She winces, but I don’t stop there.
“Do you have any idea what it feels like to be your son? To know that my own mother never wanted me and would’ve done anything to get rid of me?” My throat clogs up with emotion. “For twenty-six years I’ve carried that feeling around inside. You think I’m your burden? Think again. You’re my burden.” The second those spiteful words leave my mouth guilt consumes me.
She stares at me with a look of resignation, like she’s forced to accept that this is what we’ve become. Back in the day, I would’ve reveled in this reaction. The more hurtful, the better. But now that she’s sitting in front of me, desperately trying to connect, the only thing that registers is shame. It’s much harder to despise my mom when her pain is so visceral and real. The whole experience is humanizing. Bottom line: we’re all products of our parents’ unresolved issues. It’s unavoidable. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. I also don’t want the cycle to continue on with my own kids. It has to stop somewhere, so why not with me?
My shoulders sink with defeat.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Mom. Sincerely, I am. But that’s not my fault. Quit trying to make me take ownership. That’s his fault. No one else’s. You didn’t deserve what happened to you and neither did I, but it happened to us anyway. Now we have to figure out a way to move forward. We were victims and now we’re survivors and next we’ll be goddamn champions because we’re going to pull through this nightmare in one severely cracked piece. And if you’re not willing to get on board with that and seek out a better life, then I’m cutting ties. The choice is yours.”
Her gaze drops to the floor. Suddenly, everything feels very raw and exposed. I don’t shy away from it, though. Progress.
“Did you ever think twice about going through with it?” I ask after a few beats.
“Of course I did. Making a decision to terminate a pregnancy is never simple or easy, especially when you’re the one going through it. The constant back and forth weighs heavy on your soul. At least, for me it did. But bringing you into this world and raising you under all those circumstances didn’t feel right, either.”
She leans forward and clasps her hands, her face becoming serious.
“I need you to understand something, Eric. Despite everything I’ve confessed, you are, and always will be, the best thing to come out of that situation. I love you infinitely. That feeling has stayed with me since your first breath, and it’ll be there long after your last. Maybe I didn’t want you in the beginning, but when I finally had you, my heart inflated with so much love it hurt. I didn’t want to be responsible for screwing you up. I told myself I’d rather have the heartache of losing you to Max than the guilt of failing you. I’m sorry things didn’t work out that way. But before you decide to crucify me, please keep in mind that I was a traumatized kid who was scared to death of the unknown, and had no clue how to handle it.”
I exhale and run my hands through my hair, glancing up at the ceiling and allowing the tears to flow. “Jesus. We’re so fucked up, Mom.”
“But we’re fighters,” she retorts. “And we’ll figure this out together.”
I lower my chin. “How?”
“We’ll start with therapy.”
“And after?”
“Then we’ll get to know each other again...if you’re open to it,” she adds, not wanting to push anything on me prematurely.
We have such a long way to go, but it’s a start. Repairing the relationship won’t be easy, but hopefully it’ll be worth it. I have to trust my gut and go with it. The upside is it can’t get much worse. If the idea of cutting ties with her seems better than our current situation, then we’re about as shattered as we can possibly be.
I nod my acceptance.
She slumps back against the couch, her actions mirroring how I feel inside: exhausted, relieved, and cautiously optimistic. For the next several minutes we sit in silence, reflecting on everything that’s happened. I glance over at the counter. Her glass of tea is covered in beads of sweat, the ice mostly melted.
Her soft voice cuts in. “What have you been painting recently?”
My gaze drifts to the blank canvas that’s been sitting there for days.
“Absolutely nothing,” I answer, bringing my attention back to her. “Can’t seem to get inspired these days.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.”
“So un-complicate it.”
I don’t want to delve that deep. We’re not ready. The less she knows about Raven, the better. When you find your person, you try your damnedest to shield them from any baggage that comes along with you. I may not have always been successful, but it wasn’t for lack of effort. Like it or not, Mom’s still baggage. And even though Rave and I aren’t together anymore, I’m still protective of her.
“What’s her name?” my mom asks, sensing my struggle.
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Is it the girl you wanted to tell me about a few months ago?”
I keep my lips sealed and my expression unreadable, refusing to budge on this one. She drops the subject and swaps it out for a different one.
“What about painting?”
“What about it?”
“Are you in the mood?”
“Mom, I already told you it’s not happening.”
“Oh, come on. Meet me halfway.”
I clench my jaw to stifle my irritation. For years I’ve adopted the mentality that this woman doesn’t deserve shit from me. Retraining myself not to think that way takes constant reinforcement, and a lot of getting used to.
“Fine. We’ll paint. But I’m telling you right now, the only one who will be painting anything worthwhile is you.”
I stand up and gather all the supplies. The tarp is already laid out from my last failed attempt. And the one before that. I toss her a can and move back, allowing her to step into my universe. She shakes the can vigorously and spouts the first streak of paint. Watching her reminds me of being a kid again. The way she fearlessly attacks the canvas, pouring all of her emotion into layers of vibrant color. My eyes close as I breathe in the fumes. I’ve never considered art to be my calling, but honestly, I can’t imagine doing anything else. Nothing compares. One of the many things I’ve discovered about myself since being here.
