How to Fall out of Love Quickly (You Can’t) ch.6 — Snotty Nose Brat

How can I help other people when I can’t help myself?

6.

Inhale and hold. I am Zen. I am Buddha. 1…2…3…4…25…35…45…50, exhale. I am a god of energy, so fidgety and hyper, the only way I can contain myself is by doing nothing at all. I’m so restless and yet listless, all sorts of less’s. I guess I just feel less?

Inhale and hold. I am Zen. I am Buddha. 1…2…3…4…25…35…45…50, exhale. The words anchor me to reality.

Mom comes down the hall. In the doorway, she’s the purple within my darkness. “Jerome, dear. If you sit like that on the floor wearing that nice jacket, it will get wrinkled and be ruined.” Being a fancy, big-shot fashion decorator, Mom is always worried about stuff like that; jackets being wrinkled or a cushion being sat on wrong.

I can’t even drink soda or anything beyond water in my room to preserve the carpet’s good health. Most kids, I doubt, have been engrained with the vital importance of a coaster, much less the dire necessity of a squeegee for the shower. In her house, I’m just another piece of décor — more like the stain she could never right.

“I’m practicing for when I move to Thailand. You know, when I shave my head and become a worldly monk, not hindered by wrinkled jackets.”

“But you have such lovely hair.” She teases, pats, and straightens the disorder. “It would be such a shame to shave it all off.”

“Fine then, I’ll just dye it all blue like I always wanted.”

Comment ignored, she styles my hair with more aggressive pulls and yanks. She says, “You do need a haircut. I’ll make an appointment for you.”

I shoo her hand away, reorganize the chaos. “Great, more appointments. Just what the doctor ordered. Well, this was fun, so if you are done doing the rounds, I’d like to get back to my mediation, alone. Thanks, bye.”

At times, I really don’t know why I snap at Mom. I just do. After it happens, I immediately ask myself, ‘why did I just do that?’

I don’t know. She does a lot for me too. She’s always so busy, running around for work while still looking after me. I fully understand all of this, but she brings out the worst in me. I don’t know why. It’s not premeditated or anything. I don’t mean to be mean, but more often than not, I’m snapping at her.

“I thought that you would like to know that Ross is on his way over. He should be here soon. You haven’t invited him to the house in a while, so I’d thought I’d ask him for you.”

She leaves me alone with the words. I’m torn.

Like I said, I know she has my best interests in mind, but really? She invited my friend over without even a consult first — who does that? Maybe I didn’t want to hang out with him or had my own plans for the day, but no, not anymore.

I don’t have any plans, but it’s the principal of the matter. Inhale and hold. I am Zen. I am buddha. 1…2…3…4…25…35…45…50, exhale.

At this point, I shouldn’t even be surprised. Within this household, Ross is an equal member of the family as me. In fact, maybe even more so; he’s the sociable, personable, capable son they always wanted in me: able. I bet Ross doesn’t snap at his parents.

‘Front Door Opened!’ and ‘Front Door Closed.’ That’s probably him.

Sure enough, Ross sits at the kitchen table where I eat dinner like a rightful subscriber. Mom, across from him, talks and laughs. The two are having a grand ole time. I don’t approach or make myself known right away. On the edge of things, I can’t help but wonder if this is how I am with Mom. I don’t think so. They seem so run-of-the-mill, like how a real family should look, and then there’s me.

Inhale and hold. I am Zen. I am Buddha. 1…2…3…4…25…35…45…50, exhale. And smile, “Is that a Ross I see, bright eyed, and bushy tailed.”

Ross smiles with such sincerity it hurts me. As if he hasn’t seen me in a really long time. It kills me some. It’s like I’m not really there or something and he’s just looking at a picture of me, reminiscing.

Mom smiles too, but it’s different. She’s embarrassed for Ross. I embarrass Mom and Ross a lot, I know the smile. They both smile a lot for other people at my expense, their condolences.

“Hey man, how’ve you been?” Ross hugs me.

I only just saw him, but to Ross, it’s a lifetime. It kind of makes me mad too, to be perfectly honest.

God, I hate people who say that, or ‘if I can be serious’ anything like that grinds my gears because why can’t people just be fair? I say, “I am exactly the same.” Can he hear me when he hugs me, he’s so damn tall? He smells like canned soup that like his friendship will last forever. Ross is such a good friend it makes me sick. I’m awful. Inhale and hold. I am Zen. I am Buddha. 1…2…3…4…25…35…45…50, exhale.

“I was thinking about trying to get you out of the house.” I know where this is going, he says, “Why don’t you come to Rival with me. I think the best thing to do after a breakup is to help other people.” Of course he does, the golden boy.

Mom says, “I think that’s a great idea.” Of course she does, his biggest fan. “What do you say Jerome?”

Fucking ambush is what I say. They’re all traitors. I want to remind Ross that he has never been in a relationship or been dumped for that matter — probably never been kissed — so what the fuck does he know about how to mend the heart, but it’s not like its bad advice. In fact, the internet says I should stay busy, busy. I got four stitches for the effort.

