Page 38 of Fight Or Flight

Brooklyn

Itried to ignore the stabbing pain I instantly felt in the center of my chest when Eric shared his five-year plan with me at the pizzeria, but hours later I still feel the ache every time I recall the look in his eye when he confessed his desire to join the Army.

Most kids our age have no idea what they want out of life. Take me for instance, one day I think I want to be a journalist, the next I want to be a scientist and discover the cure for cancer. Odds are I’ll probably be neither of those things and work in a bank or something like that. But, as goofy as the ‘Karate Kid’ is and trust me when I say, he’s goofy, he was completely serious when he said he wanted to be a soldier. He was also serious when he made me swear not to tell anyone. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to share his dreams with his family.

For a brief moment, it elated me that he trusted me enough to share such a big secret. But the more he revealed, the more bothered I became by his decision to enlist. For example, he told me he had already spoken with a recruiter and I nearly cried. Hand to God, I felt tears sting my eyes.

I wanted to chalk up my irrational behavior to the fact my emotions were already in disarray because of everything going on with my mom, plus I was also approaching that dreadful time of the month, so there’s that.

But I’d be lying to myself.

I think I’m growing some sort of attachment to him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” my mom says.

I shake the thoughts from my head and give her my undivided attention, reminding myself I should not be obsessing over Eric when she has one foot in Heaven.

“I’m sorry,” I reply. “Should I find us another movie to watch?” I grab the remote from her nightstand and turn my eyes to the television. In the last few days, we’ve streamed more movies than anything else and she always falls asleep halfway thru. “What are we in the mood for? A rom-com?”

“Brook, baby, look at me.”

The familiar tone she uses when she’s about to break my heart sounds and I cringe almost instantly. My heart can’t take any more.

Be brave.

Be strong.

Be a hurricane.

I slowly divert my gaze back to her and swallow past the lump in my throat.

“Yeah?” I swallow.

“Baby, you’ve been cooped up in here most of the day.”

“That’s not true, I went for pizza.”

She smiles.

“How does the car run?”

When we arrived back at the house, I left Eric to deal with taking in the food and made a beeline for my mom’s room to thank her for the car, but we didn’t really get to chat about it because a moment later, Riggs and Eric entered the room and helped my mom into a wheelchair. Eric wheeled mom, and Riggs pushed the pole with the IV behind them.

Mom didn’t eat pizza with us, but Lauren had made her one of her signature smoothies. If she managed three sips that was a lot. Still, she sat at the table with us, and for five whole minutes, I enjoyed dinner with my mom. When she looked as though she was struggling to keep her head up, Eric and Riggs dropped their slices and helped her back to bed.

I quickly stood from the table to follow, but Lauren urged me to finish my slice. I was torn for a moment. Part of me wanted to stay, especially when Riggs and Eric returned. Everyone started sharing stories from their day and it felt normal like it was something we did every day. But the other part of me knew my place was with my mom. I scarfed down the rest of my dinner and hurried back to her room.

“It runs great,” I finally reply. “Riggs put new brakes and tires on it too.”

“He’s a man of his word,” she says thoughtfully. Then she stares at me for a beat. “Tell me about Eric. I haven’t spent much time with him. He went with you to pick up the pizza, right? What’s he like?”

Her question surprises me. Of all the people in this house, why does she want to know about him?

“Yeah, I didn’t know where the pizzeria was, so he took the ride with me.”

There’s so much I want to tell her, like the night in the garage and how he showed me my dad’s bike and the butterflies I feel whenever he’s around. I want to share his confession and analyze why it hurts my chest whenever I think about him joining the Army, and I really want to ask her why she never taught me the proper way to consume an Oreo.

“And?” she probes. “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

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