his mom and my dad? How will that change us? I don’t want to lose him. He is quickly becoming an important part of my life. I just have to find a way to tell him and hopefully he stays.
I gulp for air. I’m not sure I can make it through what I’m about to tell him. Cole scoots down, stretching his long frame out on the couch and lays his head on my lap, adjusting his body to make sure he can read my lips. Then he takes my hand, kisses the scars on my inner wrist and does the same to the other one. That little gesture gives me strength to continue.
“He broke my mother’s heart. He said that she gave him no choice when she got pregnant with me. He made her feel worthless. She started getting easily distracted, becoming absentminded almost all the time. My sisters. . .oh God. Elon was only four and Elise nine when my mother had her first complete breakdown.
“One afternoon I came home from school and found Mom in her room, lying on the floor in her own vomit. Elon was in her playpen across my mom’s bed and Elise was not yet home from school. I just stood there, staring at her numbly. Suddenly something inside me stirred to life and panic set in. I ran to her side and touched her face. It was cold. So cold. I stood up, picked up Elon and went downstairs to call 911, then I sat down on the couch in the living room, rocking my little sister back and forth. I guess the shock of seeing my mom lying on the floor numbed me to any feeling. The next time I looked up, Elon was playing with my hair clip and people were running around inside the house. I don’t even know how they got inside. Dad appeared in front of me with Elise in tow. That was the first time I saw him look anything other than angry or indifferent. He looked grief-stricken. Dad took Elon from my arms and motioned for me to follow him. We stopped at the bottom of the stairs as the paramedics negotiated the stretcher with my mother on it, an oxygen mask strapped over her nose. Anyway, Dad left us in the hands of our neighbor, Mrs. Jennings, and followed the ambulance with his car to the hospital. He didn’t even hug me or my sisters or comfort us with words. He just left.”
Cole lets go of my hands and sits up, facing me before reaching for my hands again.
I want him to hold me so badly, but if he does, then he won’t be able to read my lips.
“I don’t remember how I got to the bathroom upstairs. All I know is that, I was standing in front of the mirror, staring at myself. I was the cause of all these problems. If my mother hadn’t become pregnant with me, Dad wouldn’t have felt forced to marry her. I hadn’t even cried. I asked myself who I was, and why I couldn’t even cry for my own mother. I wanted to feel something to stop the numbness that had turned me into a robot. I pinched my arm but it wasn’t enough to startle my emotions. My hand reached for Dad’s shaving razor, pressed it on my right forearm and slid it across. The pain shot through me, making me lean forward on the sink. Blood pebbled against my skin. Finally, I felt something. I felt alive. The events of the past hour hit me hard. I dropped the razor on the sink as my knees gave way and I crumpled on the floor. When I finally left the bathroom, my feet guided me to my dad’s computer where I searched on the internet. I wasn’t even sure what I was searching for, but suddenly, I had so many answers about things I didn’t know and instead of walking away, cutting became my escape. It was my guilty pleasure.
“I got better at pretending. I would smile when my parents were around, chatter aimlessly, but inside, especially when I got nothing in return, I’d feel a part of me die. Every night, I’d drop to my knees and pray for some kind of miracle or magic that would mend whatever rough patch my parents were going through. I felt as if I was drowning with no chance of coming up for air.”
Cole doesn’t say anything. His eyes are transfixed on my lips, absorbing every word that falls out of my mouth. The movie and popcorn long forgotten. He asks for some clarification on words he didn’t catch because I was speaking too fast. My stomach is tight and filled with tension.
“The first person to notice was my high school counselor during our quarterly progress evaluation. My grades were perfect, but I had withdrawn from all activities. I stopped hanging out with my friends because I was afraid they would shun me if they found out that our family was a mess. I was also afraid they would find out what I hid beneath my long sleeve sweaters and blouses.
The counselor called a meeting with my mother. My father was hardly ever at home. It took me a very long time to get my life together. A lot of therapy sessions. My mother seemed to get her act together for a while. But my father’s constant absence and his temper didn’t help.