The Cascading Waves of Caden Lee

26

CADEN LEE

One of the toughest pills to swallow is the fact that: we are all going to be gone someday. For better or worse, not a single soul that was birthed onto this planet has stayed forever. Me, you, your mom or dad, grandpa, grandma; they're all going to be remembered as a memory someday.

We will all die.

So that brings the question, if you're going to be gone eventually anyways, why not live life to its fullest capacity; your overflowing potential?

But I guess that doesn't really count when my version of  'living life to the fullest'  is giving up and letting go. Running away from reality's problems is an art, and I find myself craving it right this moment, as I sit at our run-down wooden tabletop. My mom bustles around the kitchen, slipping on a oven-mitt and pulling out a smoking tray of lasagna.

She plops down 4 equal sections onto each of our plates—despite the temperature being very capable of charring our tongues so hard it hurts to speak—and slides the four plates to me, Jessie, herself and my Dad.

"We haven't eaten together in a little while, thought we could use some family time."

'Family time'. She says that as if my dad had never left us; that we're just your average white-picket fence family with a golden retriever and does 'Family Game Nights' once a week.

"Yeah, well, we haven't had a family dinner in a 'little while' because of him." Pointing to the man on my right, my mom sends a hard glare my way and shovels a forkful of pasta in her mouth. The man in question looks a little affronted, eyebrows furrowed and lips thinned so slim I can barely see them.

"Caden," my mom scolds after she washes her lasagna down with some white wine. Me and Jessie just have water, my dad beer. I try to ignore the way my hands unclench and clench repeatedly, brain itching for a glass too. I've never wanted my moms wine so bad before. It's not bad, I actually think white wine tastes good sometimes, but the pulsing throb of my temples increases when my brown eyes zone onto the half-empty glass.

I look away when my sisters fork scrapes across her plate, the loud screech of the utensil shocking my mind right back into reality. I took two pills last night, resisted the urge to take one this morning—besides, the minute you start getting fucked up during the day is when you know you have issues. I'm only doing it when the sky fades into black to have fun—I shouldn't be drinking alcohol while I still have that in my system anyways.

I can just stop with those pills after I've finished the bottle, or something, and then I'll be able to drink as much as my heart desires. Easy. These are only a temporary solution to my problems. And they make me feel good, so why throw away a bottle that's still half-full with little round pills of euphoria? I've never been prone to wasting the good, or discarding the bad, and the liquid gold that coats my body and mind has me coming back for more.

I could just sneak upstairs right now, say I have to use the bathroom, grab a couple pills and swallow them with the water from the tap.

I shovel a saucy pasta noodle into my mouth. It stings as it makes contact with my tongue.

"Caden," my mom says after washing down a bite of lasagna with lukewarm wine, "you need to start studying for your ACT."

"Its still early, I have time." I say.

"I'd just rather you get a head start."

"Okay." I don't even know where to start to begin with. How do you study for that sort of thing?