The End of The Beginning

six

six

Wednesday, September 1st

I pull out my chair to sit in it. The screeching of the legs on the floor makes this situation 20 times more uncomfortable than it already was. Silence fills the air as I bend into the wooden chair. Mom is sitting at the head of the table with her hands folded, eyes darting from Camden to Grandpa on either side. Grandpa is leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Camden looks poised as he stares at me.

"Well, let's eat." my mom announces.

"This looks great, Mom," I say hesitantly. The tension in the air is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. How long will we be here? Why did we have to leave? So many questions I knew I shouldn't ask. I'm afraid I wouldn't like the answers.

"Sophia, did you unpack your mother's room?" my grandpa questions.

"No, I just unpacked mine." I quivered. Should I have?

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to help others once in a while. Your brother does all the time." my mom criticized. I felt the anger rise in my chest. I understand asking for help, but demanding it? I bite my tongue, trying to figure out what to say, if anything.

"Don't bring me into this, Mom," my brother asserts. He's looking at my mother with contempt, almost like he's annoyed with her. He did always get the short end of the stick I guess. "I'm not mad at Sophia, she was talking to a new friend and didn't have time."

"I wasn't speaking to you, Camden, but thanks for the information." my mother says in a condescending voice. She leans into the table with folded arms, staring me down ahead of her. "But your friends are more important than your own mother? I am tired of your selfishness, Sophia, I really am." Before I can protest, my brother does for me.

"Her selfishness? Mom, you're the most selfish person at this freakin' table." he raises his voice and his face contorts with rage. This was definitely not about unpacking bags. My grandfather stands up and slaps the table hard with his palm.

"Who the hell do you think you are, speaking to your mother like that? Adeola, báyi ni àwọn ọmọ rẹ ń bá ọ sọ̀rọ̀? Huh?" Grandpa is hunched over, pointing at my mother. My grandma tried teaching us Yoruba when we were younger, in an effort to "keep the culture alive". I never really understood it, though. I think he said something about children.

"What, Grandpa? How can you even defend a cheater like her? She's the last person that should be talking about selfishness." I freeze. A cheater? My mother looked at me like she'd been caught. My Grandpa looked at me, too. His face softened with concern.

"What do you mean, Camden?" I can barely hear myself speak.

"Mom cheated! For years." He's speaking to me but looking at my mother, who is looking back at him with utter fear in her eyes. "That's why they fight, that's why they started acting weird, that's why we got kicked out of our own home. Mom wouldn't leave so I guess we all had to. And Grandpa knew too, so no one's innocent." He says it all in one breath, letting all of his fury out on the table.

"Sophia, I-" Mom tries to comfort me. I can't be here.

"No," I say as I get up to leave. I run to the basement and shut the door behind me.

Tears begin to flow out of my eyes the second I lock the door. The cool air blows in my face as I walk to my bed. I can't believe this. Why? I look at my phone, hoping something on Tiktok or Instagram will be funny enough to distract me from the fact that my mother broke apart my entire family, and now I'm stuck with her. The tears keep coming, leaving wet spots on my blankets and pillowcases. Just a text from Malika.

Why the hell does my mom have so many decorations? I don't think sophomores are that interested in Geometry lol. Anyways, if you can still Facetime tn I'm down. If not that's chill too.

I can't. I don't have the mental strength to hold a conversation right now and I don't need her asking questions about anything. I put my phone on the nightstand and pull the blanket up to my chest. Happy first day of high school to me.