What Is Normal? Can I Be?

I ran to the basement and gathered rollers, pans, brushes and a little foam brush to do the trim which I hoped worked because I didn't want to tape all of the trim.  I just wanted to paint it and be done.  I went back to the basement after carrying all of that upstairs and grabbed the old fan off of the shelf.  I opened all of the windows in my room and set the fan in the middle window and turned it on to suck the paint smell out of the room.

By the time Shaun got there I had the foam brush and was starting the trim around the closet door.  I ran downstairs to let him in.  He was dressed in old shorts that showed off some very tan and very well shaped legs. An old t-shirt of some baseball team that looked like it had been through a few other paint jobs.  My chest did a little flip flop when he smiled at me and then followed me upstairs.  He didn't have his glasses on so I assumed he had contacts in.  I liked how he looked with his glasses.  Without his glasses made him look much younger.  I was pretty embarrassed by the way I looked but he did ask for this.

"So you need to get this done today?"  He said as he looked in to my room.  "You're kidding, right?"  He looked around the room.  

"You don't think we can? It's 'one coat' paint."  I pointed at the can.

He just looked at me and smiled.  "We'll see, but this is a pretty big room.  And you'll be lucky if it really covers in one coat."

"I think we can do it.  Besides, I won't be able to stand it if I don't get it done."  I picked up the foam brush and the old butter container I was using as a little bucket.  "From the looks of your shirt you've done this before."  

"We just painted most of the inside of your house and I helped my older brother paint his not too long ago.  Good thing I saved my grubbies."  He gestured to his clothes.  He didn't wait for me to tell him what to do.  He took a brush and started on the trim around the windows after putting the paint can at his feet.  I really like the look of this color going on over the yellow.  The yellow was just too bright and doesn't suit me.

I looked over to watch him and he was carefully but quickly trimming the window.  He turned to look at me and smiled "I'm glad you let me come over."

"I can't say I mind the help.  And I'm glad you came over."  We started to talk and paint and neither of us stopped doing either until I heard mom come in downstairs.   I put the roller I was now using, down, and told him to come with me.  I couldn't believe it was after 4:00.  We walked in the kitchen and mom was standing there opening the mail.  I introduced mom to Shaun and could see she was thrilled.  She looked so happy I couldn't help but feel good.  I got some pop out of the refridgerator and handed one to Shaun.  The pop all but disappeared.  I didn't realize how raw my throat felt until I drank the pop and must have washed down all of the paint fumes with it.  

"I didn't know you were planning on painting your room today."

"I wouldn't say I was 'planning' on it.  But I didn't have anything else to do...."

"How does it look?"

"Pretty good, I like it."  Shaun was obviously a little shy as he stood there just grinning.  Mom picked up on it.

"I think I'll go up and look at it.  I'm going to put some shorts on and I'll go get some pizza for dinner.  That all right with you two?"

Shaun nodded.  He's parent shy!  "Sounds fine mom."  I got myself and Shaun a glass of ice water.  Mom left the room with a mom smile plastered on her face.  We sat at the table to take a break.

"I get so nervous around other people's parents."  He drank half of the water and got up to refill it at the sink. He sat back down.

"That's kind of funny.  I wouldn't have suspected you of being nervous around anyone."

"You've got to be kidding.  Why would you think that?"

"I don't know.  I guess I see you as popular, easy going, always comfortable.  Not the nervous type."  He looked at me like he was trying to figure something out.  His looking made me uncomfortable.  I drank my water taking care to look in my glass as I was drinking.

"I guess we aren't always what we seem."

"I guess not."

"Now if were to talk about you...."

"Let's not."  The water looked very interesting.

"It's nothing bad.  But I would have to say you're very studious.  Very serious, quiet.  You seem to always have a purpose."  I laughed and he grinned.  "Is that not true?"

"Well, I guess I always felt flighty.  Maybe not flighty.  But 'studious'?  I think that would be a stretch.  It seems kind of difficult for me to focus well enough to be considered studious."

