Not One to Talk

Not One to Talk (Chapter 6)

Desiree:

     Lucky for me, the hospital let me go home a couple hours later. My parents seemed a little dubious about it, but grudgingly agreed to drive me back. I didn't know why they were giving me the silent treatment or why they seemed uneasy with me, but I didn't pay much attention to it.

     I couldn't stop thinking about Tyler.

     I didn't want to think that he had tried to kill himself, but since the nurse said she thought it was true, I couldn't help but believe her. Plus, he was pretty good-looking, even if I didn't want to admit it. His eyes were just captivating, they way they sparkled in the fluorescent light of the hospital. So what if he was . . . troubled. I didn't even know if that was completely true anyways.

     Wait a second! What in the world was I thinking? I would not fall in love with a boy I had just met. Love at first sight was not something I believed in, and I wasn't going to believe it now. I barely knew Tyler, only talking to him for about five minutes. There was no way I would let myself fall for him.

     Besides, my boyfriend had just died. How could I even begin to eye other boys?

     Tears stung my eyes, threatening to spill over. Jake was gone, and I hadn't even thought about him while I was in the hospital. How selfish was that?

     Despite my efforts not to, I began to cry. I didn't even care that my parents were sitting right in front of me, probably judging my every move. So it was no surprise that the moment they heard me sobbing they bombarded me.

     "What's wrong, Desiree?" my mom asked gently, turning around to look at me. Underneath the gentleness, though, was another emotion that I could not name. My father, on the other hand, said nothing.

    "Nothing," I lied quickly, rubbing my eyes furiously to rid them of tears, which only kept streaming down my face.

     The expression on my mom's face that I saw when she turned around told me she didn't believe me. "Okay, now really, what's the matter? Did something happen in the hospital that we don't know about?"

     I shook my head.

     "Is it about Jake?"

     Crossing my arms over my chest, I shot back, "It could be." My voice cracked noticeably.

     "Just leave her alone, Pauline," my dad cut in. "She's not going to cooperate with us."

     "Dave . . . . " my mom cautioned.

     A tear was dangling on the edge of my cheek and I flicked it away. It didn't surprise me that my dad was giving up so early. Why did I have to be the girl who had a father that was completely unable to empathize with anyone?

     "Don't bother, Mom, " I snapped. "He doesn't care that my boyfriend is dead. He wouldn't even care if I had killed myself out of depression."

     If my dad could've turned around to scream at me, I bet you a million dollars he would have. Instead, he resorted to demanding, "Don't you use that tone of voice with me, Desiree Ann."

     Oh, man. I had really pissed him off now. I never got called "Desiree Ann" otherwise.

     "Sweetie," my mom said in the same gentle tone as before, "if you tell us up front what's upsetting you, it will make you feel better. And it will help us work this out."

     "What if I don't want to work it out? What if I'm content with being miserable over my boyfriend's death?"

     My mom opened her door and I saw that we were home. Unbuckling my seat belt, I exited the car too and made my way to the front door as quickly as I could. I heard my mom's footsteps running after me on our gravel driveway.

     "Desiree! We are not done talking!" she called.

     Before she could follow me inside I slammed the door. "Yes, we are."

     I ran to my room, taking the stairs two at a time. Once there, I shut the door and locked it. For a moment there was silence, probably my parents discussing what to do with me. Let them discuss as long as they wanted. I was not, under any circumstances, going back down there.

     After about two minutes, the sound of someone walking up the stairs reached my ears. I threw my fluffy pillow over my face, groaning to myself. At least the door was locked.

     "Desiree?" My mom's voice was careful, like she was trying hard not to make me angry.

     "Go. Away." For a moment I contemplated throwing the pillow at the door, but what good would that have done?

     There was no response, just some scratching noises from the opposite side of the door. I was about to ask what she was doing out there when the door opened and my mom sauntered in. In her hand was the key that was kept above the door. She came to sit at the edge of my bed.

     "Listen, Desiree," she began firmly. "This won't be so hard if you don't get an attitude with me. Will you please just hear me out?"

     To answer her, I removed the pillow from my face.

     "Now, I understand the position you're in. Believe me, I really do care, and I'm so sorry Jake is gone. It isn't fair for you to have to go through that."

     I sat up.

     "But you can't let sadness get in the way of your life. Think about it - what's going to happen when you go back to school on Monday? Are you going to ignore all your friends just because you're depressed?"

     "I'm not depressed."

     "Really? Could've fooled me." She patted my leg. "I know the only reason you're acting like this is because you're upset. But - for lack of a better phrase - you have to get over it. That's the normal thing to do."

     Grabbing the pillow and hugging it to my chest, I muttered, "So you're basically telling me to forget about Jake and go on pretending like his death never happened?"

     "I didn't say that. I just-"

     "Look, Mom," I interrupted. "I know you're trying to make me feel better, but it's not going to work. Can't you just let me mourn and not question it?"

     My mom sighed. "I give up. Your father was right - it's useless trying to get you to see reason."

     The bed creaked as she stood up. Without another word or even a glance back, she left my room and closed the door softly behind her, leaving me fuming.

     So I gave in and threw the pillow at the door. It only left me even angrier.

     How could my parents be so . . . . so . . . . uncaring? Did they not realize how important Jake was to me? Today was the only time they had actually said "I'm sorry", but that wasn't enough. It was already apparent that my dad didn't really care, but to hear the same thing from my mom was devastating. As if my life wasn't sad enough.

     And if they wouldn't see my side of the story even when I attempted to tell them, what was the use of explaining it to them?

     So I made a decision.

     A decision never to talk to my parents again.