Summer Sights

01 | talks

My ceiling isn't white.

In reality, it's more of an off white.

Maybe an eggshell.

And I realize this, as I lie on my carpeted floor staring up at my ceiling. With blurred music in the background.

I've found myself doing this a lot recently.

It helps me think.

Or maybe, more less, not think.

I don't think I'd like what my mind would conjure up if I actually gave my mind room to think.

Well, think about anything other than the color of my ceiling.

Which I've come to the conclusion, is more of an off white.

I wonder how long I've been down here, just sort of lost, absorbed in the off white ceiling that hovers over my compact bedroom.

I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do with this information.

But it's good to know.

I guess.

"Kamryn, could you come down here, please," I hear my mom yell up the stairs, ending my bizarre reverie.

I prop myself up on my elbows and look into the body length mirror that rests against the wall parallel to me so perfectly for me to be able to see my reflection from my low stance on the ground. I'm instantly repelled by the sight of someone who looks so different than who she was not 4 months ago.

But who could blame her? Blame me? I don't even know at this point.

I push myself up from the floor and leave my now heavy feeling room. I trudge down our aged wooden steps, eliciting several creaks from them in response. I enter the living room cautiously, where my mom and dad are sitting on the other side of the room. They sit next to each other on the couch facing me with unease clouding their eyes.

I notice one of my mom's caramel colored hands placed one of my dad's milk chocolate ones, gripping on fiercely as if her life depends on it. Maybe, it's what's keeping her together. I have to say, that's not the most reassuring sign.

"Hi, honey," my mom says softly, barely meeting my eyes.

"Um, hey guys." I walk over to them, slowly easing myself into a leather armchair across from the two. "What's up?"

"Well, sweetheart," my mom begins, "your dad and I have been thinking about this for a while now. We've noticed that you've become rather, how should I put this?" She asks glancing at my dad.

"Detached," he chimes in, looking at me with his kind brown eyes.

"Yes, detached. We've noticed that you've become a bit detached from your friends and us and just life overall. We've never been the type of parents to push you to tell us what's going on, but we're starting to worry about you baby," her voice cracks towards the end and it doesn't go unnoticed by me or my father. 

I also don't miss the way my father squeezes her hand gently like it's something he was born to do. She looks to him with an appreciative smile and continues, "We think that since now it's the summer before your senior year, you should try something new and experience new things. So..." she trails off.

"So?" I coax. I don't know where this is heading. And to be honest, I don't think I want to.

"So, we've decided to send you to stay with your Aunt T over the summer in Hakins," my dad finishes for her.

I'm stunned, shocked, angry, a whole whirlwind of emotions. But I can't bring myself to yell at them or throw some sort of tantrum. My mom already looks like this is tearing her apart and I don't want to add fuel to the flame. But, as a teenager, I still have the right to be irritated about the whole ordeal. 

 "You're kidding me, right?" I scoff. "She lives in the middle of nowhere and I had stuff planned for this summer. You can't just expect that a trip down there will change the fact that-" I cut myself off, at a loss for words.

"Change what baby?" My mom pleads, reaching out to me, a sole tear rolling down her freckled cheek. I think I broke my mom. It was completely unintentional. But I think I broke her with my brokenness. I guess that's our biggest flaw; how easily we shatter.  Except with me, it was a lot. It didn't stop. That's why I'm so far gone.

"It's nothing," I whisper, simultaneously trying to make myself smaller.

My father rests a comforting hand on my leg, "This is what we're talking about Kam, you never talk to us anymore. You barely have any human interaction. Which is why you'll also be working at your Aunt's diner, ButterCup's while you're there."

I open my mouth to protest, but he must see my intentions and interrupts me before I can.

"Honey, please don't fight us on this. It's already hard enough on your mom and you're not even gone yet," he releases a weak chuckle that sounds out of place. He doesn't continue after this, we sort of just sit in the sad silence for a while. 

My dad and I are similar in the way that we don't think every silence needs to be filled. Sometimes, you can hear a lot through the silence. Sometimes, the silence isn't silent at all. That's why a lot of people don't like it, too many thoughts and secrets floating around that aren't being shared. 

They think noise will fill the void, make it less "awkward". I think noise ruins the beauty in the unknown. I can feel my mother's discomfort, she likes for everything to be on the table. She's a therapist so she's a words person, not a silence person. 

"Baby, I know this sudden and it seems like the end of the world now, but I promise it won't be that bad," my mom says, breaking the silence. "You'll get to go to a new place, make money off of tips, and hey maybe you'll even make some new friends while you're there. We just don't want you to stay here couped up in the same lame town you've been in forever just reading and listening to music." 

She might have a point about the books and music thing, but it doesn't change the fact that a new town is new unfamiliar territory that I'm uninterested in exploring.

"But, I like reading and listening to music," I whine, getting up from my seat and squeezing in between them. They wrap their arms around me, enclosing me in a warm hug. 

"How bad could it be anyway?" My dad asks, lightly placing a kiss on top of my head.

I look up at both of my parents, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. Well, it has the potential to be disastrous and a terrible experience. But I don't tell them that.

"We'll see dad." We will see.

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