Page 54 of The Breaking Pointe
My mom sighs, remaining silent for a bit before looking at him. “I was telling Colton that I’m sick, honey. I wasn’t feeling okay, so I decided to go to the doctor.” She glances at me for a second.
“I’ve been needing to talk to the both of you for a while—I just couldn’t find the courage. But the cancer isn’t getting better. I think it’s already too late,” she whispers, pulling her sleeve to wipe her face.
She covers her face, burying it deep in her hands.I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close to me for a hug. Steven’s eyes are filled with horror. Like he’s looking at the most vile crime scene that anyone could ever imagine. The same look I got after my dad pretty much mutilated himself before my eyes.
“I just wanted to say that I got into NYU. I start in the fall…” he says, setting the piece of mail on the counter before he spins his body around.
“Steven, wait, man,” I beg.
“Steven, I’m sorry, please,” my mom adds to my pleading. He marches along, speeding back to the front door and refusing to listen.Just as quickly as he was in the door, he
leaves right back out, ignoring us. Ignoring the situation. “I should’ve waited. I knew it,” my mom weeps, stuffing
her head in her hands again.
“Mom, don’t.There’s not a right time to tell your kids something like this. Ever,” I say, attempting to comfort her as I hold her close to me.
“He can’t go very far, trust me.He’ll come back, don’t even worry about it,” I say, kissing her head. “He just needs to process it, that’s all.”
I knew exactly how he felt: rage. What’s worse? It never gets any better when you become an adult.You just get more and more desperate for answers as to why life does these things.You’ll never get one, but it doesn’t matter.Life ultimately will go on, with or without you. It often sends me to wonder if that’s why my dad chose not to be sober through it all. He probably thought all the physical pills were easier to swallow than life’s theoretical ones.
It has to be one of the most defeating things to realize, growing up.Especially when you don’t have a choice. Nobody wants to be told to get over something that pains them to a point that it becomes physical. Or that maybe it’s whatever God is up there trying to throw challenges at you. One day, something happens and suddenly you realize,oh shit, life is real.But it’s always the hardest smack in the face. Nothing is gradual.One day ,you notice that you’ve been doing it for years, and you accept things for what they are.I have yet to do that part. I don’t want to, and I don’t want Steven to have to.
I never really imagined navigating the rest of my life without either of my parents around.Not at twenty-seven. I barely know who I am, let alone what the hell I’m even doing. Poor Steven is only freshly turning eighteen. It hurts to know that he’s somewhere flipping his shit. And I don’t blame him for doing so.I wish I knew what my dad would say in this situation. I wonder what he would do. I could take a guess.
He’d probably say, “Looks like we’re bringing the bucket list back from retirement,” or something to that extent.And then my mom would laugh, and we would be okay for a moment.
Things will never be beautiful like that ever again.No running in the woods or playing in trees. Sadly, Steven will never really know about Dad—the good side, at least. Hell, he barely knows about the bad side, which is probably a good thing in and of itself. I try to only remember the good. Not the drunken, incoherent, yelling monster who came alive at night. Instead, I think of camping in our backyard. Sweet tea with eighty-degree weather at nine o’clock at night.Pretending to be pirates on an old stump,high inthe sky.I’m on top.Everything else was underneath me. When you’re young, you truly know nothing.
* * *
The studio’s silence is loud. My grunts and fists jabbing the bag are the only things causing any kind of ruckus.I can neverpunchhardenoughwhenI’mupset.Idon’tknow if I’m mad or hurt.Both?I’m scared, too.Maybe I’m everything and all of it, all at once.They say that it’s possible
to feel multiple feelings simultaneously, I’m pretty sure.MymouthclosesasIusemynostrilsforallofmyaircircu-
lation instead, throwing my fists harder now. Pretending it’s all my problems wrapped up in one giant, stuffed dummy. I’m getting head high, feeling my blood rush to my ears now. “Yo, Colton! Chill, the bag isn’t going anywhere!” Trey’s voice echoes through the studio as he grabs my arm,drawing
my attention.
Iwasn’texpectinghispresenceatall,andmynerves are already shot.It’s not like he would know,but you can’t sneak up on someone who’s currently rage-punching an object.I mean, it’s just common sense.Turning my body around, my arm swings back, flying toward Trey. He ducks his body quickly before stopping me completely.I yank my headphones out of my ears, looking at him with exasperation.
“Hey. Chill. What’s going on, you can’t announce your- self? I didn’t know you were coming, isn’t it an off day for you?” he scoffs jokingly.
My chest repeatedly rises as I drop my arms, finally breathing out completely. I use my forearm to wipe my face, grumbling, “Don’t do that.”
He raises his eyebrows, looking at me harder now. “Something going on that I need to be aware of?”
“I’m fine,” I say, now wiping my mouth of sweat, turning and walking to the bench to sit down where my water and towel are.
“So, what made you come here at this time then? ‘Cause this is pretty unlike you. Training when you know you have free time for yourself, at least,” he points out.
Ploppingdown,Irestmyheadinmyhands.“I’mfine.
I’m just tired,” I bristle, finding it hard to be calm now. “I wanted to blow off some steam.”
I can hear him walking over, and soon, I can see his shoes standing in front of me, fixing to sit down beside me.He sighs.“Not to be a nosy ass, but uh—that sounded like a little more than tired,” he suggests, patting my back.
“Well, I’m not exactly good at explaining my feelings,” I quietly confess.
