Life Imitates Art

Part 28 - Be Strong For Him

Tessa_

I can't begin to comprehend how Max is feeling right now. He built himself up, got his psyche in the right place, and finally came out of that shell, all just to be censored like that. I've left him to his own devices in his room. I know he wouldn't do anything stupid. He looks pretty. He has his art to immerse himself in, and I think it's a good time for me to do just that as well.

I have a scene in mind - a castle. It's inspired by a book I've recently read. I want it to be a close recreation, so I open the novel to page 197 and start sketching it faintly on to paper. Max would be moaning at me right now if he was in here with me. 'It's 2023, Tess! Get yourself and your art online!' He'd smile to show he's kidding. I can't picture him smiling at the moment.

No! Switch off! Draw! Don't think!

It's no use. I'm too lost in my own brain and my head's full of sad cotton wool. It's drenched too, making it feel heavier. Heavy, wet, soggy cotton wool filling my brain and blocking out all clear thoughts. It isn't even something that directly impacts me... it isn't my life... but I've always had his back. I've always wanted the best for my brother.

Then, more nagging, nippy thoughts infect the cotton wool and sprout an infestation. 'This is my fault. If I just never offered to paint his nails, he never reaches this point.' And now, the wet cotton wool is leaking its way through my eyes. I move the book and the sheet of paper, opting instead to pull my knees, covered in a soft, pink blanket, closer to my eyes and allow my face to dry. I don't feel the tears slowing for a few minutes, and they only decrease their frequency when there's a knock at the door. 

"Come in." I weakly instruct. If it's Max, he can't be seeing me like this. And if it's my parents, well that's almost just as pathetic, isn't it? 

"I would, but you've locked the door." OK, so it's Dad. I sniff all too loud before standing up from my shelter of sadness and letting him in. He enters before he says anything, letting me know that he definitely doesn't want Mum hearing this right now. He would just tell me then and there, at the threshold, if it wasn't something so serious. This can only be about Max.

"I would ask how you are doing. I can see it though, so I'll skip that question."

"Thanks." My voice is so impacted by the misery that it sounds as though my blanket has given me a cold. Another first-world problem, but it just makes me feel more pathetic and hopeless. I'm so cut-up over this, and it isn't even me.

"Max really matters to you, huh? Sorry, I mean, female Max? You really like your sister."

"Dad, I love her. This person I never knew even existed until recently suddenly bursts on to the scene and we have the time of our lives. But not everyone is so understanding."

Dad places a hand on the back of my head and gently pets my hair, as if I'm eight years old and crying about feeling unwell. I've managed to slow the rainfall to just a stream at least. A single, flowing stream that I can taste on the top of my lip. 

"You young folk have different ways. If Max existed as we saw him earlier back when I was a kid, he'd have been battered for sure. And your mother would have probably joined in at that time. It's how things were. Now, your generation express themselves so much more freely. I know Mum has put limits on Max... or Maxine... or whoever your sibling is. She really is just trying to protect him, because it seems that those peers of his at the school have similar attitudes to the outdated ones we once had. We're trying to protect Max from himself. I hope you get that."

"I do. I honestly do. I can't help but blame myself for all of this. I just want to make it right. I want him to feel happy."

"Happiness is tricky, Tess. You can encourage it, but you can't force it. The only person to decide what makes Max happy is Max. He is clearly happy when he's dressed the way he was earlier on, and I imagine he still is. You didn't force that. You didn't make him do it."

I sigh. "Everyone keeps saying that, but it isn't going into my stupid brain."

"Let Max work Max out. All you can really do is support him and keep supporting him. And hey, there might be some kind of outlet or group or something Max can join. Something that no one else knows about at school or that - Max's private yet social girly circle." Dad then returns to the matter at hand, almost leaving me to solve the mystery. "But you don't need to worry, or get yourself all worked up about it. Last thing we need is full-on family fallout. Give Mum time. She'll absolutely get used to seeing Max as he wants to be seen. Until then, just keep it civil."

And while I agree, my brain is stuck like chewing gum to a seat on the 'private social girly circle' point. It seems like an oxymoron. How can you have something private and social at the same time? But... I think I have an idea. It might require the help of someone else.