Unnamed - Chapter 11: I Watched You Change
That awkward moment when you’re sitting on your couch with your mother and the boy you just hooked up with then cried in front of. Oh and what makes it worse, he was groping me when she came in.
“So, Alex.” My mother says as she drinks her coffee. Probably black, with a “tinsy winsy” amount of sugar.
“Yes mother.” I say.
“How have things been? How’s your roommate? Do you like your classes?” She asks. She’s trying.
“Things have been pretty good.” I look down at the ice on my foot, “As you can see, my clumsiness hasn’t ceased since I’ve been here.” She laughs with me a little. “Lulu is, good. I actually like my classes a lot. John is actually in a lot of them.” I look at him and smile.
“You have a brilliant daughter.” He says with an amazing smile. Even my mother couldn’t help but stare a little.
“Well, then you must be pretty brilliant yourself.” She looks at him, slightly suspicious, but with some encouragement in her voice.
John blushes a little, and it’s adorable.
“Yes, he is very brilliant.” I say, holding his bicep and squeezing it comfortingly.
My mother looks over at me and back at John and smiles. “What’s your GPA?” She asks, scowling slightly with humor.
“4.82.” He says confidently, repeating her competitive look.
She smiles approvingly and looks back at me. “Are you keeping your grades up?” She says with a bit more serious of a tone.
“For the week we’ve had school, yes.” I say. My voice is shaky; I don’t want to hear about Dad. I’m scared. What if this visit is to tell me he woke up but has a tube going from his head to his butt or something? “How is Dad?” I say, my voice even shakier than before. My mother could tell.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about honey.” She hesitates, looks at John. I look at John’s face and he is looking at my mother determined, like he is telepathically telling her he’s not going anywhere. I wrapped my arm around his and hugged it until my mother began to speak again. “You see, sweetie, sometimes when the head gets injured so severely, brain cells get damaged, and, well, your father, he… um… doesn’t remember anything.” She says as she looks down as she picks at her French manicured nails. My hands rise to my face as I begin to breathe deep. John puts his hand on my knee.
“What do you mean he doesn’t remember anything?” I say, my voice frantic.
“He doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t know who I am, where he is, who he is, he doesn’t recognize your name.”
“My father doesn’t even recognize his own daughters name?” I say loudly and in shock.
“Honey, he barely recognizes his own name let alone someone else’s.”
I begin to cry, softly sobbing at first into my hands. Then it bursts into a full on massacre of tears. My father doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember the times we had or the moments we had shared. He doesn’t remember a thing. He won’t remember the time that he took me to the park and I saw the cutest yellow dress with sunflowers on it when I was 8. He bought me that dress and I changed into it in the store, and I walked all along Central Park filled with confidence, because I was in a new beautiful dress with the best dad in the world. He won’t remember those moments he held my hand as I balanced myself on the edge of a row around a tree that day, or me falling and landing flat on my little face at least 7 times. He won’t remember, me in that little beautiful yellow dress with the sunflowers on it.
“He’ll remember. It’s okay.” My mother said, with no enthusiasm at all.
“Why did you guys have to leave?” I say harshly while raising my head slowly. “Why couldn’t you just stay in one place long enough to catch your breath and not get in an accident and lose your memory huh?”
“What are you saying Alex?” My mother says accusingly.
“If you guys didn’t go flying around the country every fucking day since we got all this money, this never would have happened. I would rather have never won the lottery and stayed poor than have my father not know who I am. Why did you do this? You guys couldn’t stand just living a normal life? You had to go out and ‘live’. Well now because of all your living, Dad probably doesn’t even remember how to live anymore. God Damn it!” I yell.
“You cannot tell me you’d rather be poor with barely any food on the table over this? All this money and freedom.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Money’s great. But yes, I would rather be poor. I’d rather be poor but still have my parents.”
“I’m still your mother.” She says, still with some hostile harsh tone.
“Barely. You’ve changed mom.” I say while getting up quickly and putting my hands on my face and pulling my hair back in frustration.
“What are you saying? I haven’t changed at all and neither has your father!” She yells while adjusting herself as she sits uncomfortably.
“I watched you change. Every day something would be different about you. The amount of hairspray you have on or the perfume you’d wear. The clothes you wore and the color lipsticks. The way you talked even changed. And Dad doesn’t even know who he is anymore! You can’t tell me you two haven’t changed!” I yell.
My mother just stares at me blankly. Shock and hurt fill her eyes, as they look straight into mine with shame. After a while, I can’t even see because there are so many tears in my eyes. I can’t even breathe right. Next thing I know a pair of arms are wrapped around me, pulling me in as tight as ever and not letting me go. I wrap my arms around the body and squeeze as hard as I possibly can while I bury my face into their black t-shirt. “I think you should leave now. I’m sorry, but I don’t think she’s going to want to talk anymore. I hope to see you in the future, amongst better circumstances.” I hear the deep voice say from above me. Then I hear some footsteps and the door closing. The figure tries to back away when I pull them closer to me. I don’t want to let go. I know I’m getting all kinds of tears and snot on their shirt, but I won’t let go. So instead they walk with me backwards and pick something up. John hands me a tissue, I take it without removing my head from his chest.
“I’m sorry.” He says before he wraps his arms around me again and rests his chin on the top of my head. I continue to cry into his shirt.
“John.” I say.
“Hm?” He hums softly; I can feel his throat move on my head.
“I kissed Kyle.” I say, and I find another tear falls down my cheek, but this one wasn’t for me, it was for him.
He gulps loudly, “Oh, really? And how was that?” He says slightly shaken. I guess he doesn’t like when someone else touches his ‘property’.
“Honestly,” I start, “Nothing like how you kiss me.”
I can feel him smile, “Good. Now turn around so I can make you forget about his kiss.” He removes his chin from my head and lifts his hands to my face and pulls me up to look at him. His blue green eyes staring at me gloriously, filled with something so pure. I’m worried if I stare into them too long I might not be able to look away, ever. He wipes a tear from my cheek. I close my eyes and press my cheek into his hand and kiss his palm softly. When I open my eyes again, I notice his eyes, glassy, beautiful, and filled with a passion so strong. He pulls me in so slow, not removing my gaze. His eyes begin to close as his lips approach mine, the tips of them just barely touching. Right now, at this moment, there is some type of electricity pulling me into him. Something I don’t want to lose. His eyes half open half closing, looking right into my heavy almost closed eyes, and in that moment, when his lips crash into mine, and our eyes close, I realize something. I love him.