into town three days ago, and I don’t expect she will start listening now. I turn back to the window, letting the ache in my chest bloom with hopelessness as we barrel down the runway for takeoff. As the plane’s wheels leave the ground, my shoulders slump in final defeat. I’m going home.
Ryan and I are over before we even had a chance to begin. The roar of the jet engine drowns out my pitiful whimpering and any attempt my mom has for pleading her case. I pull one of Tommy’s hankies from my pocket and blot my face. The scent of leather and cinnamon only makes me cry harder.
Once we are at cruising altitude, my mom turns in her seat to address me, “I’m sorry you feel that way, honey. We only have a handful of weeks before school starts to work on our family. We need this time for therapy. We need this, Beth. Not just your dad and I, all three of us need this. Your dad and I have been through so much...” Mom hesitates. She searches my face for understanding while she wipes a tear from my cheek, causing me to flinch.
“God, I was so stupid to think that I was getting anywhere with you,” I scoff. “You’ll never change. You’ll always find a way to spin the story in your favor. You’re not a victim; I am.” My breath hiccups as I strain to keep composure. “I didn’t have a hand in any of the decisions you made. Those were all yours, Mom, so don’t tell me how much you and dad have been through. I’ve been trying to just survive my life for the last eight years while you’ve made one shitty decision after another.”
I turn to the window where we’re floating high above clouds that remind me of tufts of snow. The scene looks like a shot of heaven. What a crock. The reality is, out there it’s freezing cold and the air is so thin you can’t breathe. Sounds a lot like my life.
“I had something really good there. I had family who put me first, a therapist who really got me and I had Ryan. That might seem silly to you, Mom, but he’s the only thing that ever made me forget what it felt like to forget. Good luck trying to convince me leaving that behind to join you and dad for part two of your rehab stint is in my best interest.”
“You’ll still get to talk to a therapist, Beth, and it’s not like you will never see your family again.” She leans in to make sure I can hear her clearly, “Let me get a couple of things straight with you, young lady, I may have made some terrible decisions, but I’m still your mother. I’m the only one you’ve got, so I suggest you find a way to show me a little respect. Another thing, you’re 4 days past your fifteenth birthday, and if you’re that hung up on a boy then it is a good thing we are leaving because it’s not right, Beth. You’re too young to be that emotionally attached to Ryan.”
“Seeing your drug counselor will hardly replace my visits with Dr. Warren. I’m not an addict, Mother. I’m a survivor of sexual abuse. How do expect your counselor to help me?” I sneer.
How soon she forgets that I’m not one of her rehab buddies or counselors who hang on her every word, fawning over everything she says. I know the drill, I know how she operates and I’ve been conned one to many times to buy into anything she’s trying to sell.
“Dave is a family therapist, Beth,” she flips her hair over her shoulder and turns her gaze to my father across the aisle. “You can argue all you want, but it’s done. You can make the best of it or you can make yourself miserable. You want to preach to me about choices, well, this one is all yours.”
My family life has been one lesson in adapting after another—you either move or get run over. I watch with detached interest as my mom and dad lean across the aisle to whisper to one another. They pause to look my way and then continue their conversation, no doubt about how difficult I’m being. Tucking the pieces of my heart carefully back into its compartment, I think about Aunt Melissa and how hard
Ryan and I are over before we even had a chance to begin. The roar of the jet engine drowns out my pitiful whimpering and any attempt my mom has for pleading her case. I pull one of Tommy’s hankies from my pocket and blot my face. The scent of leather and cinnamon only makes me cry harder.
Once we are at cruising altitude, my mom turns in her seat to address me, “I’m sorry you feel that way, honey. We only have a handful of weeks before school starts to work on our family. We need this time for therapy. We need this, Beth. Not just your dad and I, all three of us need this. Your dad and I have been through so much...” Mom hesitates. She searches my face for understanding while she wipes a tear from my cheek, causing me to flinch.
“God, I was so stupid to think that I was getting anywhere with you,” I scoff. “You’ll never change. You’ll always find a way to spin the story in your favor. You’re not a victim; I am.” My breath hiccups as I strain to keep composure. “I didn’t have a hand in any of the decisions you made. Those were all yours, Mom, so don’t tell me how much you and dad have been through. I’ve been trying to just survive my life for the last eight years while you’ve made one shitty decision after another.”
I turn to the window where we’re floating high above clouds that remind me of tufts of snow. The scene looks like a shot of heaven. What a crock. The reality is, out there it’s freezing cold and the air is so thin you can’t breathe. Sounds a lot like my life.
“I had something really good there. I had family who put me first, a therapist who really got me and I had Ryan. That might seem silly to you, Mom, but he’s the only thing that ever made me forget what it felt like to forget. Good luck trying to convince me leaving that behind to join you and dad for part two of your rehab stint is in my best interest.”
“You’ll still get to talk to a therapist, Beth, and it’s not like you will never see your family again.” She leans in to make sure I can hear her clearly, “Let me get a couple of things straight with you, young lady, I may have made some terrible decisions, but I’m still your mother. I’m the only one you’ve got, so I suggest you find a way to show me a little respect. Another thing, you’re 4 days past your fifteenth birthday, and if you’re that hung up on a boy then it is a good thing we are leaving because it’s not right, Beth. You’re too young to be that emotionally attached to Ryan.”
“Seeing your drug counselor will hardly replace my visits with Dr. Warren. I’m not an addict, Mother. I’m a survivor of sexual abuse. How do expect your counselor to help me?” I sneer.
How soon she forgets that I’m not one of her rehab buddies or counselors who hang on her every word, fawning over everything she says. I know the drill, I know how she operates and I’ve been conned one to many times to buy into anything she’s trying to sell.
“Dave is a family therapist, Beth,” she flips her hair over her shoulder and turns her gaze to my father across the aisle. “You can argue all you want, but it’s done. You can make the best of it or you can make yourself miserable. You want to preach to me about choices, well, this one is all yours.”
My family life has been one lesson in adapting after another—you either move or get run over. I watch with detached interest as my mom and dad lean across the aisle to whisper to one another. They pause to look my way and then continue their conversation, no doubt about how difficult I’m being. Tucking the pieces of my heart carefully back into its compartment, I think about Aunt Melissa and how hard
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