Somewhere in the middle, my mom decides to stop and offers me the can. I shake my head. She sticks her hand out further, prompting me. Reluctantly, I seize it and step forward to finish what she started. I visualize Raven’s face to try and conjure up some inspiration. Then, I proceed to do something I haven’t done in months; I paint. All it takes is a few lines for the creative barrier to collapse. Every repressed emotion comes flooding out and releases onto the canvas, freeing me. And if that experience wasn’t notable enough, something even more remarkable happened:
Today, I met my mother.
TWENTY-ONE
e r i c
After finishing up my Skype session with Dr. Coleman, I pack up my bags and venture outside. Beaches are overrated. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. A heavy dose of perma-vacation boredom was all it took for me to realize I’m not built for this shit. Didn’t help that Mom overstayed her welcome and ended up bouncing a few days ago. She and I are supposed to start family therapy next month. We’ll see how that one goes. Not holding by breath in case she decides to revert back to being a vapid narcissist.
Stay positive, Eric.
Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.
To her give her props, she appears to have a firm grasp on reality. No more of this noncommittal, I-refuse-to-take-ownership-of-my-transgressions bullshit. Only took twenty-six years to reach that point, but alas, we’ve arrived. Forecast for family bonding looks promising. Chances of selective perception have decreased; meanwhile, compromise is gaining momentum.
I throw my bag into the truck, climb inside, and start her up. A memory flashes before my eyes when I stare at the window in front of me.
A little boy standing alone, watching the driveway, tears streaming down his face. An echo of gravel crunching beneath the tires reverberates in his ears. Abandonment finds a new soul to burrow in.
I was that kid.
Only this time, nobody’s getting ditched.
Grinning, I throw the truck in reverse and crank up the music. “It’s My Life” by The Animals blasts through the speakers. Easily could’ve been my life’s motto. I lower the windows, throw one arm up on the steering wheel, and belt out the lyrics.
My paint-splotched fingers drum along to the beat. Head bobs too and fro. Raven’s Audrey Hepburn pendant sways from side to side, secured from the mirror above. A gust of fresh air causes my shirt to flutter against my skin. I glance in the rearview mirror and chuck up the deuces to a rapidly shrinking Crystal Beach.
* * *
Four-and-a-half hours later, I swerve into Raven’s apartment complex with an empty stomach, a full bladder, less than a quarter tank of gas, 12% battery life on my phone, and 2% worth of patience left. The clock on my dash reads 3:12 p.m., which actually means it’s 4:12. Should’ve stopped home to shower beforehand, but I’m too anxious/excited to see her. Totally unable to decipher which one is more prominent. My heart hasn’t been this strung out since my heroin days.
Kidding, only kidding.
After spending an eon apart, it’s imperative to make a good hygienic impression. I wrestle deodorant out of my duffel bag and reapply, then toss it when I’m done. I jump out of the truck and take a sweeping glance around the parking lot. No sign of Raven’s car. My feet carry me to the stairs and tackle them two at a time until I reach her door.
Knock, knock, knock.
I do the potty dance for a hot minute, then knock again—more forcefully this time.
No answer.
She’s probably at work or with Mia. I huff an exasperated breath and sprint back down to my truck, praying to God I don’t piss myself along the way. I cruise out of the parking lot, debating whether or not to call Mia. I don’t want to deplete my battery life even more. The girl likes to talk, and I’m not in a particularly chatty mood—unless of course, Raven’s there.
Thinking, thinking….
Nope. Definitely not worth the risk. Our convo needs to be done in person.
Remembering that Mia lives with Chase now, I hop on Mopac and head in that direction. Fifteen minutes and an aching bladder later, I burst through their door without knocking, and race to the nearest bathroom like I’m experiencing a severe case of the Taco Bell shits.
Instant relief follows.
Toilet flushes.
Hands get washed.
Footsteps register at the exact moment the door flies open to reveal a bold, yet confused Chase. He observes the scene.
“Dude, what the fuck?”
Outstanding formal introduction.
“I had to go, man,” I stress. “You don’t even know. I almost gave myself a golden shower on the way over.”
Mia’s voice cuts in.
“Eric?”
I lean past the doorframe and give her a sexy smirk.
“Oh, my God!” she runs up and collides into me. My arms instinctively wrap around her torso and lift her up off the ground. “Hey, Strawberry.”
She wiggles free, unable to contain her excitement, and smacks the side of my arm. “Where the hell have you been? We missed you.”
“Sorry. Needed to get away and recharge.”
“Took you long enough. Next time keep us in the loop,” she warns. “You’ve chewed me out for using the exact same tactic, remember?”
Girl’s got a solid point.
I sneak past them and head for the kitchen. “I know, I know. I’m an asshole. I should’ve called.”
“When did you get back into town?” Chase inquires, trailing two steps behind me.
“Like, twenty minutes ago. I stopped by Raven’s place but she must be at work or something.” I come to a gradual halt and spin around to face them. “Figured she was with you two. Obviously not.”
Chase and Mia both tense up and exchange a knowing look.
