The Art of Blending In

“I want you dead!”

He jumps up behind her again and tries to keep her down. She keeps screaming.

“I’d rather mourn a dead child than have you around.” She flings both arms and loosens her grip from him. She grabs a wooden tray from the table and raises it above her head, bringing it down right toward my chest. I raise my arms to block it and they take the blow

“You make people feel sorry for you. For you? If they knew the real you, they would beat you as well to rid you of your sin and your ugliness.”

I see my mom’s face. I hear her voice as she told me she wishes I were dead.

“What? What else do you want me to do, Jeremy? Huh? What’s wrong with me?”

“Panos . . .”

“No. Why do I let people treat me like this?” I’m back to pacing and now I’m shaking my head as I speak. “I allow it. I make excuses for it. It’s okay that she beats me ’cause her life was hard.” I stop and turn to face Jeremy. I bend down and get right in his face. “Even when I see the fuckery I still let more shit happen.”

I can tell he’s completely lost. I go back to pacing. “I let people treat me badly and when they actually don’t, I run. I avoid. I fucking say no to something that can be good for me.”

“It’s probably online by now. My parents will eventually hear about this. Or see it.” I think I can start to feel my left hand. “You know, I’ve been so worried that all my worlds would collide. Everything that I’ve worked so hard to file in the appropriate place would somehow escape.” I stop staring out the window and turn to look at Henry.

“It’s funny, but I never thought that this was something I had to worry about. That I was the one to worry about. All this time, I thought it was my mom or Gaige or the pastor or everyone else. But it turns out, it’s me.”

“You make our life so much harder. My beatings taught me lessons. You. You learn nothing.” She takes another sip of her coffee. And then she says to me, her only child, “They should have killed you.”

Finally, she says, “You’ve disgraced us, don’t you see? Everyone looks at us, everyone at the church, here in our neighborhood. We live in a small village. They all talk. You don’t think they know what you are? You don’t think I know what you are?”

I am going cold everywhere, inside and out.

Coming back home meant that I could escape those feelings. Leave behind what happened at camp. Now, Gaige is here and my best friend has turned hot. What the hell, God?

Right now. Here in my room with this boy, I feel wounded and brave all at the same time. This boy—just looking into his eyes—makes me strong and vulnerable.

Now, Gaige is here and my best friend has turned hot. What the hell, God?