"See what I mean?  I guess I can kind of see why you thought I was comfortable around others, because it's what I had to do.  Or what I did to get what I wanted.  I liked sports so obviously I had to be around others who were part of that world.  Coaches, other kids, parents.  Anyone 'new' in my life makes me nervous. You appear to be studious because you have to work harder at it.  But yeah...being around people isn't always easy for me.  They make me nervous."

"What about me?"  I had no problem looking at him while he spoke now.  His voice was gentle and he was trying to tell me things about himself.  He didnt' want that 'new' to be a problem.

"If I hadn't been so scared of meeting people, or worried about what you thought of me.  I would have asked you out two years ago."

"What??????"   He's liked me for two years????

"I swear."

"You are so kidding."

"No I'm not.  I've wanted to talk to you for two years."

"Why didn't you?"  I remember this conversation from the graduation party.

"I just told you."  Mom came downstairs and walked in just long enough to say the room looked nice and she was leaving to get pizza, tell dad she would be right back.  Shaun smiled at her and she floated out of the house.

"We better get back to work."  I headed up the stairs and he followed.  We picked up where he had left off.  Painting and talking.

With his back to me  he continued talking.   "Why don't you believe that I wanted to ask you out for two years?"

"I don't know.  I haven't had time to give it thought. I guess it's just funny to think about someone liking you for two years.  It's kind of flattering."

"Well....you're welcome."

"Well....thank you."  We looked at each other over our shoulders and I felt a very unfamiliar tingle of excitement.  But it was a good tingle.  Tingle isn't  a good word.  Thrill is more like it.

Fresh Paint Fresh Life

Breaking with tradition, or my newly self diagnosed OCD, I made my way to the kitchen in the morning before I took a shower so I could get a glass of pineapple juice.  Mom had left me a note on the table saying Shaun had called and then had called again because I hadn't returned his first call.  I took my juice upstairs  so I could get my shower and contemplate calling Shaun.  I went over and over  our conversation at the graduation party and then the party at his house.  I couldn't help but get excited that he was interested in me.  He sure was not difficult to look at either.  By the time I got out of my shower I was ready to call him, but nervous.  Okay, maybe I wasn't ready to call him.  But I kind of wanted to.

I towel dried my hair and pulled it back into a pony tail.  I dressed in denim shorts and a t-shirt with Winnie The Pooh on it.  Mom loved buying me character t-shirts.  She said it made her happy to buy happy little creatures with happy little faces.  I think it was her way to tell me to smile more.  Or maybe she just really liked these guys.

I dialed Shaun's number and got his voice mail.  I left a message for him and hung up.  I sat on the couch.  A whole day.  With nothing to do.  I laid back on the couch  and swung my feet up on the other end.  A day made for lounging.  I closed my eyes and tried to relax.  Tim was the first thing I thought of and my brain drifted right back to yesterday.  This happened to him.  I snapped up, swung my feet back down to the floor. Nope, not going there right now.  I went to the basement, didn't mom tell me she had bought that paint I had asked for-for my bedroom?  There were two gallons of new paint sitting by the shelves filled with old paint cans, tools, paint rollers and pans, electric cords, old fan, and various items I did not recognize for use but recognized because they had been there forever.

I took the paint upstairs and set it in the hallway outside of my room.  I went in my bedroom and for five seconds stared at everything.  Bookshelves, desk, dresser, televisions, all of the things I had gathered in the last 18 years that made a running history of my life.  I went back to the basement for some boxes, found only one big box and went back upstairs to start packing.

Quickly I took things from the walls and shelves that I decided I could live with packed in a box and placed in the closet.  I couldn't get rid of anything but I could live with it in there.  I turned my stereo on to my favorite station, I wanted music blaring in the room, not through little ear buds from my ipod and took my time filling the box.  The room seemed quite bare when I was done.  It was a pretty big room but still, eighteen years of stuff adds up no matter how big the room is.  While packing everything I seemed to notice more dust than I had previously noticed or even thought possible.  So back to the basement I went for a bucket and rags.  Very quickly, because I wanted to get to the painting and have it done, I wiped down the walls and the shelves where things no longer sat.  After that was finished I returned to the basement to find the tarp dad kept there for his painting projects.  I dragged it up to my room which was no small feat.

