Sweater

111009

People are at our house almost every day. Maybe it’s wrong to say people. Mostly friends and family. But people, nonetheless. It’s exhausting. There’s no peace. They are there to see my mom. They are there to help out if need be. They tell us, my dad and I, if we ever need or want a break, don’t hesitate to ask. If we need a break––? Well, though that’s one of the kindest gestures someone could make, it makes me even more agitated. What I really want to say is “Just leave us alone!” But that is so mean. I feel guilty for feeling this way. Most of these people are people I really care about and love, and it seems wrong to have these feelings toward them. I just feel like I don’t even get time with my own mom. Someone’s always over or Mom has an appointment or she’s on her Blackberry or she’s writing receipts for SHOC donations or she’s catching up on bills or beading bracelets for SHOC. SHOC, SHOC, SHOC! And then, any down time is naptime.

I can’t just sit and have a conversation with her anymore. The most interaction I get with my mom is feeding her food and giving her pills. Sometimes I get to just sit or lay with her. That’s nice. And when it comes down to it, that’s probably better than anything else. But, I still yearn to just sit and talk to her.

When I was a freshman in high school, my mom picked me up after school almost everyday. When we’d get home, we’d pull into the driveway and just sit there in the car talking forever.

Come to think of it, those driveway talks were probably what made us such good friends… and made my family as close as we are. And it’s all because of this one conversation we had. One conversation that brought forth one of the worst days of my life…

After sitting in the driveway talking for a long while, my mom paused as if preparing to say something. Then, the most random thing popped out of her mouth: “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

What? In total confusion, I said, “…noooo?” I had no idea what she was talking about. And then she asked me if I’d tried smoking pot. I was so confused. Yes, I’d smoked pot. A few times. But I hadn’t recently. This question came totally out of left field. She wasn’t mad but disappointed. And that was always the worst. I don’t remember if I began crying then or after she asked question number two: “Did Rich try acid?” WHAT?! How did she know this? I no longer cared that she knew I’d smoked pot. Rich had told me in all confidence that he’d tried acid... I only told one person. Well, I guess that’s all it takes.

In a casual conversation about drugs, I told a good friend that I’d tried pot… and that Rich had tried acid. Naomi was pretty religious and attending a private Christian school. We were such good friends though, and we talked about everything. Apparently, she was worried and felt the need to tell someone. So she told none other than the teacher we shared for 5^th and 6^th grade. She knew Mrs. B and my mom were very good friends.

Lo and behold, Mrs. B wasn’t too worried about my brother and I. She understood the concept of adolescence. But, the burden of seeing my mom everyday and knowing this information got pretty heavy. So, she finally spilled the beans.

I wasn’t mad at Mrs. B. But I was furious with Naomi. That night, boy I tell you… the Hildreth household was in flames. And it wasn’t me who was in the hot seat. It was Rich. For the acid. He was beyond himself. He couldn’t believe I had told Naomi. He couldn’t believe she told Mrs. B. He couldn’t believe Mrs. B told our mom. He hated me. Keep in mind, this is my big brother, who I adore more than anything in the whole world.

And he hated me.

It was done. He was never going to talk to me again. He was never going to look at me again. He wanted nothing to do with me. After excusing myself from the inferno, I went to my bedroom, closed the door, went into my little walk-in closet, closed the door, curled up in a ball, in the darkness, and drowned myself in my sorrows.

And then he forgave me.