Unsuspecting Blessing.

xxx

 xxx  (lmao)

I walked home, to my real home, not to the one I had made but to the one I knew all my life. I needed to talk to my Mom about Julia, and what we could do for her. The walk itself felt somber, but quick, like an attitude adjustment before my final destination to be plain-spoken with my Mother about all that swarmed me in my mind. I passed quite a few looming trees that had judgmental boughs hanging above me, and their leaves rustled with quiet whispers in the wind; Julia would have said something, I thought, along the lines of the trees being all-knowing. She would have spoken about the cracks in the sidewalks and the grass growing through the concrete rightfully taking its place in the world. Humans, I thought, she would have said, may be the top of the food chain, but cockroaches are what is left after total destruction and flora will continue on just as before when we return to the stone age. That is what she loves, I thought, about the complexity of nature; that it is simple despite the magnificent design it truly holds, no matter the millennia nature retains its power while humans are always fighting about insignificant things that only hold vigor in a short lifespan.

Thinking about Julia, I thought, brightened me, and brightened the cracked path ahead. I arrived at my house rejuvenated from the plaguing, parasitic penitent that burdened me.

I went inside, and the house smelled of fragrant meat. My Mom was cooking chicken for herself in the oven, and the garlic and herbs filled the air with saliva-inducing aromas. I sat on the couch while she tended to her food for a moment, and then she sat across from me with two equally apportioned plates filled with chicken and vegetables.

"So what brings you here?—announced, I should praise."

"To tell you the truth I'm not too sure anymore. On my way over, I knew exactly but now—"

"That's okay," she interrupted me, "Moms are here for all the uncertainties in life."

The reassurance felt nice, but did not secure any of my thoughts. But nonetheless, Rogerianly I spoke: "I think I'm worried."

My Mom's face scrunched in scrutiny for a moment before I continued.

Then: "Worried about Julia, but not about her."

"About the two of you?" she asked introspectively, chewing on a mouthful of vegetables.

"She won't talk to me," I said, feeling my voice quiver more as I unfolded the mess in my words, realizing truly how I felt to myself simultaneously. "I feel overwhelmed by the fact that there is so much going on but she will not talk to me about important things no matter what."

"And what do you consider important?"

I froze at the question, unbeknownst to my own qualifications momentarily. Eventually, I managed: "Her feelings, her worries, all the things that race in her head about this terrible court situation; I mean, the date is coming nearer every day and she won't tell me what she thinks about it."

"Are you sure something is racing in her head?" My Mom asked, taking another bite off her plate.

"If there isn't, then she is impenetrable."

"Maybe she feels that way about you." she said matter-of-factly.

I had not thought about things in that way previously, but I constantly attempted intimate conversation with her, so I spoke:— "Maybe she does, but I am always trying to talk to her and she seems to have no interest."

"Maybe try a different method," she said, and took another bite before saying: "change can sometimes be the best medicine."

"I just—" I stopped, choking fleetingly on my undetermined words. Then: "What if I'm not ready?"

Mom sat back and placed her plate on her lap. Her expression was one of extreme surprise, and maybe upset but that one felt uncertain to me. "How do you mean?" she asked, her voice with stern intent.

"I don't want this to come back around and bite me;" I said, "but when Julia said to you that her and I are in a relationship it came just as much to a surprise to me as it did to you. The shock didn't feel bad just, well, shocking. I don't know if I'm ready for a relationship."

Mom sighed, and thought to herself for a while. Eventually she sat back up, and placed her plate on the table. "I think you should tell her that—actually, you need to tell her that."

"Why?" I asked, feeling betrayed. "It would crush her."

"Would you want to be with someone, or talk to someone, or interact with someone who is uncertain about their feelings for you? You're right, it would crush her, but what would hurt her more? Finding out like an adult, or finding out like a child. It's either you tell her, or you start becoming certain."

The words that she said to me felt awkward, but they were serious and intentionally harshly spoken. They both cut and bandaged me concurrently, and I decided I knew what to do. I stood up and thanked my Mother, then I left the house and headed back to Julia's apartment. As the door closed behind me I heard: "You didn't even take a bite!" That made me smile and the run back home blasted me with cool air along my face.