Laughter bubbled through the air as I forced it out of my own throat, a phony smile plastered all over my face. But in my mind, I was agonizingly trying to process what was going on. Everything here seemed alien and part of another world that I wasn’t in. Even the sound of my covered-up misery was foreign, my body drained and disconnected. Only my thoughts felt real.
“Well,” I started, flashing the same fabricated grin, “It’s nine. I’d better be going.”
A cacophony of protests rang out, and I smiled, pushed them away. As soon as I left the room, though, my cover was gone. The wood floorboards struck my feet hard as I ran upstairs, pulling on my coat while I headed out the door.
I leaned against the side of the house, feet sinking into the wet grass. Everything inside me was exploding. I took some deep, shuddering breaths and tried to stay out of the pouring rain. I stared into it, watching each drop’s descent against the backdrop of the dark, silent street. Watching the sky weep.
My thoughts went back to what had been happening. I could still hear the party inside, and the muffled laughter was growing louder. Were they happier without me? Had all my efforts gone to waste?
I wanted to scream, before I couldn’t take it anymore. But I had to stay quiet. Keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want anyone “coming to my rescue.” Instead, I lowered myself into the grass, drew my knees up, and held my head in my hands. Why? Why?
The pain inside me was unbelievable. It wasn’t physical, but I could feel it, a strange sensation in my heart like I had been stabbed. Everything everyone had ever done to wrong me came flooding back, along with everything that I had done wrong. I was a failure. I was selfish. I was too emotional.
“Die. Die. Die.” The words pounded in my head, not suggestions but commands. The urge was overwhelming.
And yet there had never been a reason. The pain, the fear, they came over me like an infection, beginning as a thought and then spreading throughout my brain until they became me. But that was only part of it. The other part was the mask.
The mask was the smile that my lips are forced to morph into, the one that tears up my face. It was laughter ripping my throat, the confident stance breaking my bones. I was falling apart.
But I knew only too well that I could do nothing about it. Deciding I didn’t want to run into a gang or let my bike rust, I repeated my mom’s favorite phrase – “Just suck it up” –pulled my phone out of my pocket, and called her. It only took a few rings for her to pick up.
“Hi, Kasumi.”
“Hi mom. Can you pick me up?”
“I thought you were staying later.”
“I need to leave early. I…I feel sick.”
“Sure.” I could practically see here raise her eyebrows on the other side of the line.
“No, really. I’m really tired. I need to go home. Now.”
“Kas, you can’t stay locked up all the time. You need to get out more!” Her voice was too cheerful. My head began to overflow again.
“Can you please just pick me up?”
“You’re already outside, aren’t you?
“Yeah.”
“You know, you could go back in. Have some fun! Come on.” In other words: just go throw yourself into a pit of social misery. That will feel great, won’t it?? “OK, fine. I’ll pick you up. But this is the last time!”
She hung up as I sat down on the curb. Part of me was jubilant, victorious. I got to go home! Yet guilt crept over me as I thought of her, my “friends.” It told me that I was a cheater. Still, I felt this so many times to get out of the pain that I didn’t care anymore. It was the price I had to pay. All I could do now was wait. It didn’t take long; our house was only ten minutes away.
I put my bike in the trunk and climbed into the old Ford sedan. The nauseating stench of car exhaust wafted from the fuzzy seats, erasing the freshness of the rain-soaked earth.
She reached back and pressed her hand onto my forehead. “You’re not sick. Why do you want to come home?”
“I feel sick.”
“I know you’re not, Kas. I can tell.”
Of course.
My mom revved up the car. The rain continued to rattle the roof, trickling down the windows and blurring the view.
“By the way, your dad isn’t home. He said that his research team was onto something and he didn’t want to miss it.”
Dad was a professor at the University of Michigan. He led a bunch of undergrads who were working on something to do with wormholes. I didn’t really understand, but he told me that he’d let me see one day. I looked forward to that.
My dad was a quiet guy. He read a lot. Loved studying the universe. We had a lot in common. The difference, though, is that when I get stoked about something, I open up and talk a lot, while he pretty much turns into a recluse. Either way, we scare away potential friends in equal amounts.
I wondered whether he was really going to find something. He spent so many nights in his lab but it was always a false alarm. I was beginning to miss him. “Did he say what was happening?” I asked.
“No,” Mom said as we pulled into the driveway. “You know how he is. He was really excited, though. Maybe today is the day.”
Just as we were about to step inside, my little brother exploded from the door. “What took you so long?” he demanded. His voice rang out so loud I cringed. Mom, on the other hand, reacted with a hug and a warm smile. They were made for each other. Loud, happy, flamboyant. I preferred to hang out with my dad. It’s lame, but if I had to have a best friend, it would probably be him.
After putting away my bike, I grabbed a worn book from the shelf next to the TV and flopped onto the couch. The flashing pictures from the screen illuminated the dimmed living room in blue and white. A reporter, ready with the usual immaculate make up and stuck-in-the-90s hair, was mechanically announcing that some obscure senators disagreed about something petty and one was starting a filibuster. I glanced at my family’s placid faces. Why do they broadcast news nobody wants to hear?
I remained in front of the TV long after my mom and brother had left the room. I had forgotten about my book completely; I was absorbed by a mini documentary of the Iraq War. When it ended, though, I began to zone out. My eye lids became heavy, and a few dim thoughts about my father’s research crossed my mind as, with the broadcasters’ voices still droning on, I fell asleep.
