Page 20 of Come Back to Bed
“We made a trip to the bank yesterday to pay them, thank you.”
“Can you please just let me set up automatic payments?”
“Just as soon as hell freezes over,” my dad grumbles.
I swear, my parents are so cool and liberal in so many ways, but they do not trust the internet or most forms of technology, and I don’t think they ever will.
“It’s just that if you keep paying your bills late your credit rating could get really low.”
“Fuck the credit rating. I’m not letting some bank tell me what I’m all about. We have all we need here, always have, always will. You would remember that if you ever came to visit.”
“Do you have a boyfriend yet, angel? We need to see your face so we can have a realconverge-sation!”
“Okay great I’m going to wire some money to your account love you bye!” I hang up. I hang up on my parents, because I love them and I want to keep loving them. From over here.
They’ve been forcing me to open up and talk about my feelings for as long as I can remember, when they of all people should understand that I prefer to convey my feelings through painting. Or at least, I used to.
When I finally crawl into bed, I can hear Matt McGovern’s guitar through the vent. I don’t recognize the tune he’s playing, but it’s pretty and soothing, and even though I was so worked-up a minute ago, it calms me down immediately. For the first time in ages, I drift off to sleep without even turning on Neflix.
