Chapter 32 #2
“It’s okay,” I finally whisper, even though it’s not.
Those are the worst memories, even worse than the fighting—her pale face, gaunt from not being able to eat properly, the watery eyes, and stringy hair.
She had beautiful hair before, thick and long and shiny.
I loved burying my hands in it, loved playing with her long braids.
I vividly remember it thinning. When I asked her why she only ever did one braid now instead of two, she burst into tears.
“It was one of the nearby farmers who finally figured it out,” I pick up again when I trust my voice not to betray me.
“He had lost a lot of sheep to a weird illness over the past months. Turned out, they all drank from that little stream that also went by our house. The one I played in with Benny. The one where my mom got the water for our garden from.” I lean back against the headboard, some of the tension leaving my body.
It’s easier to talk about this part because I don’t have a concrete memory tied to it, just second-hand information I picked up later, be it from my father or online.
“Ironically, it was the factory my dad worked at. They didn’t want to pay a shitton of money for chemical waste disposal, so they just released parts of it into the—”
“Jesus!” Linden gasps when he puts the pieces together before I finish my sentence. “Please tell me there was a trial or something. They didn’t get away with this, did they?!”
I can understand his outrage. Now, years later, as a grown man, I still sometimes long for some kind of justice. But real-life people who go toe to toe with big companies rarely see a happy ending.
“They kinda got away with it. I mean, I was too young to really understand what was going on. I just remember suddenly being asked a lot of questions. By my teachers and doctors, police, lawyers…in the end, my parents took the money from the settlement deal, agreed to never talk about it in public, and left. My dad always said there was a lot of pressure and intimidation, like his former boss knocking on our door, someone smearing his car with cow shit, slashing his tires, stuff like that. I didn’t really care; I just wanted my mom to get better again.
” I lean my head back against the wall and release a deep sigh.
Now that most of it is out, I feel exhausted, limbs heavy, my throat raw.
For a moment, neither of us says a word. I’m too busy regulating my breathing again, in and out, carefully through my nose. Linden’s eyes have taken on a faraway look, like he’s not even in the room with me anymore, so I jump a little when he suddenly speaks up.
“Did she get better? I mean, is she okay now? Are you okay?”
I mull the question around for a moment, unsure of how to answer.
“Depends on what you mean,” I start slowly.
“Right now, yeah, sure. It’s hard to say if there’ll be long-term effects and what they’ll look like.
So many people get sick for different reasons; it’d be hard to establish causality beyond a reasonable doubt.
But otherwise…no, they’re not fine. And I mean neither my mom nor my dad. But especially not my dad.”
“...how...what do you mean?” His brows are furrowed again, and I can’t resist; I reach out to brush my hand over the line between them.
“They never regained trust in anything, Lind. Not each other, because my mom never got over the fact that Dad didn’t take her seriously, but also not in like…
society?” I try to describe the situation carefully, then chuckle when he tilts his head in question.
Apparently, there’s no pretty way to word this, so I decide to be frank instead.
“I don’t think either of them has seen a doctor again after we moved.
If there’s a new technology or medical treatment, it’s to brainwash and control the population.
If there’s a rainstorm or blizzard, it’s not climate change; it’s the secret world government trying to reduce population.
Do you see lights in the night sky? Definitely aliens.
Nuclear Armageddon is tomorrow, no, it’s next week, but also in three months.
You have to be ready at all times, but you also should’ve been ready five years ago.
You need to stockpile weapons, food, and water.
Not a normal supply, no, you need to build a separate bunker for it.
You can’t trust anyone. You need to learn how to survive on your own.
You need to…I don’t know. Always be scared, I guess, because the thing, the big unknown catastrophe, could happen at any second. ”
Linden’s eyes widen the more I speak, his lips slightly parted. “You’re kidding,” he huffs out, prompting another sad laugh from me.
“I wish I were.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say or do to make it better.”
I look down at our hands, still intertwined. His fingers wrap around mine almost protectively.
“It’s okay,” I repeat because I can’t think of anything else to say, and maybe, if I state it over and over, someday it really will be okay.
“No! No, it’s not okay,” Linden protests, gray eyes shining with anger and sadness alike. The sun has started to set, flooding my attic room with warm light, the rays catching in his hair and giving it a golden shine. I wish I could paint, if only to capture this moment.
“Your family deserved help,” he insists, pulling me out of my thoughts. “You deserved help. I can’t even imagine growing up having to be scared of everything all the time. How are they? And where are they at the moment?”
I sigh at his question, rubbing my neck with my free hand.
“As you know, my mom’s in Thailand right now.
She got really into spiritual healing and stuff like that, and to be honest, after everything that happened, I think she just needed to get away.
We talk every once in a while, and she sends pictures. ”
“She just left?” He gapes, his incredulity making me squirm.
“She originally planned to take me along, but Dad wouldn’t allow it, and I also didn’t want to.
By then, I had finally made friends at my new school and gotten into football.
That helped me a lot. And at one point…well, she just stopped asking me to come with her.
” I gently untangle my hand from Linden’s to reach for my chest, absentmindedly massaging the spot over my heart.
It feels tight, as always, when I think of her.
“Oh, Micah…and your dad?”
“He’s still in North Carolina. He found a few like-minded people through a chat group, and they started a commune together.”
Once again, Linden’s eyes widen in shock, so I hurry to add, “I know it sounds terrible, but I promise it’s not…not all bad. They’re not hurting anyone. It’s not like a religious cult.”
“They’re hurting you, Micah. That’s bad enough in my opinion.” Linden’s hands have balled into fists, and there’s an audible strain to his voice.
“They’re not—” I try to placate him immediately, but he won’t let me finish.
“What about the money then? You’re using your scholarship money, the money you earned—”
“They never asked for it,” I interject quickly.
“I mean, my dad…he points out stuff he’d like, but he never demands anything.
He…in his head, he’s building a safe place for me.
He’s constantly anxious about me being so far away from him because in his world, another disaster looms on the horizon every other week.
And my mom…she does these yoga retreats and stuff, but…
” I lean forward, my hands grabbing his shoulders, looking for his gaze and willing him to understand.
“They’re my parents, Lind. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just live my life here, knowing they need help. ”
He juts his chin out stubbornly, his hands shaking lightly when he raises them to cup my face, his warm palms molding against my cheeks. “What about yourself?” he asks, and I shrug.
“I’ll deal.”
“But at what cost, Micah? You’re stretched so thin, and I don’t just mean your finances; I mean your mental health.”
Once again, I close my eyes, trying not to let this overwhelm me. It’s how I usually cope, separating myself from reality and fixating on the one thing I have some kind of control over.
“I’ll just have to make it into the NFL,” I tell him. “Play for a few years, make good money. Maybe I can get my dad to therapy, pay for…whatever he wants, and convince my mom to come back. Or at least, I could visit her regularly.”
I’m not sure Linden can see the picture I paint because when I open my eyes again, the anger has vanished from his gaze, leaving just sadness behind.
“Is that why you play? Why you want to make it to the NFL so badly?”
I don’t get another sound past my lips. Instead, I nod. I like to play, sure, and I’m good at it, but there is no heritage or burning passion fueling this dream.
Just…need.
Survival.
Desperate hope to put this fucked-up family back together.
“Shit, Micah.” Linden wraps his arms around me, pressing our foreheads together. “Please don’t do that to yourself. Please. I just…I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I croak out, and when our lips meet, I can almost believe it.