My Beautiful Mind

9.

I expertly pick up a piece of a spicy tuna roll with my pair of chopsticks and shove it in my mouth, closing my eyes at the delectable goodness. Dad eats away at his shrimp tempura roll with the same enthusiasm, while Mom's working on an eel roll. "How've you been, honey?" Mom asks, setting her chopsticks down to take a sip of water. Her deep chocolate brown eyes, eyes that Evan and I inherited, stare back at me with warmth and concern. I pop another piece of sushi in my mouth, "I'm glad the semester's over. The classes I took were a lot more work than last's, but I think I managed the four well. I'm so ready for a month of relaxation," I answer between bites. Dad looks at me with a somber expression and puts his hand over my left one resting on the table next to my plate. "I think your mother meant to ask, how've you really been, Elin."

I freeze mid-chew and push my now empty plate away. I avoid both their eyes in the hopes they'll drop the subject, but as persistent as ever, they patiently wait for me to start talking. I hide my hands in the oversized sleeves of my sweatshirt and wrap my arms around myself. Suddenly, the comforting sight of the jam-packed restaurant feels suffocating and restricting. All I want to do is curl up into a ball in my bed and stay there for a week straight. But I know Mom and Dad won't let us go back home until I'm finally honest with them.

The impassive mask must've crumpled because Mom immediately asks a nearby waitress for the check. For the next few minutes, I numbly watch her hand over a credit card and sign the receipt with an unreadable expression. With mechanical movements, I shrug on my jacket and knit hat and follow Mom and Dad out of the restaurant and into the biting cold. It's not until we're all buckled up in the car when Mom finally speaks. "We'll be your listening ears; we'll be anything you need us to, just like before," I flinch at the familiar heartbreak in Mom's voice. "I didn't want to burden you both," I whisper, unable to fully look at her. Dad tightens his grip on the steering wheel and intently watches a couple walk out of the restaurant hand in hand. His entire body seems to sag in his seat.

"We can do this together, sunshine. We're all each of us has left. We can do this; we have to," he says, putting the car in gear. I nod and reach over to put my hand on top of Dad's free one resting on the center console. "Making sure I'm busy at work prevents me from stewing in negative thoughts," Mom says, turning around to give me a soft smile. "It helps to have something to occupy yourself with, to have something help process all that grief. I've developed a better appreciation for the cathartic effect that music brings me," Dad adds as he turns the car onto our street. "I think I've found my 'something'," I reply, glimmers of a concert hall stage, British countryside manor, dark urban alleyway, and enchanting forest floating in front of my eyes. Mom gives me a relieved smile, one that crinkles the lines in the corner of her eyes, but she doesn't inquire further on what my 'something' is.

I'm about to explain to them all the vividly imagined adventures I embark on from the comfort of a bed or seat of some sort, knowing that they deserve to know what's been going on with me, but instead of speaking words, my mouth opens into a wide and very loud yawn, the early start of the day traveling finally catching up to me even though it's only just past nine thirty. Dad chuckles and ruffles my hair one more time, "We'll talk more in the morning, sunshine." As we all pile out of the car and rush into the warmth of the house, the stars in skies above twinkle brightly in a coordinated visual song to promise us a night full of nothing but sweet dreams.

*****

The stars in their own way did well on their promise. I wake up the following morning refreshed from a heavy, deep sleep of complete blissful nothingness. Much better than the constant nights of horrors for months following the accident that rendered me a shaking, sobbing mess. Lazily, I turn my head towards the alarm clock on the nightstand. It's quarter past ten. I flop my onto the pillows completely satisfied with my sleep, the best rest I've had in quite awhile.