31 | spill your heart out

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There is nothing more awkward than sitting across from your parents, their eyes boring into yours, and having nothing to say. Or at least, that's what it feels like to Dan right now. The fact that they know he's the arsonist that the whole town was concerned over certainly doesn't help. Nor does the fact that they haven't quite dealt with it yet despite the time they've had. Nor the ticking time bomb looming overhead, reminding them that he's getting out soon and he'll be expected to go back to living a "normal" life after this.

He should be used to this. He really should. How long has he been in here already? A few weeks too long for a lull in the conversation to fill up almost the entire one hour they get.

They had been on the right path in the police station immediately following the rather abrupt coming out, but juvie reset the clock back to moments after it had happened, had taken words out of all of their mouths and ripped them from their memories, making their conversations unbearably painful to sit through.

It had gotten so bad that he actually started to feel bad for the guards. Somewhat.

Today it's even worse. The future isn't far enough away frot it to not feel like a heavy weight on his chest. So heavy that it blocks his air ways and prevents him from talking properly.

"So . . ." he says into the phone, drawing out the wound to fill the emptiness of the room, as he looks at them through the glass that keeps him from being able to wrap his arms around them. His mom's smile tightens and she looks ten years older from all the worry lines on her face. His dad only stares, eyes unfocused, like it hurts him to look at Dan. To confront the situation.

Dan could say sorry--could let the words spill from his lips like a waterfall, but a dam has been built, keeping the water from doing as it should, keeping his lips sealed even though he should have too much to say and not enough time. Instead, the words have just dried up. No matter how hard he tries, he just can't force the words to break through the dam, not when they're so weak. And he's exhausted all his energy in just surviving ever since that night that he can't muster up the strength to push harder.

What happened to the past? When they used to constantly hound Dan, asking questions he wasn't prepared to give answers to? Now, they're lips are as sealed as the one secret Dan had once kept so close to his heart.

He wants to remind him that he loves him and he's still their son, but he fears that those words will be just another band-aid on a bullet hole. Yet, he says them anyway, in a hushed, tentative voice, adding on, "You can still talk to me," at the end of it, as if that's the reason they aren't talking to him anymore.

"Oh, Dan, we never stopped loving you," his mom cries out, letting the tears that had been building up in her eyes finally go. "We just . . . we just . . . well, we just weren't sure if you'd want to hear that after everything that happened."

"Why?" Dan asks, can't stop the question from coming out.

"Because for a while, you didn't want us around, and we thought that us finding this out might bring you back to that time, Dan." He can't deny the truth, so he doesn't even try, only turns to his dad for confirmation. He had thought they had worked through that already, had already jumped over that hurdle. His dad only nods.

"For so long, it was like you wanted to ignore the fact that you had parents, and now that we kind of understand why, we thought that you would get cagey again and we shouldn't have," his dad responds, an almost somber look on his face. "And we know how you get when we push, so we didn't push this time."

Dan can't say anything. He knows they're just being honest and reasonable and he never used to be either of those two things. He figures it's time he starts trying to be, though.

"I know . . . for the longest time, i wasn't the best son, but I promise that I'm over that. . . . And I don't ever want to go back to that. I was at a very dark time then and I treated everybody I knew terribly. I want to make up for that."

He looks both of them in the eye, first his dad and then his mom, offering them each a small smile. They both smile back.

"Oh, honey, you've already made up for it. We're just being over-worried is all. You don't have to explain yourself," his mom says, no longer crying out of sadness, but what appears to be tears of joy if the look on her face is anything to go off of.

"Your mother's right, son: We forgave you long ago, and nothing is going to change that."

Now he's the one with tears welling up in his eyes. Even after all the times he's treated them like crap, his parents are still there him and so understanding. It doesn't matter that they say they've forgiven him, however, because he still feels like he owes them a part of his soul. So he knows what he has to do.

He starts with answering questions they never asked: "I started during the fall. But you probably already know that. The wooden swing set at the old park--that was how it all started. And the news covered it. At first, I was nervous that I would get caught, but as the time went on, I became more confident in myself. I'm not sure what led me to do it in the first place, but I've always been fascinated with fire. That time, in the fall, was a very dark time for me. Not for any particular reason, but I just sort of came undone. Mentally, that is.

"I didn't tell anyone because I knew no one would understand. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but doing it, for some reason, relieved all of my stress. I guess it was my version of going to the spa. I don't know, but once I started I couldn't stop. Then again, I didn't really try."

Now that the water has rushed through and broken the dam, the waterfall has started and he can't stop the words from spilling out. His parents listen intently throughout his whole speech.

"Not until Phil came around, anyway. He made me want to be a better person, which is when the fires randomly stopped. But I lost control that night after getting into a fight with him, and it all came crashing down around me."

By the time he's finished talking, ending it with an I'm sorry, the first--and the second, third, and fourth--tear has already dropped. He has opened up his heart and let it all spill out; now he's laid out his secrets and shined a light on them for the world to see.

"I'm not going to say you have no reason to be sorry, because you do," his mom says, "but you can't put the blame all on yourself. If we had been better parents, if we hadn't pried so hard and just realized that keeping secrets was a normal teenager thing, well, who knows what might have happened."

"Of course," his dad chips in, "it's not normal for the secret that they're keeping to be that they're an arsonist, but we can look past that if you can."

It's silent for a while after that. Everything has been said. The silence is no longer suffocating, but rather comfortable. They have no secrets to keep. They're no longer hesitant around each other.

Then his dad has to ruin it by saying, "So Phil?"

"I don't know what you mean," Dan responds, a blush taking over his cheeks. So maybe, Dan does have one secret he's keeping. Though apparently, he's not doing a very good job because everybody seems to know.

His mom looks at him knowingly. "He seems like a very nice kid. I like him."

His dad nods. "He has my seal of approval for sure. Anybody who can make you want to be a better person without having to hassle you is a keeper, for sure."

"I hate you guys so much," Dan says, hanging up the phone and hiding his face in his hands, eyes closed in embarrassment. He can almost hear them laughing on the other side. 

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