Page 2 of In the Middle of No(ah)where
1
(Two Years Later)
Noah
"You can always get a job with your father down at the shop," Mom says while bringing my plate of eggs and bacon to the table.
"Absolutely," Dad chimes in. "I know George is looking for some summer help, and he'd bring you on in a heartbeat."
"No, thanks," I say, voice barely above a whisper as I tug on the sleeve of my dress shirt.
"And what's wrong with the shop?" Mom asks with a wounded tone.
"Nothing," I murmur. "I just have no desire to be a mechanic." Or being around toxic masculinity all day. The words of my father from two years ago play on a loop in my head. If the other guys at the shop are as bad as he is, then I don't want to be around them. Besides, I have zero interest in cars, except the one I zoom around the track in Mario Kart. I stare at my plate of eggs in front of me like it's the most fascinating food I ever ate, just to avoid eye contact with either of them.
"Then what are you going to do? Now that you've graduated, you aren't sitting at home all day. I don't think it's healthy, and I expect you to chip in and help out." Mom's voice is stern. When have I ever not helped out? I do my chores without being asked, and I keep my room clean. Mostly. Ever since I cut myself too deep, I've been watched like a hawk.
I latch on to what she just said. My face shoots up to hers. "What do you mean help out? Like…pay rent?" The ink isn't even dry on my diploma. I haven't even walked across the stage or celebrated with my friends. Graduation day—today—is supposed to be a joyous occasion; why are they bombarding me with this crap now? That panicky feeling creeps back in, and I slide my finger under the cuff of my shirt, feeling the raised marks on my skin. I haven't cut myself since that afternoon, and I wish I had a way to escape besides my video game.
"Not rent, but you are expected to pay for your car insurance and gas. The deal was for you to go to college—"
"We knew that wasn't going to happen," Dad interrupts and his murmured words cut me deeper than the razor blade.
"Or get a job," Mom finishes with a frown toward my dad at his comment.
I was never great in school. Part of it was I had a hard time focusing. My mind was always elsewhere, no matter how hard I tried to focus on my teachers. It wasn't like they were all boring. When I was younger, I always got in trouble in school for talking. Primarily, things would pop into my head, and I couldn't wait until lunch or recess to share them with my friends, so I would tell them in the middle of class. It really wasn't my fault; it's just how my brain works.
I stop pushing around my food before taking my plate to the sink and excusing myself to finish getting ready.
Sitting among my classmates, the words of our Valedictorian are nothing more than a monotonous sound. I'm sure her speech is supposed to inspire us, but it only adds to the internal turmoil building inside my brain. It's a weight that has settled onto my chest, making breathing hard. As the sounds of well-meaning platitudes echo around the auditorium, I can't stop thinking about my mom's words over this morning's breakfast––what will you do with your life? I'm only eighteen;why must I have it all figured out? I have time. Right? I want to go to college, regardless of what my parents think. I wish they would support me. Would helping me go on a college campus tour be that difficult? Without the support system, I knew I would struggle. So, I didn't even apply.
Why do thoughts of my future feel so suffocating? It doesn't seem to have that effect on my peers. In fact, they are all elated about their post-high school plans. Their future life maps are ready for their journey, while mine is uncharted.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in congratulating this year's graduates." A deep voice calls over the speakers, and the auditorium erupts in applause, mixed with screams and quiet sobs. It's a moment we all looked forward to. But instead of feeling like I accomplished something great, a knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. That weight pressed down harder on my chest by the minute.
"Noah, congrats!" Kai says, slapping me on the back as I walk through the throngs of people. Kai was the captain of the school's debate team and also played on the varsity football team. His hair is black, with hot pink streaks through his bangs that perfectly match his nail polish––a striking contrast to his size. I swear that guy changes his hair color every other week. What is his natural hair color? Blonde. I think. Because of his size, someone might stereotype him as a tough, masculine guy, but he's not. He's just…Kai. Always marching to the beat of his own drum. Hell, his own orchestra. I wish I had his confidence. "You going to grad night tonight to celebrate?"
"Not sure yet. I have family in town, and we have a reception thing planned at the house," I tell him.
The last thing I want to do is listen to my classmates talk about their plans, which will only make me feel even less adequate.
We say our goodbyes, and I continue to put on my bright smile, offering congratulatory hugs and fist bumps to more classmates. We've all known each other most of our lives. This whole thing feels more like a performance, a carefully constructed façade while I'm hiding my internal turmoil. Don't let them see you crumble. Smile. Everything is perfect.
I find my parents and grandparents talking with a group of people, and the charade continues with more smiles and hugs. My parents are beaming with pride—it looks like they're playing the charade, too. And why shouldn't they be playing? They taught me how to play this game.It's all about appearances.I know they're proud of me; I just wish they were more understanding. Neither of my parents went to college, so they don't see its importance.
As they continue their conversation, their unspoken hopes for my future linger in the air, adding another layer to that suffocating pressure. The weight of expectation presses down harder on me, threatening to crush me where I stand.
I need to escape.
I check my phone to see how much longer I must endure this day before I can hide away in my bedroom, getting lost on Purin Island, my imaginary island on Animal Crossing named after my favorite Sanrio character, Pompompurin. He's my favorite because he's a cute, chubby puppy, and out of all the characters, he's the only one with a star-shaped butthole. I internally giggle at the thought.
The reception at my parent's house is filled with family from out of town and some neighbors I grew up with.
"Noah, we're so proud of you," Jackson and Melanie tell me with a hug and hearty handshake. They've been our next-door neighbors for as long as I can remember. "What are your plans?" Jackson asks, and I feel the tightness in my shoulders.
"What he really wants to know is if you'll be sticking around to continue taking care of our yard," Melanie teases, but I know there is some truth behind her words. I've been responsible for taking care of their lawn since I was fourteen. In fact, I take care of most of the lawns on our street.
"Well, I decided to take a gap year to save some money, and then I will decide from there." Mom chose that moment to walk into the family room where we were standing. Her tight smile tells me that she isn't happy with my choice of words but doesn't want to make a scene in front of her guests.
