Walking Away

You're like, my personal superhero.

Raven

My room is a well-organized train wreck.

Don't laugh. It really is. Meaning that everything looks great - but I have no idea where anything is. Except my bed. I'm pretty clear on that concept.

In fact, I'm laying on it right now, because they broke my desk while we were loading it, and now I have to get a new one. All my school supplies, along with a brand new backpack, are on the floor next to the bed. I've double-checked everything, not wanting to be that one kid without a pencil, especially as I'll be starting a week late.

For a moment, I wonder if I should do home-school this year. It actually sounds appealing until reality clicks back in and I realize there is absolutely no way my mother will agree to that. Just as that realization makes itself known, I heard her calling from the kitchen.

"Raven! Dinner!" she called. And so, slowly, I got off the bed.

"Coming!" I called back. Probably unnecessarily, because honestly, what teenager isn't coming when you announce that you have food?

Her expression lights up when I walk in. "Are you excited for school tomorrow?"

I put on a smile. "I guess." When her smile dims a little bit, I add, "It should be fun. A whole school full of people who aren't used to me yet." I'm not being completely honest, but I don't want her to worry. She's been stressed out about the move, but I know it was the best choice or both of us.

She handed me a plate, and the conversation changed to small talk as we ate. Dinner was quick, as it usually is between us, because neither of us like the memories that come up. 

My mind wandered off, and I tried to picture what the new school would feel like. It's something my uncle taught me when I was little - before you start something new, visualize how you want it to go. I'm not sure it really works, but it helps settle my nerves.

I'm so focused on tomorrow I don't notice my mother standing up. But I refocused when she cleared my plate. My mom never clears the table. She isn't lazy - she just hates working in the kitchen. Which means cooking, baking, dishes, and, up until this moment, clearing the table.

She dropped it all in the sink, and leaned against the counter.

"Mom?" I started, but didn't finish my question. What am I supposed to ask here?

She seemed to make a decision. Quickly, like she was trying to say it all in one breath, she said, "I have a new job." She met my eyes. "It's at the local hospital, and I start tomorrow."

I just nodded. "Okay." Then I realized that wasn't really the right reaction. "What?"

That wasn't really any better. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

Mom smiled a little. She sat down across from me, folding her hands in front of her. "Raven, I've always been a doctor. And when your dad decided -" she stopped at my expression. "uh, when you needed - oh." She put a hand up to her forehead. She isn't any better at speaking than I am. But slowly it sank in. This is a big step. I might be in shock.

But if I don't help her out here, we'll be here for hours. I'm not kidding.

"It's okay." I told her. "It's great, actually. They're going to love you."

She gave me a grateful smile. "Honey, I might not be home much. It would be kind of like... well, like before." Her voice was quiet, worried, and I kind of wish I didn't know why.

But I did. I did, I always would. She thought it would be like before. Before, when my father came home before she did. When he told her she was never around. Before, when she stopped being a doctor so that she could be his wife.

"It won't be like before." I told her. "It'll be fun. Soon I'll be off, doing all of those teenager things, and you would be bored here all by yourself anyway." I could see that she was still worried, so I gave her a hug. Stepping back, I said, "Plus, I get to have the coolest mom who saves people everyday. How many kids can say that? You're like, my personal superhero."

She laughed, and the worry finally seemed to dissipate. "Thank you, honey."

"No problem." I told her, heading off to my new room. Closing the door, I leaned against it, hoping that the next day at school would go at least half as well as I had just told her it would.