Me, Myself, and I

telling the good part of the story

I yanked the car door open and leapt inside. Pushed the lock behind me before Ben could press the button.

"Where are we—"

"Just, drive," I said, closing my eyes. "Please."

Mom hadn't closed the door. I felt her eyes trailing our vehicle down the road. I felt Max's gravestone, the gone too soon messages engraved. Spotted a fresh rose at the top. Every day for a year. Guess that tradition was stuck in the capsole, too.

Ben drove without question until we accidentally hit another dead end street a few miles out. I thought of Mom in the door frame. I don't know if she'd screamed, or if she stood in the street for hours on end --I like that idea--or if she sat back down on the couch and returned to her cigarette as if this were a typical Tuesday.

My vision blurred, signs and colors around it blended. And I cried. Cried the way I normally would with a whisk in my hand while my mom's blurry handwriting smacked me from its index card. The way I only could when the door to the bathroom was closed, locked, barred, when I'd turn on the sink to its highest volicity to drown me out as we competed. The way I never did at the funeral, the way I couldn't when I thought about her.

Ben snapped me back to reality when he slowed the car at the top of a hill, where woods masked the mere possibility of houses and civilization.

"Are you okay?"

The way he said it, like watching me like this was some sort of torturous honor. Tears trickling over my eyes again, I wiped and swiped them away with my finger tips. My eyes stung, burned. I shook my head at him, first glaring out the window, my face relaxing only when I turned back around and faced him.

I laughed before I could stop myself. His face was so deathly pale, his arms were shaking.

"What?" he said, wide eyes.

"Nothing." I shook my head, loving the smile that had crept onto my face. "You're just...cute. I can tell you care. It's a nice change of pace."

We sat in the silence.

He hands fidgeted on the steering wheel. "Do you...feel better?"

"From that dumpster fire?" I shook my head. The ridiculous urge to laugh had settled over my mouth. He smiled, though his eyes didn't meet it. "I don't know what I was expecting."

Maybe a hideous monster who'd try to kill me when I approached her? Or the loving mother that she never had been, a miraculous cure-all hug. A reason for her abandonment besides "I wasn't feeling up to it." I didn't know. I don't know. I don't know.

"I just..." My eyes watered again, chest tightened. "I'm so sick and tired of being so angry all the time."

"Angry." He frowned.

I nodded. "At, the world. At her for leaving. At...God, I guess. At my dad, at him--Max--Alex, Valerie, Brooke, my teachers, the random waiters at restaurants, the doctors, therapy...words. Books. You. Actually, being angry at you is a nice change of pace. You always fought back." I half-smiled at him. His smile had reached his eyes. I bit my lip again. "And...at myself. I just wanted to know what it was like to love myself again."

Ben nodded, his small smile stuck on his face. Both of his hands were still gripping the steering wheel. But he looked at me.

"I'm just not sure why I thought seeing her was going to do that," I frowned. "Why didn't you talk me out of it?"

He shrugged. "I knew better."

"Yeah, well..." I shoved him. "I give you permission next time. I'm sorry for dragging you into this."