Beautiful Boy(53)

I sat with both my parents for dinner, and a few couples I'd never met  before joined us at our table. It wasn't too bad since most of the  conversation didn't include me and had been between the other men.         

     



 

Once dinner was over, my father and the other guests we sat with excused themselves, leaving me with just my mother.

"You look well, Nolan. How have you been doing?" She turned in her chair  and placed her hand over my forearm. "I haven't talked to you in a  while. Anything new going on?"

The thing about my parents was they were night and day. However, they  worked together like a well-oiled machine. Just like with time, you  couldn't have the day without the night and vice versa. Where I was  skittish to tell my dad things, it came easier to open up to my mom.

"I've been seeing someone," I said before my throat closed up. "Well, I guess not really anymore."

"Why not?" Her brow furrowed with concern.

My mouth opened and closed so many times, I worried I'd never be able to  speak again. I grabbed my glass of water and hoped it would help  compose me enough to talk. The mere thought of Novah walking away from  me made me want to vomit.

"Do you remember Novah Johnson?" I asked, watching her eyes go wide and  bright at the same time. "Well, I had been seeing her. But I think she  finally gave up on me the other night."

"The girl from high school?"

I nodded and heard her whisper, "Oh." I knew I shouldn't have said  anything, but it was my mom. I'd never had trouble talking to her  before, only when my father was around.

I knew she was the same way, though. If it were just the two of us, she  spoke freely. Yet around my dad, she had a tendency to either side with  him if he were talking, or do nothing other than sit in silence. She  seemed afraid of him, but she grew up believing in the importance of  putting up a united front.

They were the team.

I was an outsider.

"I'm really happy to hear you've reconnected with her. It must've done  you some good because you appear much better than when you left home.  Although, I'm sad it's ended. It doesn't sound like something you were  ready for."

"I love her, Mom. I believe I loved her all those years ago, and every  minute in between. She's really helped me overcome so much, but I don't  think she wants to be held down by me anymore."

"I'm sure that's not the case."

"She kind of got me back into photography," I blurted out, not really  thinking about my words. After my chance encounter earlier, an odd sense  of confidence took hold of me, and the apprehension over the subject  seemed to wane.

"That's amazing. You've always loved it. I really wish you had never given it up. You were so gifted with the camera."

My easy stare turned into a glower, and I could sense it in every muscle  in my face. Even without that, I would've been able to register it by  her shocked expression. I hadn't meant for that to happen, but it was  one of those natural reactions I couldn't have stopped even if I'd  wanted to.

"Dad took photography away from me. He repeatedly told me how it would  never get me anywhere and it was nothing more than a hobby. Then he  shipped me off to war. How could you possibly be surprised I stopped  taking pictures?"

The gentle touch she had on my arm slid down until she held my hand with  hers, her confident gaze never leaving my face. "I've told you your  whole life you should never do something unless it makes you happy. You  should never be with someone unless you love them, and no matter what  anyone else says, if there's something you're passionate about, nothing  should ever get in the way of it. You have one life, son, and I thought  you, more than anyone, would understand that meaning."

I couldn't respond. Nothing came to me as I allowed her words to soak  in. She had always told me those things, starting from a very young age,  and I'd always tried to live up to them. But then my choices had been  taken away from me, which led to the life I now had. A life so void of  passion and love, her teachings seemed foreign.

She should've understood that.

I didn't think I had to remind her.

"When everything happened with that girl in high school, I didn't know  what to do. I was mortified for her, worried about you, and honestly, I  was simply scared. The last thing I wanted was for her or her family to  press charges against you and have to see you deal with those  repercussions. I was horrified it had happened in my house, with my son,  and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. The decision to have you go  into the Army wasn't made lightly. But it was done with the intention of  showing everyone involved we weren't hiding you or letting you get off  easy. We weren't using our political power to make the situation go  away. Clearly, we had no idea we'd go into war. No one did."         

     



 

I shook my head and turned my attention to the table. Frustration  bubbled up inside me at the inability to express myself to her. "I get  that, Mom. I'm not upset with you. I just don't understand how you can  sit here and support me like this. Why would you be happy at the idea of  me being with the girl who ruined my life, or with me taking up  photography again? The one thing which had set all this into motion?"

She snapped her fingers, forcing me to look at her once more. Her  expression was hard, and I knew I was in for a motherly lecture. "That  girl did not ruin your life. Shame on you for saying that."

Had I really said those words? I thought back and realized yes, I'd  actually accused Novah of destroying me. I didn't understand why I'd  done that. I knew better. If anything, I'd ruined hers, not the other  way around. And even that thought was ludicrous. I knew Novah … her life  had not been destroyed-by me or anything else. She was strong and  confident. Loving and supportive. Why had I said that?

You've damaged her enough for one lifetime.

She's destroyed enough of your life.

The voice rang loudly in my head, echoing until I couldn't hear anything  else. They hadn't been my words, but the words of someone else. I  hadn't believed them when I heard them, and I didn't believe them now.  Somehow, I'd inadvertently allowed my father's opinion to infiltrate me,  get inside my mind, and disintegrate my own thoughts.

My mother's eyes softened and she tilted her head, gazing at me with  sympathy and unbounded love. "Nolan, you have to stop this. Stop  allowing what's happened to you in your past affect your future. You  can't go back and change things. The only thing you can do is adapt.  Like your leg. It couldn't be reattached, so you got a new one. A  sturdier one. Don't try to rewrite history. It'll only hurt you in the  end. Adapt, son."

I couldn't help but think back to Novah telling me those same words. I'd  dismissed them at the time, too stubborn to see how right she was. But  hearing them again, especially from my own mother, it did something to  me. It changed me.

"I think I lost her … " I mumbled, my voice too hoarse to produce strong enough words.

"No such thing. I don't presume to know her or your relationship … but I  know you. And after what I've heard you say tonight, I can only imagine  what it's been like for her, because I've been there, too. Trying to  save someone who isn't ready for salvation can be exhausting. It's  excruciating to watch someone you love hate themselves so vehemently and  you can't do anything to stop it."

The muscle in my forehead grew taut as I stared at her, wondering what  she meant by that. I'd never heard her talk this way before, and I could  only assume she meant me.

"You're too focused on everything that has happened to you, and it makes  it impossible to see the things happening around you. At some point,  you have to stop reminding yourself of the mistake you made when you  were eighteen, or that you had to grow up too fast overseas. You can't  keep staring at your leg, hoping it'll grow back. Instead, you should be  observing the life around you. You have so many people in your life who  love you, but you refuse to let their love in."

"That's not true." I didn't really have the right to argue with her, but  I knew one thing. "I allowed her to love me. I allow you to love me. To  say I refuse to be loved is simply not true."

She ran her fingers along the side of my head, through my hair like she  used to do when I was young. It offered me comfort, even though I didn't  realize I needed it at the time.

"Nolan … there's a difference between letting those around you love you,  and opening up to them, allowing them to be a part of your life. You  can't simply take their love and not give them reassurance in return.  I'm sure she has her reasons for backing away, and if you allow yourself  to, you'll not only see them, but you'll understand them as well."

My father took the stage and tapped on the microphone. The loud boom  echoed and caught everyone's attention. But my mom didn't turn away from  me.