In my head I planned all of this prep work to take a matter of minutes.  By the time I shoved all of the furniture in to the middle of the room, stripped my bed and covered it with a couple of older sheets, piled everything I could UP to make the pile smaller in circumference but higher by stragetgy, a couple of hours had passed.  Now I was sweaty, dirty and hungry.  Did I want to eat?  Yes.  Did I want to get this painted and returned to order?  Yes.  Instinct was to go and go and start painting, work until I was completely finished.  I couldn't stand the clutter and disarray.  I looked at the pile of my room, in the middle of my room, looked at the walls that I would need to wash down again because they were still not clean and had the sinking feeling my little job was not so little.  I made myself stop.  I took a deep breath.  Where as all of this going.  I looked at the once green, now spotted, tarp covered pile in the center of the floor.  I had no where to rush off to.  Go eat.  Then come back and clean again.  And paint.

As I was walking in to the kitchen the house phone rang.  It was Shaun.   "Hi Nicky, you are a hard person to get hold of."

"Sorry Shaun, Tim was over yesterday and we cooked out for mom and dad and then I was talking to dad and I didn't get a chance to call."  I almost said I forgot but I didn't want him to think I had forgotten about him.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Tim?"  There was a question in his voice but before I had to think about answering it, which I didn't want to he went on.   "Well I was calling to see if we could get together.   Maybe go out?"

"Yes.   No."

"Am I suppose to pick which one of those answers I want?  If so, I pick yes."

He made me smile.  More.  "I pick yes, but I can't today.   Not now."

"Oh."  Not as happy as he was a second ago.

"Let me explain.  I got up and didn't have anything to do so instead of lounging around doing nothing I decided to paint my room so right now I have everything scrubbed down, pushed in the middle of the floor and covered with a tarp and I was just going to eat real quick and go back upstairs and paint my room because I want it all done and put back together tonight."  I said it all in one breath, as quickly as I could because I wanted him to hear me and believe me.  Why I thought he might think I would lie to him escaped me at the moment.

"Can you breath now?"  I could hear the happy back in his voice now.  "Sounds like a lot of fun.  Why don't I come over and help you and then we can make plans for even more fun."

"I don't think so."

Silence for a beat.  "You don't want me to come over?"

"No.  No I'm not saying that.  But that just doesn't seem right."

"Well Nicky I think it would be very right.  I would really like to see you and I think we would have a good time painting and talking.  It would be like playing cards.  Conversation sure seems easier when your doing something else."

"I would feel pretty selfish having someone I just started to get to know come over here and help me paint my room."  He didn't say anything.  He was waiting for me to just say okay.  "Okay, but you have to promise to leave if you get here and think there is no way you want to spend your day painting this room."

"I'll do that.  Well, I won't do that. But if that was how I would feel I would do that.  But it isn't."

He didn't need directions and said he would be here in less than an hour.  After I hung up I hurredly ate a bowl of cereal and went to my bathroom to see how I looked.  Criminy.  I brushed my hair out and pulled it back into a pony tail again.  I felt grimy...but hey.  I'm painting here.  I washed my face and neck and felt a little better but couldn't believe I was letting him come over to one; see me like this and two; help me paint my room.

The Worst Part of His Story

"You know Nicky, you don't seem too bothered to talk about this."

"If you don't have a problem talking about it, I'm okay with it.  But why did you want to talk to me?"

"I don't know, I really don't.  I just got the feeling it would be okay to talk to you."

"Why not Mary?  You two seemed to get pretty close this last year.  You never told her?"

"No, I never told her.  Maybe the fear of scaring her off.  I don't know.  It's not like I tell everyone I know about this.  This is the first time I've told anyone since I started high school.  I guess I'm always worried about what someone might think.  Would they think I'm telling them because I want pity, or sympathy?  They just don't understand that sometimes I need  to talk about it.  Just like anything else that happens in your life.  Not talking about it doesn't change it or make it go away.  Not that talking about it makes it feel better, or different."  He shrugged his shoulders and like many people do when they cant find the words to empty their thoughts he muttered "I don't know."

