Page 88 of This Life and All the Rest
My body screams to follow her. To make her see the truth. But I don’t.
You’ll only make it worse, she said. I don’t know how it could be worse than this. It already hurts more than anything ever has.
I cover her painting back up, turn the other one back around, and slide them both back into their hiding spot.
Lennon’s painting usually hangs on the wall in the rec center art room.
My painting of her usually stays in my studio, so I can work on it.
I hid them both from her.
I knew it would be too much at first, but I didn’t expect this. I thought it would be embarrassing to explain. I thought I’d scare her away.
But this anger? The pain?
Fuck. What have I done? I thought I was making the right choice. I thought I was doing the right thing.
I don’t register the walk back to my apartment.
I’m in a daze when I sit down at my wheel, not even bothering to change.
I don’t even turn on music. I just throw.
I work the clay into nothing, smashing it and forming vases only to collapse them on purpose. I do this until the sun goes down. I do it until the sun rises again. If I have to, I will do it until my skin doesn’t itch and my nerves aren’t frayed.
Throwing clay, sketching, and boxing. Those are my outlets now.
They have to be enough.
I take a break to check on Mom, to go through the motions at the center. I don’t neglect my responsibilities. If I do, everything will fall like dominoes. Too many people rely on me. I can’t let them down. I can’t let myself down.
The moment I’m finished, I go back to the wheel, and I do it all over again. Throwing in silence. Forming and collapsing clay into nothing until the light disappears from my studio.
I don’t stop until my phone rings. I miss the call when I get up to wash the clay off my hands. I’m drying them when my phone starts ringing again.
“Hello.”
“Macon,” my mom says, her voice strangled, “you have to come to the hospital.”
I hear muffled crying on the other end, and my first thought is Lennon. She did something. Something happened and I lost her, and I have to grip the sink for balance.
“What is it?” I force out.
“It’s Trent,” she sobs, and my shoulders loosen just to shoot back to my ears. “They had to rush him into surgery.”
I’m already putting on my shoes and locking up my apartment.
“Does Lennon know?” I ask as I run to my car.
“She’s here,” she says, her voice cracking again. “She was with him...”
No.
I crank my engine and peel out of the lot, turning toward the hospital.
This shit can’t happen to her again. She’s already been through too much. Her mom. Me. She can’t do this with her dad too.
“I’m on my way.”