“What?” I ask, eyes darting between them.
Mia’s expression becomes apologetic.
“Raven’s gone.”
I blink a few times, not fully processing what she said. It takes a moment or two, but then it hits me like a ton of bricks. My throat goes dry.
“What? Where?”
“She left for Cali about a week ago,” Chase answers.
My chest tightens. She left without saying goodbye? Dead silence falls over the room. Feels like someone just pulled the rug out from under me. Here I was under the impression I had some extra time set aside to prepare myself and make amends. She’s long gone, and everyone knew it but me.
My fists ball up. I shoot Chase an accusatory glare. “You told me I had a month left. That was three weeks ago. What the hell happened?”
“She bumped up the date,” Mia explains.
“And y’all didn’t think to update me?”
“It was a snap decision. We barely got any notice ourselves,” Chase responds.
Mia nods in agreement. “He’s right. She stopped by the morning of to say goodbye, then she left. You never would’ve made it back in time.”
Caught in a daze, I sink back against the wall for support. My legs feel weak and my heart feels heavy. The combination drags me straight to the floor. How did this happen? Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way. I was going to come back and surprise her. Tell her everything I should’ve said a long time ago. Indulge her about my past. Fantasize about the future—our future. Profess how much I love her. Now it’s too late.
Mia crouches down in front of me and makes eye contact. She doesn’t have to say anything. The look on her face says it all.
“I’m so sorry, Eric.”
I nod absently, unable to form a single thought.
She tilts her head up toward Chase. He shrugs in response, not knowing what to say. Her worried gaze swings back to mine. “Is there anything I can do?”
Just as I’m about to shake my head no, an idea strikes. I lurch forward and slap my palms against the wood floor animatedly. She reels back in surprise. I hop to my feet and she automatically follows suit.
“What do you need?” she asks pointedly.
“Give me her address.”
TWENTY-TWO
r a v e n
For the last couple weeks, I’ve been settling into my new life and getting acclimated to my surroundings. It hasn’t been without its challenges. An hour ago, I was on the verge of tears. As of now, I’m in love. It switches constantly. Classes don’t start for another six weeks, but I wanted to come out here early to establish myself and make the transition as smooth as possible. Aside from the panic attacks—every hour on the hour—it’s going swimmingly.
Living conditions are a joke. I’m in a crappy, rundown studio apartment because it’s the only thing I can afford out here. The place is half-furnished, and seriously under-decorated. My body is surviving solely on microwavable Spanish rice, Mac & Cheese, and boxed wine. I try not to complain, though. This was my decision. Pursuing my dream is worth the sacrifice. Must keep reminding myself that there are people out there in the world with real problems who would kill for my situation.
Perspective: it’s jarring.
On the upside, I’ve made a new friend. Her name is Everly. She lives down the street in an even crappier studio apartment, and is quite literally a starving musician. I’ve concluded that this is how all the skinny bitches stay slim—food deprivation. And not necessarily by their own accord. Although, there are plenty of those types walking around, too. Guess I can kiss my curves goodbye for the time being. Until I can afford to eat real food, I’m stuck on the Welfare diet.
The biggest challenge I’m facing is being jobless. Traffic here rivals Austin’s, so Metro is the new limo. Good thing I found a place near the University that’s within walking distance. Mission Land A J.O.B. has comme
nced. Prospects are slightly disheartening, but the high turnover rates aren’t. I’m biding my time for a phone call. Fingers crossed.
I take a short break from sketching designs and glance around at the beautiful scenery. I’m sitting on a park bench in Arlington Garden, enjoying a macchiato and soaking up the warm rays. Being outside helps me combat homesickness. I don’t know why, but whenever I’m outdoors, my future seems brighter, my dreams so much more attainable. In a city where the possibilities are endless and the rejection is vast, all or nothing stakes force you to really live. Also, I like the people watching. Everything goes, fashion-wise in the Southern Cali. So many unique ideas.
Suddenly, the sound of a child’s laughter steals my attention. I twist my head and stare over my shoulder. An adorable little girl, probably no older than four or five, is busy playing in the wildflowers. I smile reflexively. As if she can sense me watching, she glances up and freezes. When she decides that I’m not Stranger Danger, she comes trotting over, her tight ringlets bouncing with every step.
“Hi!” she exclaims in her miniature voice.
She tucks her arms behind her back and sways from side to side like she’s proud of herself for making the first move. Bolder and braver than many men I’ve encountered. I set my coffee down on the bench and unfold my legs, then lean forward just a tad—enough to be friendly, but not intimidating.
“Hello there. What’s your name?”
“I’m Lily. Not after the flower.”
“That’s a very pretty name,” I praise. “My name is Raven. Not after the bird.”
She smiles at our mutual connection.
“How old are you, Lily?”
“Five.” She gets on her tippy-toes; her curious little eyes peering over the top of my sketchbook. “Whatcha drawing?”
“Dresses.”
“I like dresses.”
“Do you?” I tilt the sketchbook toward her so she can see clearly. “What do you think of these?”
She rocks back on her heels and ponders. “Hmmm. They’re pretty, but they need color.”
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