Salt

It's been four months since Mr. Sick and I got together. Four months and five days, and I'm not sure that we'll be together much longer, and it is all my fault. Yet, I'm not sure I'm as hurt by this as I should be. Is it that I'm certain he'll be there when I get back?

Yesterday I had plans to take my brothers out to a movie with Brian and to get Father's Day cards. We never made it to the movie. My car broke down out front of the card store. My parents didn't answer the phone when I called, but Brian did. He came and waited with me for the tow truck, and drove me home afterward. My entire family met him. Hallelujah, right? However, they severely disliked him. Regardless, they were polite while we were there.

I ended up going to his house and staying the night so he could take me to work in the morning. My father fixed my car (as it turned out, it was merely a lack of oil), but I stayed at Brian's house anyway. I spent the majority of the evening at his apartment alone, studying and playing WoW. Then we stayed up late together after he got home.

This morning I awoke with a dizzy spell. It was bad enough that I could hardly stand without swaying on my feet and falling over. So, I called in sick. I told Brenda that I'd be in at noon, if she wanted, and I thought she told me not to worry about it; that she would call Sheree and there wouldn't be a problem. I was wrong. Even so, I shut off my phone and spent the day relaxing. We had a great time. When I turned my phone on at three-thirty, though, I had two voicemails and two text messages. One was from Brenda at work asking where I was. The other was from my mother. She bit off the words "Get home. Now." I texted her, and then called.

She picked up the phone with screams of "Where are you?" and "Are you aware of how many people you have freaked out today?" Understandable, of course, with my complete lack of contact. The store had called my house phone and, of course, this happens to be the time my mother answers. She said that all the ladies at work were freaking out, and that my parents had been to every hospital in the city worrying that I had been in an accident or something. She demanded Brian's phone number and address, telling me that she was going to come get me. I was hoping that, by denying her this, I was helping the situation. Maybe Brian wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. Yeah, not quite.

Brian pulled up in front of my house and my mother was out the door, flinging herself down the hill in front of our house with a cigarette in hand, hair flying, and pure hatred in her eyes. She opened the door and yanked me out of the car with a shriek, bending over and squalling at Brian in her frustration and fear, demanding to know if he was prepared to care for me, if he was going to marry me. He told her yes, if he needed to care for me he could and, if things continued to go well, he would marry me. I could do nothing but stand behind her and stare mutely at my feet as she called him sick and told him that he already had a chance to live his young life and I hadn't had that chance.

She finally slammed the car door and told me to get in the house. I called back that it wasn't his fault, and she snapped at me to stop defending him. Once inside, she screamed at me about how scared she was (rightfully so) and how horrible Brian is. She told me he'd get bored with me, that he'd leave and be fine. Once he's done with school, she said, he's going to either run off with someone else or be ready to settle down. She said she was worried I'd give up my life for him. I can understand that, as well, I suppose. Both of my parents lectured me on how horrible a person he is, and continued to tell me I was ruining my life and that the relationship was sick. They told me that they hated him, and that I was just rationalizing when I explained my reasoning. They said that I'd lost track of what I wanted in life, and blamed Brian. The issues they keep bringing up, though, were before Brian. They just had no name for them, and they refuse to blame me.

At first they forbade me from seeing him, my mother crying out that I had to make my choice; either leave him or leave home. My father began, and my mother agreed, that I should "at least" take a break. Two weeks, they've said, with no contact with him, during which time I am to seriously consider what it is I want from life. I've conceded this point, and conceded that he will not stay. I am not completely stupid after all, and I know I'm not worth much to most. Even so, should Brian decide he doesn't want me by the end of the two weeks I will leave it alone. But if he still wants me, and they still have an issue, away I go. I have places to go, and it's not just about Brian. It's about freedom.

So why do I feel like such a moron? Like such an angsty and unreasonable teenager?