Monologue About Moving Away
Clack, clack, clack. That is the noise my feet make when I usher myself up the stairs to safety. By safety, I mean my bedroom. Safe from? Not from the world, this isn’t a narrative about how the world is too hard for me to handle. Safety from my family rather. No, they’re not abusive and I don’t need to be saved from them. It’s more safety from not having to talk to them and just be by myself. Again, no, I don’t have long black straightened hair and listen to Metallica. I don’t like to be alone that much, it’s just a different story when I’m with my family. So, here’s the sitch: I love my family, they love me. But it’s easier to say you love someone when you tell them you do daily. Meaning, even if you tell the same people you love them everyday, do you say it out of a force of habit? Or do you say it because you mean it? I like to believe we mean it, but there have been doubts of mine that have truly scared me.
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November 18, 2015, my seventeenth birthday.
I had just gotten home from school and I was carrying a small bag of presents my two closest friends gifted me. That day started off better than any of my other birthday’s by said friends decorating my locker as a surprise. I remember stepping into the living room and instantly facing a 180 mood swing. I was having that feeling you get when you’re excited to eat leftovers of your favorite food, but then quickly remember the food was never there. Meanwhile, my Mom was feeling a typical case of motherly nosiness and asked what was inside the bag. After listing off most of the gifts, I came down to the last
one.
“-and this rainbow button,” I finish.
“Rainbow button? Kody you should know what you’re going through is a phase,” she defines.
“Mom, that’s not how it works,” I plead.
Confidently, she says, “C'mon, come back to me in 30 years and tell me you still like boys.” Mic drop. Even the birds outside stopped chirping.
“Oh, she doesn’t mean what she’s saying,” my dad says, entering the room to put in his two cents.
“No, she made herself loud and clear,” I say, gravitating towards my room. Fast forward to the end of the day, and it turns out no one would come check on me. I guess my room is so safe from my family it repels them away. It’s moments as such that make me question the integrity of their words, “I love you.” It’s bullshit, because they don’t love who I am. Therefore, they don’t love me. Thankfully, I can just stay safe in my bedroom until my feet have to make that familiar noise: clack, clack, clack.
November 18, 2015, my seventeenth birthday.
I had just gotten home from school and I was carrying a small bag of presents my two closest friends gifted me. That day started off better than any of my other birthday’s by said friends decorating my locker as a surprise. I remember stepping into the living room and instantly facing a 180 mood swing. I was having that feeling you get when you’re excited to eat leftovers of your favorite food, but then quickly remember the food was never there. Meanwhile, my Mom was feeling a typical case of motherly nosiness and asked what was inside the bag. After listing off most of the gifts, I came down to the last
one.
“-and this rainbow button,” I finish.
“Rainbow button? Kody you should know what you’re going through is a phase,” she defines.
“Mom, that’s not how it works,” I plead.
Confidently, she says, “C'mon, come back to me in 30 years and tell me you still like boys.” Mic drop. Even the birds outside stopped chirping.
“Oh, she doesn’t mean what she’s saying,” my dad says, entering the room to put in his two cents.
“No, she made herself loud and clear,” I say, gravitating towards my room. Fast forward to the end of the day, and it turns out no one would come check on me. I guess my room is so safe from my family it repels them away. It’s moments as such that make me question the integrity of their words, “I love you.” It’s bullshit, because they don’t love who I am. Therefore, they don’t love me. Thankfully, I can just stay safe in my bedroom until my feet have to make that familiar noise: clack, clack, clack.