I miss not having anyone other than my mom. But people walk away when their best friend goes blind and can no longer skateboard around town with them or play video games or check girls out at the mall. Maybe Jessa would have stuck around, if she was given the chance.
I'm riling myself up, and I know it. I should try to calm myself down, just clear my mind and listen to the album. But I don't want to. With every day that passes, having a reason to be angry is the only way I feel alive. My body bounces off the bed when I fall back, my hands yanking at the roots of my hair. It's all painful, too painful, but pain is better than nothingness.
I'm trapped inside my own head and it's making me insane.
I want to cry. I want to punch something. I want to scream. But instead it stays locked up tight, masochism at its best.
Mom knocks on the doorjamb, murmurs that supper is ready and my cane is by my door. I've never been so relieved to have her break me out of my thoughts. She waits outside my door, walking down the stairs behind me with a hand on my shoulder. I can tell she's still worried, but she doesn't say anything.
“So, what did you make?” I ask when I sit down at my place.
“Oh, just spaghetti.” She's trying to pass it off as no big deal, but my mother is a horrible liar. We both know she made it because it's my favorite. “Quick and easy. I wasn't up for much more.” Another lie – she isn't the type to only heat up sauce from a jar and boil noodles. It's never that simple.
But I let it pass, since she's doing the same for me. She runs a hand over the top of my head again before slipping to her place. Our table is entirely too big for only two, but it's not worth getting rid of.
Mom still treats me like a child. She always has, but the moment my sight took a turn for the worse, she started to dote on me like a toddler again. The constant terms of endearment, the affectionate maternal touches, the silent hovering, it all used to be annoying. Back when I had friends, back when I had a dad, back when I could see the worry lines creased into her forehead. And now, it's all I have.