A New Day

I can do it! I am in control! I am everything I believe I am! I make the decisions that determine my future! Today is the first day of the rest of my life!

Chase woke up with the same affirmations playing aloud that were his lullaby just seven hours prior. And each of the night-lighted nights before. Lip syncing, hoping the confidence would somehow permeate his core, that he might one day be able to shout them from the mountain top.

But today did not require climbing any mountains. Thinking back to yesterday’s session with Dr. Kelcheck, today all he had to do was open the front door, on his own, and stand on the welcome mat for fifteen seconds. That he could do. It was not too much. ‘I can do it! I am in control!’

Thinking on the future afforded him by just stepping outside. Excited. Soon he would be back in school. A freshman. That encouraged him. He felt himself growing stronger. More determined. Playing baseball instead of watching it on TV. Kissing a girl. Any girl. Instead of the tired daydream of Lacy Riley from third grade. Imagining what she would look like now. Soon, he would be driving a car.

Anticipation building. Rolling off the bed. Standing. Moving for the door. This was it. Ready. ‘I am in control! I am going outside!’

Making sure to shut the door behind him. Then opening it a crack. Then repeating the maneuver six more times.

Once complete, a confident one-hundred and eighty-degree rotation, then three steps to the top of the stairs. One stair at a time. It didn’t take any more than that. Just keep moving. ‘Two, three, four,’ he counted until there were no more, ‘fourteen.’

The foyer.

‘Keep moving.’

Stopped.

‘I am in control. Today is the first day of the rest of my life.’

A step.

Shaking.

Turning for the kitchen.

Moving again.

Calmer.

“Good morning Honey.”

Chase looked away. Knowing.

“Hi Mom. I will do it right after breakfast.”

With the needed false conviction of a long tested, yet strong mom, “I know you will Chase. I know you can do it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Walking to him, wholehearted, reaching for him, “I love you Chase Michael Laner! That’s what you need to hear. I love you whether you open that door today, tomorrow, or in ten years. I love you now. I will love you then. You are enough for me right here, right now. Do you hear me?”

He nodded. Squeezed. Released. Walking to the table. His hands on the back of a chair. His back, the only statement he could muster.

“Chase, talk to me. Remember what Dr. Kelcheck said? When you talk about it, you take away it’s power. I want to help. I want you to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it Mom. I really never planned to go out before breakfast. I just said that. I knew it would be better after breakfast.”

Silent tears falling. She settled before she spoke, “Honey. I don’t care. It’s not about going outside for me. It’s about talking to me. Or someone. You have to communicate.”

A struggle for something new, a tactic, a surrender that might change this day. Aware of the beautiful, amazing boy, that was wrapped too tight, in a blanket of fear, confusion, and pain, “You probably don’t know this but I live in fear every day. Maybe I need to be the example for you. I don’t know. Maybe my fears will scare you even more. Or make you feel guilty. I don’t know. But I want us to try something new Honey. 

“I am consumed by fear from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep. I am afraid you are missing out on something great. I am afraid it is all my fault. I am afraid I did something wrong that I don’t even know about that somehow hurt you. I am afraid your dad will give up on us. I am afraid that one day I will be gone and you will be all alone.”

Silence.

“It’s going to be okay Mom. What’s for breakfast?” Then to the sink to wash his hands. Soap. Scrub. Soap. Scrub. Then five more time, not even conscious of the pain caused to his dried, cracked skin. Without eye contact, he returned to the table and sat down.

As his mother bent towards him and enveloped him, “I know Sweetheart. It is going to be okay. Today is the day.”

As she turned towards the stove, she lifted her shirt so he might not see, and wiped away the salted drips from her cheeks.

“I have crepes made, sliced strawberries, and whipped cream. I also have some powdered sugar and maple syrup if that sounds better.”

Chase stayed where he was, beyond the table, a wall and a window, “It’s beautiful outside Mom. Don’t you think?”

“I haven’t even looked yet. Tell me about it. What do you see?”

“Nothing really. I was just talking Mom. Like you said.”

“I love that Chase. Tell me what is the most beautiful thing you see outside. Or better yer, tell me how it makes you feel.”

“Don’t be weird Mom. I know what you are doing. It has to come natural. You can’t act all weird and than think somehow I will open up and talk to Zombie Mom. It’s not like that. It’s going to happen by itself.”

“Okay Honey.”

Chase got up and grabbed a plate. Took and stacked five of the parchment looking rolls, keeping them tight to one side of the plate. He sprinkled them with the lighter than air powdered sugar, squeezed some syrup onto the opposite side of his plate, and made his way back to the table. He reached for the fork that for most would convey food from plate to mouth, and instead , placed it under the crepe stacked side of his lifted plate. With the angle set, he was confident the syrup would not touch his food until he was ready for them to meet. He touched his chin seven times, picked up the roll, and dipped it into the sugary liquid. 

“I hope you like the crepes. There’s orange juice in the fridge too. If you want it.”

With her emptied cup, drained of an early morning coffee that she couldn’t remember, she walked back to the counter that held the machine. Pulling the spent pod free, replacing it with a virgin one, she pushed the button and waited. 

Chase ate as if mute. Between each bite, soothed by the repetition of his own touch. Not another word spoken.

Steaming cup in hand, she walked out of the kitchen. Stopping only to caress the side of his face. Then on her way out, “I will be outside. I am going to drink my coffee on the porch.”

Though she had spent every sunlit morning he could remember, out there with her phone, reading and sipping, he felt it like an invitation. A taunt. Maybe it was. Maybe they all were. Maybe she had been waiting for him to join her all these years. He had always thought she just needed a break from him.

Today he would join her. Accept the invitation. Ask the question. 

Plate empty, he rinsed it in the sink. Washed his hands as required. Grabbed a cup, poured some of the juice, drank it, rinsed it as well. A final washing of the hands. Seven times.

Ready to do it. 

Maybe a cup of hot chocolate would be nice. Something for him to sip, too. For the pauses. The breaks between thoughts. The times you needed to be quiet. Consider. Today he would talk with her.

As he prepared it, the confidence began to build. ‘I can do it!’

Cup in hand he peered out the window again. It was beautiful. What could be less personal than telling her what he saw? It was a window to outside, not into his soul. Why could he not even answer the innocuous questions? 

It was intent. She wasn’t asking about what he saw. He could tell the difference. But was that so wrong?

Today would be different. He turned for the door, ‘I am in control!’

Out the kitchen door, back into the foyer, ‘Today is the first day of the rest of my life.’

In a split second, frozen.

‘Move.’

The mug began to wobble. 

‘I can do this.’

Setting the mug on the entry table just a few feet from the door, he took one more step. Chase placed his hand on the inside of the door. Could his mom feel him there? Then the handle. Just to feel it. Release and grab again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Then just release.

The familiar picture show began to play. No curtain to be raised or parted. The screen always ready. The projector, it’s own master. Baseball. Lacy. Driving. His dad walking out the door, again. This time, not coming back. Not needing to say it again, but doing it anyway, “He is too much. I can’t do it anymore.”

Chase knew it was true. He was the problem. Long before this house became his prettied jail cell, he knew. Back when it was only the repeating, the counting, the rituals. His own dad hated him. He pretended otherwise. But Chase knew. How could he ever tell his mom, he knew. She had worked so hard to protect him from what he already knew. He loved her for that.

He would protect her once more.

At the base of the stairs, he took the first one, and he began to count in his head, ‘One, two, three…’