Is Nothing Sacred?
Trying desperately to think of something to say, I sat there, in the closet, waiting for my mother to say something to me.
"I promise," I said, "I didn't mean it like that and you know it." I was calmer at that point, and in my mind at least, more rational.
I had just made the horrible mistake of telling my mom over the phone that the main reason I came home all the time during my freshman year was because of the boyfriend. That is NOT what I meant. I was still going through "that depression thing" and going away from college, which at the time seemed to be the source of all the problems, felt like a good idea. It also just so happened that I could make out if I went home too.
She was mad and I think that I made her cry. I was mad too. It was my sophomore year and I didn't have time to come home anymore. Not as much as they wanted me to. I also wasn't telling them how I was, or calling as often. Apparently, I was growing up (developing, as they say in the field) and it made my parents nervous. Understandably.
On the other hand, I was very tired, too tired for a 19-year-old to be, and I was figuring things out. One was that I didn't want to teach. The other was that my parents were starting to hate each other, and still another was that God was turning out not to be a real thing to me anymore.
"What if I come back next week, and then two weeks after that is spring break I think? Can you or dad come get me then?"
Somehow I managed to quell her anger for the time being. Somehow I also managed to start lying about what I wanted, which I have recently been told I still do. I like to look at it as a courtesy to those around me. Just be glad you don't know what I'm really thinking...
"I promise," I said, "I didn't mean it like that and you know it." I was calmer at that point, and in my mind at least, more rational.
I had just made the horrible mistake of telling my mom over the phone that the main reason I came home all the time during my freshman year was because of the boyfriend. That is NOT what I meant. I was still going through "that depression thing" and going away from college, which at the time seemed to be the source of all the problems, felt like a good idea. It also just so happened that I could make out if I went home too.
She was mad and I think that I made her cry. I was mad too. It was my sophomore year and I didn't have time to come home anymore. Not as much as they wanted me to. I also wasn't telling them how I was, or calling as often. Apparently, I was growing up (developing, as they say in the field) and it made my parents nervous. Understandably.
On the other hand, I was very tired, too tired for a 19-year-old to be, and I was figuring things out. One was that I didn't want to teach. The other was that my parents were starting to hate each other, and still another was that God was turning out not to be a real thing to me anymore.
"What if I come back next week, and then two weeks after that is spring break I think? Can you or dad come get me then?"
Somehow I managed to quell her anger for the time being. Somehow I also managed to start lying about what I wanted, which I have recently been told I still do. I like to look at it as a courtesy to those around me. Just be glad you don't know what I'm really thinking...
posted by Megan at
6:54 PM
1 Comments:
Stylistically, at least, these are my favorite posts of yours. You're a great writer.
You have the everyday personable humor of David Sedaris, mixed with the domestic realism of Dave Eggers. But...you know, from a girl's perspective.
Keep it up.
By
seibu1, at 10:34 PM
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