Alternative

April 12, 2009 at 9:34PM

Everything makes me think of Beth. I don't know how to be okay with her being gone; it feels like the only thing that's ever mattered in my life. The only thing that will ever matter.

I'm trying to steer clear of Mom as much as I can. I don't want her looking down on me, seeing how vulnerable and weak I am. It's impossible though; she's always around. She can see.

TV has become a respite for me. My brain wired into a fictional world and my own life remote and quiet. I watch as much as I can, bingeing on shows, coming up for air just to use the bathroom and get food.

My brother Ben finished his semester and has been home for a bit. He and my parents are super active together: bike rides, going out for dinners, seeing movies and plays, walks in the park with Hank; but I stay home as much as they let me. All I want is to be quiet, alone, watching some television show that makes me forget my life, forget that Beth and I ever existed.

End of another TV series. Front door opens. Mom coming back from the park with Hank. She puts food in his bowl and mentions that my dad has taken Ben to an empty parking lot for his first driving lesson.

"That's cool," I say.

She puts the kettle on the stove, turns to me.

"Do you want some tea?"

"Sure."

I feel fragile, shaky, like I could start crying at any moment. I haven't been sleeping and can't think straight. I'm already emotional, but it's amplified because of the lack of sleep.

I don't want to be around Mom, but she's making tea, making an effort with me, and I don't have the energy to refuse.

She sits down across from me and pours milk in her tea. I take mine black.

"How are you doing?" she asks.

"I don't know. I've been better, I guess."

What's the aim of this interaction?

"Losing someone you care about is really hard."

"Yeah."

"You were really good with her. It was great to see that side of you."

"That side of me?" I ask.

"You just... You're often sort of cold. Around me and your dad. But you had a real warmth with her. Reminded me of when you were younger."

Strange to hear. I don't know what she's talking about.

"I'm cold to you guys? I don't mean to be."

"Yeah, it's very hard for me because I often feel like you just don't like me or something."

"What?"

I feel like I'm in an alternate universe.

"Yeah, I mean I try to be a good mother, but I don't know... Sometimes I wonder if I'm saying the wrong thing to you or if there's something else I could be doing."

"You don't need to worry about that, Mom. You and Dad do a lot for me already."

She pauses, looks like she has a thought.

"What?" I ask.

She takes a breath and then says:

"You know I went through a deep depression when I was in high school."

"You did?"

She's never mentioned this to me.

"Yeah. I was starting this new school, and nothing was working out. I was failing bio, which was embarrassing for me, my dad being a doctor and all, and on top of that my two best friends from elementary school had decided they didn't like me anymore. I couldn't figure out why. I felt like there had to be something wrong with me."

"I didn't know that."

"That feeling was vivid. I can almost feel it again now just talking about it."

"Hmm."

"What got me out of it, I think, was music. That's why I was so pleased to hear you'd joined that band."

"Yeah, well Beth was in the band too. So that ended..."

"Right."

"You played the cello?" I asked. Dad had mentioned something about this to me at some point. I never bothered to ask her about it.

"Yeah. I figured out I was actually really good at it. There was this piece called The Swan. I loved it, used to practice it obsessively, and eventually I got moved up to first string. I had this kind of revelation after our winter concert that year: regardless of my grade in biology or why my two best friends decided to ditch me, I still had a choice in what was going to define me. I was really good at the cello, I did really well at our winter concert that year, and I could allow that to mean more than the other stuff. Do you know what I mean?"

It's weird to think about your parents before you existed. But of course Mom had this whole life before I even came into the picture.

"What if you didn't have any redeeming talents though?" I ask. "What if there really was something wrong with you?"

"Everyone worries that there's something wrong with them, Tim. You're not alone. And there's nothing wrong with you. I promise"

I look down at the floor. It feels too intense to meet her eyes.

"You're still so young; you can be whatever you want."

"Parents have to say that, right?"

"Maybe, but it's true in this case..."

I feel a surge of emotion and turn my head away so she can't see me cry.

"Tim, look at me."

"I'm fine," I say.

"Look at me," she repeats.

I look at her.

"I love you. Everything's going to work out, okay? You'll get through this period."

"Okay," I say.

"And you can have whatever you want in life, you'll just have to work for it."

"Okay," I say again.

Moving towards me, she gives me a hug, grabs her tea and moves to leave.

I turn to her.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

She smiles and heads upstairs.