Between Two Eternities || Travis Hamonic

(2) High Like a Ferris Wheel

"I can eat and I can sleep. But I'm not doing well in terms of being a functional human being, you know?"

-Ned Vizzini, It's Kind of a Funny Story

Aunt Molly called me down for dinner.

She rarely made dinner. And when she does, she chooses from a select repertoire of about five dishes. Today, she made chicken and broccoli. Again. Like always. The five meal cycle is what we live by in this house. But since she isn't home often (long hours at the hair salon), the cycle takes about  three weeks or so to complete.

"Matt will you turn that off, hun?" Molly says as she finishes setting the table.

The tv must've been set to 75 volume, because Matt couldn't even hear Molly ask him to turn it down. She likes to have dinners at the kitchen table. It makes it seem like a family to her, a family she's never had but would never be able to handle on her own. I took it upon myself to turn off the tv just when apparently something was about to happen with the hockey game my little brother was watching.

He raises his hands in the air, angry obviously. "Arden what the hell! Tavares was just about to score!"

As if I know what the hell a Tavares is.

I roll my eyes. He gets angry over the dumbest things. While I retreat to the kitchen, he pulls out his new cell phone (that he's obsessed with) to check to see if the score had changed – between now and five seconds ago.

"Language, Matthew!" Molly yells from the kitchen.

Matt's a cute boy. I mean I'm his sister, but even if I wasn't, I think I would still think he's cute. With green eyes, he's the lucky child. He's got dirty blonde hair that goes past his ears and curls at the nape of his neck. To what had I said that before ...

He thinks it's impossible for a hockey player to get a decent hair cut, so he keeps it shaggy. That makes me wonder if that beautiful boy from the grocery store has ever played hockey. Maybe he too was a thirteen year old boy screaming to the tv because the game he loved was pulling it out of him. Maybe.

Though I admire Molly for trying to make dinner as seen on TV, they never are. Neither me nor Matt talk much, despite Molly's attempts to start random conversations. Tonight, we seem even more somber. It may be due to the fact that today is Thursday.

Thursday nights are honestly like hell – and have been for three years. I don't know what hell is like, but I bet it's like a Thursday night spent at the Manhattan Center of Therapy.

Matt and I have gone every week since our parents' deaths. Aunt Molly makes us. Well technically I don't have to do anything she says: I am 21 years old. But, she does let me live in her house while I go to school. I owe her something for that, right? And besides, Matt won't go without me.

But we hate it. It's just a bunch of creeps who want to talk about their feelings. I'm sure that feelings are okay for some people, but they aren't for me.

As every week, Matt asks Molly if he really has to go. And like every week, she says it's only for his benefit. It's not her fault; the group therapist feeds her lies of "progress" just to maintain his job.

We take the subway down to the center in silence. The first words we are then greeted with are:

"Arden, Matt, would either of you like to share?"

Hello to you as well, Jeremy ...He is the not so typical therapist with his tattoo sleeve and what not. I'm 21. I don't need to be told when to share my feelings, and especially not from a guy who's barely ten years older than myself, and one that I'm not even sure studied psychology in college. I wish Matt would share, though. But I can't force him.