“I’ll see you when you get back into town.”
“Bye, Tiger.”
“Bye, Joker.”
My fingers touch the now black screen as if his face is still there. I’m so pissed, but I’m appeased knowing Seth will be okay, at least physically.
I’m doing whatever it takes to keep my shit together. I knew I’d be filled with anxiety as soon as I knocked on my mother’s front door. Fuck, it’s weird to be back. Memories hit me hard. As I’ve come to understand my mother and what she’s really like, I think more about all the shit she’s done to me over the years. Anything good eventually gets forgotten.
I quickly sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes, when my mother barges in.
“Get the hell up.”
“Oh, okay.”
I bring my legs over the edge of the bed and yawn. I’m trying to be calm to keep her calm, but inside, my stomach twists, and anxiety isstarting to hit me. If she’s angry before I even wake up, this is going to be bad.
“Get dressed. I need help cleaning the house today.”
“But I have to get to work in two hours.”
I have a job atThe Gap. I like it. It pays pretty well, and I’m saving up to get one of those new Apple iPods.
“You’re going to go in and quit. I need you here.”
My heart sinks. I drop my head and nod. I don’t want to quit, but I have to keep her happy. The happier she is, the easier she is on me.
“Okay,” I say as she leaves my room, closing the door behind her.
I hate it here. I can’t wait until I’m off to college next year.
I take a quick shower, shave, get dressed in a pale blue button-up tucked into a pair of dark wash jeans, and head downstairs for breakfast.
Mom’s pouring herself some orange juice at the kitchen counter while I make a bowl of cereal. When I sit down at the small, scratched kitchen table, we don’t say a word to each other.
After I finish eating, I have to go. I stand to put my bowl into the dishwasher and say, “I’ll tell them as soon as I get there that I quit.”
The next thing I know, I’m covered in a full glass of orange juice. I’m dripping with it. It’s in my hair, burning my eyes, and my clothes are soaked. For the first time, I’m filled with fucking rage. I am doing exactly as she asked me! It’s not the first time she’s lashed out like that, but it’s like the orange juice is the last straw, a catalyst for my frustration.
“What thefuckis wrong with you!” I yell.
Her angry eyes are downcast, and her fists are clenched. That’s the look of someone who knows they’re wrong but is fighting it or refusing to admit it. “I thought you were talking back.”
“I wasn’t! You said for me to quit my job, and I told you I would! Jesus!”
She says nothing when I walk over to the kitchen phone hanging on the wall. I lift the receiver and dialin to work.
“Thank you for callingThe Gap. This is Monica.” She’s the store manager.
“Hey, Monica, this is Cal. Look, I’m running late. I stupidly dumped my cereal onto my lap, and I’ve got to get cleaned up. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
“No worries. Thanks for calling, Cal.”
After we hang up, I turn to leave the kitchen, but Mom grabs my arm to stop me. “Thank you for not telling them.”
I say nothing, pull out of her grasp, and leave to shower again.
That was the day I realized I hated my mother. I ended up forgiving her because I always forgive her. But that specific memory was what shifted our relationship. I stopped trying to please her after that. We’ve been even more strained since.
