The bruise on the back of my shoulder seems to have worsened during the night. It’s grown bigger in size and doubled in pain, and even now, sitting at the kitchen table forcing cereal down my throat, I’m trying not to think about how badly it hurts.
It’s almost seven thirty. I’ll be leaving for school in ten minutes, but I don’t want to go. I have track and field today, and the last thing I want is for anyone in the locker room to see the mess my back is in. The very thought of it makes me feel sick, so I know I’ll have to skip it even though I can’t afford to get into any more trouble this week.
“Are you still asleep?” Mom teases, her voice alone enough to snap my attention back to reality. I blink and look up at her, my hand holding my spoon in midair, slightly dazed. Mom’s setting more plates down on the table, but she’s smiling gently at me, her eyebrow raised. She’s already wearing her suit for work, heels and all. The jacket is hung over the door.
“Uh-huh,” I lie. I rub at my eyes with my free hand then return to my cereal, scooping up spoonful after spoonful, sitting at the table alone in silence. I prefer it like this in the mornings, just Mom and me, but it never lasts long. Jamie and Chase will be down soon once Momyells at them to hurry up. So will Dad, once he’s finished shaving and once he’s found his tie from somewhere in the laundry room.
“Good schedule for today?” Mom asks. She always puts in too much effort in the morning with me because she thinks I’m an introvert until noon, but really, I’m only quiet because I’m thinking of reasons to keep breathing.
I shake my head. “Science, math, gym.”
“Hmm,” Mom says, and she stops moving around the kitchen and stands still opposite me at the other end of the table. “Speaking of gym class, I got a letter from your teacher yesterday.” My eyes fly up to meet her sudden stern gaze, and she looks at me like she’s expecting an explanation, but I don’t know what to tell her. I sit still, fumbling with my hands in my lap as she turns around to retrieve a sheet of folded paper from the drawer. She opens it up and clears her throat. “I’m growing concerned over the increasing number of times Tyler has been absent from my class this past month. I’ve overlooked the issue too many times already, and if this behavior continues, I’ll be sending a formal report to Principal Castillo,” she reads, then studies me intensely over the top of the paper. “What’s the deal? I thought you liked gym class.”
“I do,” I say quickly, but I know I’m about to lie to her, so I have to look away. “It’s really weird, but I always feel sick before gym class. Like, really,reallysick. That’s why I keep skipping. I keep going outside to get some air.”
Mom doesn’t seem to believe me, but it’s the only excuse I can think of that makes sense. It’s not like I can tell her the truth; that I keep skipping class because I don’t want to change in the locker rooms, that there’s too many bruises to hide, that taking part in anything physical hurts too much.
“Maybe I should take you to see Dr. Coleman if you’re feeling so sickall the time,” she says, pressing a hand to her hip with concern evident across her features.
“No,” I protest immediately, shooting upright in my chair. My pulse quickens and my throat feels dry, so I have to swallow hard a couple times before I can speak again. “I won’t skip class again. I swear.” I’m pleading with her now, but the conversation is cut short by the sudden sound of Jamie and Chase thundering down the stairs.
My brothers come flying into the kitchen a few seconds later, pushing each other out of the way as they fight to be the first through the door. Jamie shoves Chase into the wall before he scrambles into the seat next to me, looking pleased with himself. Chase isn’t so happy.
“Mooom!” he whines, rubbing his shoulder. He makes a face and sends a glare in Jamie’s direction, right before he marches over to Mom, sulking.
“I wish the two of you would settle down a little,” she murmurs, but as always, she pulls Chase into her arms and squeezes him, ruffling his hair. “Oh, Chase,” she says, “your shirt’s on backward.”
As she laughs and starts tugging his shirt off, Jamie turns to me, eyes wide and alert as though it’s the middle of the afternoon. His constant energy drives me insane. “I knew he was wearing it backward,” he confesses, “but I didn’t tell him.”
“Why?”
“It’s funny when he looks dumb,” he says. Sitting up on his knees, he leans across me and grabs the box of cereal, sticking his hand inside.
“Jay,” Mom snaps in disapproval. “Bowl.” She wags her finger at him as she helps Chase up into the chair opposite us, then she pushes a bowl across the table. I don’t think she likes mornings. She always gets a little stressed out with all of us, especially Jamie. All she can do is sigh when he spills half the cereal across the table as he’s pouring it.
“Oops,” he says. He flicks some toward Chase.
“Now,” Mom says as she pops some bread into the toaster. When she turns back around to examine all of us, she leans back against the countertop and folds her arms across her chest. “Is any homework due today done?”
We all nod. I always nod. My homework is always done as early as possible. Dad makes sure of that.
“Backpacks packed?” she continues. “Got everything you need for today?”
Again, we all nod. I don’t think I like mornings either. I hate this routine. It’s always the same questions and it’s always the same answers. The entire time, I feel nauseous as I wait for Dad to join us.
Jamie’s eating his cereal with his mouth open, purposely crunching it loudly in my ear. Mom’s turned her attention to the TV mounted on the wall, messing around with the remote as she tries to get the news on, and when she does, she lowers the volume and watches the screen out of the corner of her eye as she spreads some jam on Chase’s toast. He grins when she sets the plate down in front of him, and they all seem to be satisfied, just like they always are.
I feel so far away from them. And I know truly that I’m right here beside them, but sometimes it feels like I’m not really. Everything is just so numb, so empty. I’ve grown so used to tuning everything out that I can’t remember how to tune back in. I feel lost halfway between being here and being elsewhere. The truth is, I don’t really know where I am. I’m justsomewhere. I’m torn back from my trance when I hear Dad coming down the hall. His footsteps are heavy as he whistles the same tune he only whistles on his good days. I think I’m the only one who ever notices. Mom doesn’t even know that he has bad days.
I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, composing myself.When I open them again a few moments later, he’s stepping through the door with a smile on his face. I hate it when he’s happy in the mornings. Does he remember what happened last night? If he does, there’s no guilt, and that makes me feel like I could throw up.
“The things I would do for coffee right now,” Dad murmurs. He runs his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck as he walks straight past the table, straight toward Mom. I watch him closely, just like I always do.
“Right here,” Mom says. She slips a steaming cup of black coffee into his hand, and he gently tightens his fingers around hers as they exchange a smile. She does this every morning; she always has his coffee ready. It’s all part of that routine we seem to have gotten so comfortable with.
“Thank you,” Dad tells her, then presses the cup to his lips and takes a large mouthful. He swallows and passes her his blue tie. He tilts his chin up and watches her with warm affection as she fastens the top buttons on his shirt, slips the tie around his neck, and ties it with the utmost care. “Thank you,” he says again, then leans forward and kisses her cheek.
“Dad,” Chase says, calling for his attention. “Jamie pushed me.”
