Compulsion
“One plus one is two plus five is seven. OK.I skip steps eight and four on the way down, touch the grandfather clock, and go into the kitchen, where Mom slouches next to the sink, clutching a thick coffee cup that looks too heavy for her to hold; her thin fingers look brittle like dried twigs, her eyes vacuums of nothingness.For a second I don’t feel anything but anger. Stop being a victim. Stop being like that.Stop leaving us.And this is what Dad must feel when he sees me do my weird-ass things—like a fire consumes his insides and burns slowly until all he sees is red.I won’t be Mom. I won’t have Dad feel about me like I feel about Mom right now. Parents are supposed to love their kids—be proud of them.Kasey sits cross-legged on the window seat where she always sits to eat breakfast: a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, half a glass of orange juice, and a third of a cup of fruit. She takes a silent bite of cereal and stares at Luc like he’s evil incarnate. Dad holds the newspaper in front of... his face.We’re silent.It’s like all appearances have been peeled away this past week.MoreLess
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