Page 74 of Habits

Jeanette’s eyes soften, crystal liquid forming in them. I know she’ll interrupt me once again, but it’s like I’m on a roll and I can’t stop.

“Turns out she wasn’t asphyxiated by the family life; she was asphyxiated by us. She left us and found herself another family.

That afternoon when I found her, I took my bike and rode like crazy. Ten miles, but I would have done anything to see her. To hear from her what I did wrong for her to leave us. Because it had to be my fault, you know? I must have done something for her to leave us. For her not to even want to talk to me.”

“Oh, Andrew …” Her voice is a whisper. A beautiful, broken, pained whisper.

I try to stay away, to keep my distance, but she doesn’t care. She comes to me, her arms wrapping around my middle as she pulls me closer, burrowing her head into my chest.

My hands hang by my side; it’s like I don’t have it in me to lift them up, but she doesn’t seem to care. Clearing my throat, I continue. “When I got to her house I was so sweaty you’d think I spent hours doing drills on the ice. My breathing was hectic, heart beating hard in my chest, partly from exhaustion and partly because, after years, I was finally going to see her. My mother.”

Her image from that day resurfaces in my mind. My eyes fall shut as I try to fight back the memories. Push back the pain of that day.

She was wearing jeans and a casual, light pink sweater. Her brown hair was lifted in a high ponytail that swayed through the air. She wasn’t wearing a lot of make-up, just a bit of mascara to accentuate her blue-green eyes and shiny gloss on her lips.

“I climbed the steps to the door and rung the bell. It seemed like forever. Waiting there, shifting my weight from one leg to the other nervously as I rubbed my sweaty palms on the sweats I was wearing, but it was probably seconds.”

I clear my throat, overwhelmed. It feels like it’s happening all over again.

“I heard the hurried steps behind the door, followed by the laughter. I remember thinking how there was no more laughter in my house. Just silence. Then the door swung open, and there he stood. Ethan Williams. Even then, he was my biggest rival. We always seemed to play the same sports and compete in the same competitions, only on opposite sides. Baseball and hockey, debate and math competitions, he was always there. Sometimes winning, sometimes loosing, but always present. And now, the door opens to my mother’s new home, and he’s there.

“We were staring at each other, silent. I didn’t know what to say, and neither did he. I was confused, thinking maybe I got it wrong, maybe this wasn’t her house. But then there she was. Apron on and a trace of flour on her cheek. She was laughing. She was fucking laughing and calling him honey. ‘Ethan, honey, who’s at the door?’ That’s what she asked. And like a bucket full of cold water had been thrown over my head, I woke up from the daze. Her eyes connected with mine. I remember them growing wide in surprise, her mouth opened as if she’d say something, but I didn’t want to give her a chance. I didn’t want to listen. She erased us from her life? Very well, she’ll be dead to me.”

Absentmindedly, I rub my chest, the pressure behind my breast bone making it hard to breathe.

“I turned around and ran for my bike. Even though I was tired, I pedaled so hard, just in case she decided to follow me, but of course she didn’t. Why bother with the son she never wanted when she had a newer, shinier version in her new family?

That evening when I got back home, the house was empty. Nothing new about that. Dad didn’t bother coming home much after she left. He was always too ‘busy’ with work to bother with me. I broke every single thing on my way from the front door to the living room. Vases and sculptures, frames and whatever else got in my way. I was so angry. And then I saw the bar. The image of my dad finding solace in alcohol when he did bother to come home flashed in my mind. That was the first time I got drunk. I got so drunk I was puking half the night, and when I woke up, I was so sick I couldn’t get out of bed. But I learned two things. One, my mom is a selfish, lying bitch who doesn’t deserve a bit of my remorse and guilt. And two, alcohol brings oblivion. Even if just for a few hours, it helps you forget. So I kept on drinking.”

Jeanette

My hands tighten around him, and somewhere along the way, his hands curled around me, too, returning my hug.

Harder.

Stronger.

Tighter.

We hold on to each other for dear life.

Until our bodies are molded together to perfection.

Until there is no space left between us.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper softly.

Just once.

I murmur those words just once. My voice barely audible, but it’s enough. He knows it, and I know it.

On some level that only we understand, this is enough.

Broken, misunderstoodboy finds solace in the arms of equally broken and fucked-up girl.

In this moment we let ourselves feel the pain of our pasts wash over us.

Just for a little while.

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