Mosaic

CW: References to emotional abuse, homophobia, restraining orders, suicidal ideation.

At some point, life’s events become too intense to think about. They just feel too much like a movie to really take in. When it’s so much that you can’t do anything about it, just wait to see what happens next. Take the pain until it goes away. Fall into it; don’t fight it. It’ll always win if you try to fight it. You’ll end up in a miserable looping pity party. Let the pain win. Sink into it until it gets bored of its own victory and leaves you alone.

Vera’s parents just got back from a two-night trip. I feel safer with her than I ever did at my home. Actually, forget the title “home.” It’s just a house. A building at which I used to sleep. I breathed air and trauma there for a few years. Nothing more.

Yesterday was supposed to be a day of mental agony, but it wasn’t. I felt safe for the first time in my life. The authorities are taking care of it. My homophobic parents are on a restraining order, and my girlfriend is in the process of figuring out how to convince her parents to foster me. Until them, I'm just here for a really long sleepover. I feel safe for the first time in years.

I didn’t realize until now that I had zero emotional connection to my parents. I didn’t realize how much I hated them. The only reason I didn’t report them was pure embarrassment. That doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going to start a new life with a new family.

Maybe even this one . . .

I have so much to figure out right now, but Vera will help me through it. I’m so lucky to have her. I remember her telling me about how many times guys have asked her out and she’s said no, admitting to being lesbian to multiple guys to spare them the pain of rejection.

“Mom, this is my friend Sadie. She's in a special situation and needs to stay here for a few nights,” Vera says.

It’s unsettling that she’s calling me a friend. Do her parents not know she’s lesbian? Would they act the same as mine if they knew? I shudder at the thought. My parents were never really nice or loving, but they weren’t dangerously abusive until I came out to them.

I scan both of Vera’s parents down to the bone for any trace of potential threat. I probably look intimidating. I can practically hear their brains screaming, “Didn’t your mommy ever tell you not to stare?!”

(No. Why would she? She never cared enough to teach me manners. Lucky for me, I was always the good little kid who was too scared to break rules because I didn’t want to get beaten with a belt. I was always surprised when teachers didn’t beat us up in elementary school.)

I shake off the thought. Not now.

“Hi,” I say shyly.

“Hey, hon. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need. Just don’t go to the basement. There’s a body down there,” her mom says casually.

Her dad breaks into a nice, hearty laugh. “She’s just messin’ with you. You can call me Marshall. You want something to eat?”

I might genuinely die if I don’t get something to eat in the next week. I want to thank them and wholeheartedly accept their offer, but all I can say is “yes, thanks” in a tiny voice.

They seem to understand and walk away.

“Feeling better?” Vera asks me.

I stare at Marshall, as he spreads peanut butter on a mouthwatering slice of warm, fresh toast. I wish this were my actual dad.

I squint at Vera’s arms and legs, looking for any signs of bruises and makeup covering injuries. There’s a scab on her knee, but it’s from running. I saw her fall on that knee during a race.

I’m okay. I’m okay here. We're okay. We're alright.

“Yes,” I manage.

She squeezes my shoulder. “Giddens gave me four pages of trig stuff. We’ll talk later. I’m upstairs if you need me.”

“I always need you,” I say quietly. It’s a test. I check to see if Vera’s gaze shifts to her parents to make sure they didn’t hear. It doesn’t.

“Do they know you’re gay?” I whisper.

“No. But it’s fine. I’ll see you in a bit.” She heads upstairs in a hurry.

I don’t want her to leave me downstairs alone with her parents. That’s as awkward as walking across the school stage at the awards ceremony but having no awards except “Completion of (grade)” after a bunch of sweats. But I’d feel guilty holding her back and burdening her even more. I keep my mouth shut.

Marshall comes to me and gives me my sandwich. I analyze his eyes to see if he stares at other parts of me like my dad did. He ends up looking at my eyes because I’m staring so intensely at his. “Thanks,” I mutter. He walks over to join his wife on the sofa to watch TV.

I have to stop being so unnecessarily paranoid.

I hear Vera’s footsteps upstairs. The raging river of stress and loneliness comes flooding back. It’s as if there’s rocks to block the river’s flood when I’m with her, but when she leaves, the wind blows them away.

I really, really don’t think I can manage sitting alone with her parents without breaking down again. It’ll make this whole thing even more awkward.

“I’ll be right back. Thanks again,” I say faintly while heading up the stairs. It’s hard to pretend I’m not needy. Hopefully, she’ll understand.

I knock on her door.

“Hey.”

“Vera . . . I don’t know if I can do this. My whole life feels like it’s shattered to pieces.”

She sighs. “Well, it’s like they say. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

“But the lemons are expired and I’m out of sugar.”

She pauses for a second.

“You’re right. Lemonade is overrated. Instead, try putting together those shattered pieces of your life to make a mosaic that’ll never expire. And don’t tell me you’re out of glue. I bet it was right there buried in your cabinet all along. And if it truly wasn’t, I’ll lend you some of mine.”

I'm trying to fully digest the sheer enlightenment and wisdom from Vera's mini speech when she grabs my arm and pulls me to the balcony outside.

"Let's talk for a bit," she says as we sit down on the beanbags.

The peaceful sound of the rainfall sends shivers through my skin. I've always loved rain. Right now, it's like the nostalgic instrumental to Vera's beautiful, healing voice in my comfort song.

“See those clouds?” she asks me. “They’re so heavy, thick, and gray. If they never let out their rain, they’d become so big that they’d block all the sunlight. You should never be afraid to rain. Rain causes beautiful things. It waters plants, cools down the environment, cleanses the Earth, and much more. It’s all because the clouds aren’t afraid to cry.”

Tears fall from my eyes and fall from the balcony, joining the raindrops and diluting in the puddle of rain beneath my eyes. The water in those tears will eventually be part of the brave clouds.

I can't believe I wanted to kill myself a week back. I have so much to live for. Rain. Cats. Hot showers. Writing. Music. Soft blankets. Vera.

I'm okay.