They smile at me nodding their heads, which is a dark side physiological trick to manipulate me into doing what they want. I nod back.

“Sure,” I say, adding thick syrupy sarcasm, “It’s not like I have anything better to do, right. Who wants to go save the world, one charity case at a time.”

Snotty Nose Brat

Outside, Ross says, “I was thinking we can ride our bikes over. It’s important to maintain physical exercise after a breakup. No one has the time to feel blue when you’re exhausted.”

He’s got a point. Together we mount up and head off. Leaving Sunny Hills and the bench, a girl jogs by — Vanessa? The handlebar spins. I eat shit.

It’s not her. My knees are scraped. Ross doesn’t realize I’ve stopped following for a solid hour while I dust myself off. He circles back.

“You alright?”

“As alright as your mom.” Not my best work, but I don’t need to be condescended to. We start up again.

I can tell he’s going extra slow as if the pace was the reason why I fell. It’s an hour ride to Rival, but since Ross pisses me off, I peddle ten times as hard. We get there in half the time. He hasn’t broken a sweat, while I’m a used mop. Rival is located inside this new age church. No spires or mosaic glass, it’s a big warehouse where they pray and to draw people in, host different themed events like line dancing, escape rooms, or something stupid.

A bunch of people flock the entrance. They recognize Ross, smile and wave. I’m like the third wheel to him and religion. He introduces me to everyone, in he after another. It’s a drag. Apparently, it’s a tutoring day and barbecue. But first, since it is a church, we all have to gather around and listen to the pastor, a guy named Thomas give this sermon.

It puts me half to sleep. After, we break up into groups.

I’m paired with this snotty nose brat, little red head, who’s brought a baseball and glove and keeps dripping snot down his nose and wiping it on his hand, then his shorts. Gross. How am I suppose to help someone like that? Much less teach him math. I’m no teacher, I don’t have the patience of a saint, and the kid’s more interested in the ball and I don’t blame him.

I propose a deal, he finishes his homework, we can toss the ball around some. That gets him going. He does the whole assignment in ten minutes flat — the kid was sandbagging me. Pretty smart after all. A deal is a deal, we throw it around. Three tosses in, which none of mine are any good and miss him entirely so he has to wander off far to go fetch it, and we get stopped by the pastor guy Thomas. He’s high and mighty saying that it’s not fair to the other students and that we have to continue studying even if we finished the homework.

The kid has lost all interest. I don’t blame him, I have too, until the burgers are done cooking. Then we all sit at these long tables and hold hands.

His hand is all snotty and gross, and the other person, this little girl, has the coldest hand. It freaks me out.

At the head of the table Thomas says this longer than necessary prayer while our food gets cold. The burgers are alright. It’s hard to mess one up, but most of them are well-done when I’d prefer medium or medium rare.

Everybody is nice and all, chatting with their mouths full of potato-salad. Too nice if you ask me. I’m no saint like Ross and everyone else, so it takes more effort for me to be constantly smiling back like how everyone is so jolly. I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Ross asks me if I had a good time when it’s all said and done. For him, I say I did, but he can tell it’s not my cup of tea. Let’s just say, I won’t be making a habit of going. It’s not going on my calendar. The snotty kid hugs me before I leave, and a sudden pang of sadness churns the food in my gut. I think I’m broken because all I can think about are his snotty hands on my clothes. Other people would feel good by that. I feel sick and hightail it the hell out of there before I catch on fire or worse.

It takes the a lot more than an hour to get back to my house, I’m sweating slugs. I told Ross he didn’t have to ride with me. That he could just go home, since his place is in the opposite direction, but he insists. I know it’s because he feels responsible for me and wants to look good for Mom.

I’m pretty tired when I park the bike inside the garage and wave Ross off. He hasn’t broken a sweat. It’s annoying as hell. Sometimes, I wish for really bad things and instantly regret them and stumble in the house.

‘Garage Door Opened!’ beeps the security. ‘Garage Door Closed!’ Mom waits at the kitchen table with my medication and a glass of water.

“Did you have a good time?”

She’s being polite, but the question irks. Her and Ross are hoping I’d be a changed man or something, which is ridiculous because teaching some snotty nose brat math for an afternoon and eating a lousy burger isn’t the epiphany type material, unless I’m aiming for diabetes.

“It was fine.” I swallow the pills, drink the water.

Mom’s made dinner — a meat loaf — but I excuse myself. In my room, I sit under the light in the ceiling cross legged to meditate.

Ross is wrong, even though I’m drained, I still feel like crap. Worse because without the energy, I’m raw. My defenses are low, I’m vulnerable under siege by thoughts carrying her banner. The meds kick in, the third new try, hallow me, physically and spiritually. I crawl into bed begrudgingly because what the fuck else am I going to do?

I have done what everyone has asked of me and more, yet I see no changes? Do I want to be happy anymore? Do I deserve happiness?

Inhale and hold. I am Zen. I am Buddha. 1…2…3…4…25…35…45…50, exhale. Face in my pillow, I scream.

#steep

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