Aaron calls me later in the afternoon, while I'm working on some homework. "Hey!" I sigh, frustrated at my lack of academic ability, but try to put it aside. "Hi. What's up?" I can hear his goofy smile as he speaks. "Just wondering, when would you like to go out this week?" I close my eyes, trying to ignore my pounding headache. "Ummm, Tuesday or Thursday? Either of those work for you?" I pick at my fingernails for a moment. "Yeah, I think either of those is good, but maybe Thursday is better." I nod. "Sweet. Sounds great." The words seem awkward and dry. "So, um, whatcha doing right now?" I yawn, waiting for his reply. "Homework. Got a ton to do before tomorrow." I nod, then remember he can't see me. "Yeah, me too. Kind of stressed out about it. I feel like a slacker." He chuckles. Am I beginning to like that sound? "Yeah. Well, I'll let you get back to it. " I smile. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." "Alrighty. Later!" I hear the click that shows he hung up and I do the same, pushing my phone away to pay attention to the seemingly endless pile of books in front of me.
My mom is home all day and we have several conversations through the course of it. When I come down to eat dinner, I find her at the stove, pushing around something in a steaming pot and humming. Humming? How many years has it been since that's happened? She smiles, looking up at me. I nod to her, the corners of my mouth turning up slightly. "God, that smells good." I say, walking over to the stove, and peering in the pot. Chicken soup. Damn. "it's almost ready." Her cheeks look flushed and she has a bright look in her eyes. "Zoe, I'm sorry for the past few years. I-I have been a terrible mother to you, I haven't paid attention to whether you're doing well in school, or even eating everyday. I'm ashamed. I'm so, so ashamed." Her eyes tear up, and instead of feeling sorry for her my heart hardens with anger. She's right. She does have terrible parenting skills. I have practically supported myself for the past couple years, and I'm not quite ready to forgive her.
But I force the words out of my mouth. "Mom, i-it's alright." "No, no, it's not. I can't ask you to forgive me. But I want to change. I'm going to stop living this way, i'll get a job, go to rehab if I need, maybe your father and I could..." She blinks away tears and looks away dreamily for a second. How many years has she thought about this? Him coming back, them getting back together, her being a good mother? How many nights has she spent in a stranger's bed, fantasizing she's next to him? Living out the words, "For Better, For Worse, For Richer, For Poorer, In Sickness and In Health, Until Death Do We Part."? It doesn't matter. That's the past. Hopefully. Honestly, I find it unrealistic and hard to believe that my dad would just waltz back into my life, and my mom would 'wake up', both of them promising to take care of me again. I'm skeptical it's even happening. I also try to hate the idea. I try to let it make my blood boil, but really, it's everything I've wanted for years. To have a warm, safe house, not worry about where the next meal is coming from or having no-one to talk to. Despite what i told my dad, I wish I could erase the past few years, start from scratch. But that's not happening. And my current problem is the emptiness in my stomach, the tantalizing smell of chicken soup wafting into my nose.
I hate the way it gets dark in winter. I mean, I'm not particularly fond of how it gets dark in summer or spring, but in winter, it feels like a suffocating, terrifying black layer of thick fabric just gets dropped across the sky. It seems sudden and severe, and it makes me want to never go to sleep. However, I will say it has been the inspiration for some of the best paintings I've done, in my opinion.
Going back to the topic of sleep, my dreams are confusing and jarring. The most vivid of them all, Aaron and I, in a room so bright it'd blind you if you were in there for too long. I notice goosebumps on my arms and legs, which are both exposed from a white tank top and shorts. I look at Aaron and notice he wears a similar getup, the white gorgeously contrasting his muscular, smooth, tanned skin. I look down at my own bare skin, pale and cool toned, too similar to the white to be complementary. A confused, bewildered and slightly scared expression takes residence upon his face, changing slightly to joy as he regards my curves in the form-fitting outfit.
