“You know, kids used to make fun of me, too.” My voice is soft and weak, like I’m back there, in the playground, in the high school cafeteria, at home in my room, nursing my pain, licking my wounds.
Matty’s body stiffens, and in a nanosecond, he’s turned over, bouncing the bed with the slight body weight he has, flopping down on his pillow and staring up at me with eyes so much like his father’s.
“Is that true?” He breathes out the last word like he can’t really believe it, like I just told him that unicorns exist and we’re going to go see one today.
“Yeah. Everyone in my grade used to make fun of me. But I had some friends who made me forget about all that stuff for the day. They helped make me feel better. Do you have any friends at school who can help you like that?” Say yes, Matty, please, for my sanity. Say yes.
“You’re not sick.” He says the last word like he’s kicking a turd away from him or something. Seeing his disgust in regards to himself makes me want to punch something.
I shrug, and lean down so that we share the same pillow now. “It didn’t matter. People, anybody, they make fun of you because you’re different. It’s the way it is, little man, and I’m sorry about that.” What can I say? What can I do?
“How are you different?”
My throat tightens up again, and my nose starts stinging. I don’t want to cry, I don’t want to show him that it still hurts, that you never really forget when others cut you down.
“I’m not... I’m not like everybody else.” There. Good enough explanation. Drop it, kid. But his blue eyes are wide and his face is just staring at me like whatever I’m saying is exactly what he needs to hear. “I’m not...” God, just say it. “I’m not beautiful like other girls,” I say, the words tiny and small, just big enough to fit in his ears and nobody else’s. “A lot of people made fun of me because of that.”
Matty throws back the covers with such energy, with such force, I half expect him to call down the power of Grayskull without the aid of a sword and fight whatever evil I can’t see.
“Who said that to you? I’m gonna – I’m gonna kick ‘em in the shin!”
Yeah, he’s my kid. I want him to be mine, I can’t lie to myself anymore.
“Matty, I’m telling you this because I want you to know you’re not alone.” Maybe I’ve gone and ruined everything. What’s the standard answer here? Do I tell him to ignore it? To pretend they don’t exist? And what happens if he starts crying, or gets into a fight? Or worse, starts believing what they tell him?
“Find a friend at school who makes you laugh, or who you can play hide and seek with and doesn’t mind if you get tired too fast.”
“I don’t know anybody like that.” He looks so crestfallen, shoulders slumping.
“I bet you do, you’re just not thinking properly. I think you have a bad memory, kid. Any other boys or girls?”
His eyes light up with a memory. “Candace likes Harry Potter, too! She told me one time, when we were sitting next to each other at lunch.”
“How do you know she likes Harry Potter?”
He looks at me like I’m not very bright. “She said his name, Sera.”
“Right,” I nod. Crisis averted, I think.
“Good morning, kid,” Hunter’s morning-voice floats to me from the Matty’s doorway. Frak, how long has he been standing there? I’m kind of scared to look – is he wearing a shirt? Sweats? I can’t handle Hunter-in-boxers this morning, not after what happened last night.
Parenting is hard.
“Hi, Daddy! I’m hungry.” Whatever tension had passed between us moments ago is gone at the sight of his Dad. Maybe he doesn’t want his Dad to know what he’s going through.
“Eggs and bacon?”
“Uhhhhhh,” Matty says, “are there sausages? I like sausages better.”
Hunter smirks, and looks at me now that I’m sitting up and facing him. “Yeah, I got that, Matty. Brush your teeth and come help. We’re going to make Sera breakfast today.”
I see Matty in my peripheral vision tilt his head to the side.
“How come?”
I feel like Hunter wants to rub his skull-trim, a sure sign that he’s uncomfortable. Instead, the smirk on his face explodes out into a full-blown smile. Wow. They could bottle that and enslave the whole female population.
“Sometimes when someone makes you feel happy, you do things for them without saying thank you,” Hunt tells him, keeping his eyes locked on me. Well, if that doesn’t just warm me right up. I will not swoon. Who am I kidding - I can’t feel my knees.