Thrust Into His Arms

"What are you doing here again? I thought you said that you won’t be bothering me?" I drone out, noticing he is coming behind me.

"I know. But someone is so sappy, I’m afraid she might just decide to seek the depths of the ocean for solace and comfort which would be stupid." Richard answers, sitting close to me on the shore. "You can go now. I’m not suicidal at the moment."

"At the moment? Have you been before?" Did he have to point it out?

"No." I coolly lie. I’m not proud of the fact that I had stood on a high rooftop to attempt it.

"You have. Why would you put it that way unless?"

I lay down, putting both my hands behind my head like a sort of pillow. "Be quiet and watch the sea or leave."

"That bossy tone, means you’re okay. I was worried for nothing." He laughs. I glance at him, why would you be worried? I relished the peaceful silence that had come after that because I know that it wouldn’t last very long cause he has questions.

I can almost read them on his mind right now. He proved me right in the next seconds.

"Still don’t want to talk about why you were wailing earlier?"

"So that is why you came here. To fish out the reason." I did not say anything when he and his mother had tried to find out why I was like that earlier.

It took a while for me to stop crying and that was because my eyes became heavy and I had no more tears left to cry, my tear ducts have become dry and stressed. My head was whirring, it felt like there was a fog in there.

All the tears I have cried at this point must be enough to fill two whole buckets.

One and a half to be real.

I had taken a short nap in the resting room and resumed working soon after.

They both had tried to convince me otherwise telling me to take the rest of the day off, but I very much insisted because that would not be good for my mood at all. Being around their funny mother-son antics would.

Time had flown by today faster than ever leaving me to find my way to the Beach once again. I can’t say that Richard is intruding because he has quite a charming colorful presence that I do need right now to be less sappy.

How do I tell him that I want to hear some of those cringe, cheesy jokes of his without him feeling great of himself and thinking that I’m starting to like him?

"Talking about it might help." He suggests.

Now it is my turn to laugh because that is funny. "It’s not funny." He says, I kept laughing to show him that it was. "You only talk about a problem that might be a solution to.

That is how mine is."

"It can help to relieve the mental and emotional burden. Your mind will not dwell on it much if you let it out and tell someone."

"Does that help for you?"

"Nah. Not really because I have not been in a hurtful situation. I make my secrets myself."

"What does that mean?" I curiously inquire.

"I alone do the things that becomes a secret to me. No one like. . . . .forces me to have them."

"Good for you." I commend. "What kind of nasty things do you do on your own to get that, huh?"

"Well, one is how I made my mom believe that I failed to get into NYU when it was me who decided not to go." Seconds pass before I realize that was a mere, joking statement.

"Is that true? You are saying that you intentionally failed?"

"You thinking I’m lying?

Well I don’t blame you. If only there was some evidence that I could show you."

He really is serious. I sit up, blurting out, "How? Why?"

"My mom loves NYU." He starts, "She goes on and on about it any chance she gets. I did not hear anything else during my junior year in highschool.

I didn’t quite like the idea. I mean—

I just did not see why it was so important for me to go there.

But I didn’t object. I went along with it because it would make her happy.

It was at the end of my junior year that she got diagnosed with kidney failure. It got really bad at some point.

I was scared and at my wits end thinking that I would lose her.

Fortunately she pulled through it. The doctors told her to have a transplant to be healed from it, but she stubbornly refused. Even until now. She said she would be fine with the weekly dialysis and that she does not want someone else’s organ in her."

I keep silent, not knowing what to say to that. Wondering if I should even speak at all to comfort him.

"I told her that I didn’t need to go to New York. That I wanted to go to a local university close by but she hated the idea.

And I couldn’t leave her all by herself because I’m the only one she has."

"So you let yourself fail on purpose even though you had the chance and could have gotten in?"

That was more of a statement than a question as I’m starting to understand it.

"I did more than just failing the finals and the entrance exams.

I changed my whole persona overnight; from the cool, intelligent guy to the rowdy delinquent.

I got into fights, skipped school, made sure I got caught numerous times for underage drinking, clubbing. God, it was so difficult. Playing a bad I wasn’t.

The teachers at my school were all convinced that I had become possessed. They even suggested carrying out an exorcism during one of the numerous meetings my mother was forced to attend.

It all worked out exactly the way I wanted. Smart isn’t it?"

I laugh, "It is."

"You better keep this to yourself." He warns lightly, but seriously. "If you say anything to my mom, I’m going to kill you before I die. Do you understand?"

"Why would you die?"

"Because she would kill me." That is a true matter of fact.

"Right.

Cross my heart, hope to die. . . Blah blah blah." I lie back on the sand. He gives literal meaning to the phrase, "Pulling a fast one"

"You should write a book on it." I say, suggesting. "How To Pull A Fast One."

"Very funny. But then you are actually right. I would publish it using a pen name or an alias so my mom wouldn’t know that it’s me."

We both laugh about it. I let some silent time pass before I spoke,

"I wasn’t abused by a stepdad."