mom notices my unparalleled self-hatred at breakfast. it’s probably the way i drown the cocoa puffs until the milk overflows that tips her off.
mom: will, what’s wrong?
me: what isn’t?
mom: will . . .
me: it’s okay.
mom: no, it’s not.
me: how can you tell me it’s not? isn’t that my choice?
she sits down across from me, puts her hand on my hand even though there’s now a puddle of cocoa-colored milk under her wrist.
mom: do you know how much i used to scream?
I have no idea what she’s talking about.
me: you don’t scream. you fall silent.
mom (shaking her head): even when you were little, but mostly when your father and i were going through what we went through - there were times when i had to go outside, get in the car, drive around the corner, and scream my head off. i would scream and scream and scream. sometimes just noise. and sometimes curses - every curse you can think of.
me: i can think of a lot of them. did you ever scream ‘shitmonger!’
mom: no, but . . .
me: ‘fuckweasel!’
mom: will—
me: you should try ‘fuckweasel.’ it’s kinda satisfying.
mom: my point is that there are times when you just have to let it all out. all of the anger, all of the pain.
me: have you thought of talking to someone about this? i mean, i have some pills that might interest you, but i think you’re supposed to have a prescription. it’s okay - it only takes up an hour of your time for them to diagnose it.
mom: will.
me: sorry. it’s just that it’s not really anger or pain i’m feeling. just anger at myself.
mom: that’s still anger.
me: but don’t you feel like that shouldn’t count? i mean, not the same as being angry at someone else.
mom: why this morning?
me: what do you mean?
mom: why are you especially angry at yourself this morning?
It’s not like i’d been planning on advertising the fact that i’m angry. she kinda traps me into it. i of all people can respect that. so i tell her that today’s the day of tiny’s musical.
mom: you should go.
now it’s my turn to shake my head.
me: no way.
mom: way. and will?
me: yes?
mom: you should also talk to maura.
I bolt down the cocoa puffs before there’s any way for her to persuade me. when i get to school, i sail past maura at her perch and try to use the day as a distraction. i try to pay attention in classes, but they are so boring that it’s like the teachers are trying to drive me back to my own thoughts. i am afraid of what gideon will say to me if i confide in him, so i try to pretend like it’s just an ordinary day, and that i’m not cataloging all of the things i’ve done wrong over the past few weeks. did i really give tiny a chance? did i give maura a chance? shouldn’t i have let him calm me down? shouldn’t i have let her explain why she did what she did?
finally, at the end of the day, i can’t deal with it on my own anymore, and gideon’s the one i want to turn to. part of me is hoping that he’ll tell me i have nothing to be ashamed of, that i’ve done nothing wrong. i find him at his locker and say
me: can you believe it? my mom said i should crash tiny’s show and talk to maura.
gideon: you should.
me: did your sister use your mouth as a crack pipe last night? are you insane?
gideon: i don’t have a sister.
me: whatever. you know what i’m saying.
gideon: i’ll go with you.
me: what?
gideon: i’ll borrow my mom’s car. do you know where tiny’s school is?
me: you’re joking.
and that’s when it happens. it’s almost astonishing, really. gideon becomes a little - just a little - more like me.
gideon: can we just say ‘fuck you’ to the ‘you’re joking’ part? all right? i’m not saying you and tiny should be together forever and have huge, depressed babies that have periods of manic thinness, but i do think the way the two of you left it is pretty unhelpful, and i’d bet twenty dollars if i had twenty dollars that he is suffering from the same waves of crappiness that you’re suffering from. or he’s found a new boyfriend. maybe also named will grayson. whatever the case, you are going to be this walking, talking splinter unless someone takes your ass to wherever he is, and in this particular case, and in any other particular case where you need me, i am that someone. i am the knight with a shining jetta. i am your f**king steed.
me: gideon, i had no idea . . .
gideon: shut the f**k up.
me: say it again!
gideon (laughing): shut the f**k up!
me: but why?
gideon: why should you shut the f**k up?
me: no - why are you my f**king steed?
gideon: because you’re my friend, wingnut. because underneath all that denial, you’re someone who’s deeply, deeply nice. and because ever since you first mentioned it to me, i’ve been dying to see this musical.
me: okay, okay, okay.
gideon: and the second part?
me: what second part?
gideon: talking to maura.
me: you’re kidding.
gideon: not one bit. you have fifteen minutes while i get the car.
me: i don’t want to.
gideon gives me a hard look.
gideon: what are you, three years old?
me: but why should i?
gideon: i bet you can answer that one yourself.
I tell him he’s totally out of line. he waves me off and says i need to do it, and that he’ll honk when he gets here to pick me up.
the sick thing is, i know he’s right. this whole time, i’ve thought the silent treatment was working. because it’s not like i miss her. then i realize that missing her or not missing her isn’t the point. the point is that i’m still carrying around what happened as much as she is. and i need to get rid of it. because both of us poured the toxins into our toxic friendship. and while i didn’t exactly invent an imaginary boyfriend trap, i certainly contributed enough errors to our trials. there’s no way we’re ever going to find an ideal state of it. but i guess i’m seeing that we have to at least make it to an it we can bear.
I walk outside and she’s right there in the same place at the end of the day that she is at the start of the day. perching on a wall, notebook out. staring at the other kids as they walk by, no doubt looking down at each and every one of them, including me.