"Thanksgiving is
right around
the corner,"
my mother announces
one evening
as she
walks in the door.
Her office building
had been repaired
fully
last week,
allowing her to return
to her normal
work schedule -
though she tells me
that a certain
part of the ceiling
near her office
still leaks on occasion.
She and her co-workers
are taking turns
of emptying the bucket
they've set up beneath it.
"I'm thinking of
inviting one of
my coworkers
for dinner,"
she continues,
"or maybe even
your cousin Lydia.
She's told me
that she might
be in town
around the holidays..."
When I don't
look up from
my dinner
to respond,
she seats herself
in the chair
adjacent to mine
with a frown.
"Honey,
what's wrong?"
she asks -
and the worry
in her voice
threatens to
undo me,
to ruin all the
progress I've made
in the past week in
not thinking about
what had happened,
about all the things that
will make me
collapse
into myself
again.
Thinking about
her
too much
will bring back
everything
I'm trying so hard
to avoid now.
"Nothing,"
is what I tell her -
and even I
can hear how
weak
and unconvincing
that is.
"I'm fine..."
"You're not,"
she states
matter-of-factly,
"and I can tell.
I'm your mother;
I know when
something is
bothering you -
and you haven't been
acting like yourself
for weeks, now,
Cam."
Why are all
the females
in my life
so perceptive?
I wish they weren't.
Part of me
just wants to
curl up
and hide from
the truth,
from what's happened
that I can't control
and can't run from.
I wish I could just
forget it all -
but my mother's worrying
makes that impossible.
"It's nothing,"
I insist -
because apparently,
all I can do
is deny what's happened
and hope that it
won't hurt me.
That doesn't work,
of course;
it never does.
"Please, just
leave me alone -
I don't want
to talk about it."
By now,
I've lost my
appetite;
pushing my plate
away,
I move to stand -
but my mother
catches my arm
before I can
get away.
When I look up at her,
I can see
the pain in her eyes
that I don't want
to acknowledge -
a reflection of my own,
set in a face
pale with anxiety
and sorrow.
"Whatever it is,"
she says softly,
"I just want you
to know
that I love you,
and I'll always
be here
when you need me,
whenever you do
want to talk
about it.
Just, please,
don't lock yourself away.
You're like me -
we both want
to just
drown ourselves
in our pain
and try to deal with it
on our own.
Don't do what
I did before...
Don't shut me out."
Awkwardly,
I nod
and then pull away
before she can see
the tears filling
my eyes -
the tears
that have held off
for weeks now,
finally surfacing.
As much as I want
to agree with her
and tell her everything
that has gone on,
all the things
I can't handle that
make me just
want to scream,
I can't.
I almost feel like
how Matty must be feeling:
secluded,
scared,
alone.
I can't admit
even to myself
the truth of my reality.
I can't say the words
aloud
that will make it all
real.
"I just need
some time
to myself,"
I tell her
at last,
defeated -
and before she can
say anything
to stop me,
I turn tail and
flee the room.
×
Gdi, Cam, Flory's just trying to help. This kid, I tell you... I think I need a big neon sign to hold up in their face that says 'GET OVER HER ALREADY'. Maybe that would help a bit.
If you guys liked this chapter, I would love if you would vote and leave me some feedback! It would be much appreciated!
What do you guys think is gonna happen now? Will Matty randomly return? Is Cam just gonna mope around forever? I wanna know what you guys think c:
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Misalignment | ✔
Jugendliteratur"There are a million shades of grey between their black and their white - but no one ever cares to see them." In a world with a limited view of gender, Cam Shills struggles to come to terms with their identity as neither male nor female, a shade of...