"It makes sense to me that you need to talk about it.  I don't think there are many people who will look at it the same way though.  It's pretty difficult for people to hear, to talk about."  He is echoing my thoughts.  My fears.

"Why doesn't it bother you?"

"I don't know".  I felt guilty.  Do I tell him to make him feel better?  Why would telling him make him feel better?  Just to know I really do understand what he means, how he feels.  Maybe telling him, and letting him know that someone else really does get it.  Do I tell him?   "I don't know if I would feel comfortable talking about this with just anybody."   I totally understand being selective.  Fearing how someone will react.

"I've been wanting to talk to you.  I don't know why.  Maybe because I didn't think you would judge me, or feel sorry for me."   

"I wouldn't say I don't feel sorry for you.  Maybe you don't want to hear that.  But I'm not happy this happened to you."  I stressed the word 'happy'.  I looked at him for understanding, he smiled.  He understood.  "I understand what you mean about just needing to talk about it, just like anything else.  Good things, bad things, they are better or made easier by sharing I guess.  I feel sorry for your dad."

"Why?"

"I would think it would be pretty difficult for a parent to hear this has happened to their child and then have to deal with the guilt of feeling like they hadn't protected their child."

"But I don't feel like that.  I don't blame dad, or mom.  Only person is to blame for this.  I wish dad could understand that."

"What does your mom feel...think...say."

"Who really knows.  I think she wants to be emotional and crazy about it but she kind of follows dad's lead.  It's time now to put this behind us and worry about what we need to do for the future."

I looked at him as he changed his voice making that comment.   "Is that your dad talking?"

"Yeah."  Quietly we sat.  I wanted to ask how he told his parents, how did they find out.  Did he tell?  Maybe he didn't.  I was afraid he would think I was being curious just to be nosy.  When did all of this happen?  How did he get through every day?  Did he think about it, not think about it.  WHAT went through his head.

I felt the exhaust fumes building in my chest  He said I could ask him anything.   "Tim I hope it's okay to ask you think but if you don't want to talk about it I understand."  He visibly held his breath.  He thought I was going to ask details.  The physical stuff.  I hurried since he didn't say no.  "How did you tell your mom and dad?"  Instantly he let go of his breath and looked at me, we had been staring at the back yard most of this conversation.  We now locked squarely on each other's eyes.

"Uh...that's odd."

"What?"

"I don't know.  I guess of all of the questions I expected, it wasn't that."

"Oh, well, I guess I just wondered how you, or why you..."  I felt myself stumbling awkwardly.

He stared at me for just a second.  Then he turned to look at the yard.  I did the same.  "Well, it happened a lot.  I remember being so scared all the time.  Scared of everybody and everything.  I was scared to be alone and I was terrified of being with people.  I remember how I felt that night I told mom.  It was the worst feeling and I don't think I could explain it to anyone.  Dad wasn't home.  I think mom knew something was wrong.  I also think she was scared to find out.  I don't know that, I just guess at that.  Anyway, we were watching TV and the lights were out.  Mom was sitting on the couch.  I was sitting on the floor close to her feet.  I wanted to be close to her, but I didn't want to be close enough to touch her.  Isn't that weird?"   He looked at me for a second and I gave him a little smile, he didn't want an answer.  But my answer would have been 'no, it's not weird at all'.   "I don't remember what we were watching.  Everything was going over and through my head.  I thought nothing could be worse than what had happened so if mom and dad got mad at me at least it would still be better than what was going on.  I felt like the house was shaking all around me.  And my insides were on fire.  Mom said later she could feel me shaking even though we weren't close enough to be touching.  She got down on the floor next to me.  She thought I was sick.  She touched my forehead to see if I had a fever.  As soon as she touched me I thought I was going to go in to spasms.  I think I freaked her out."   He stopped for a minute.  Surely he was reliving that again and I felt bad for asking.   This had to be one of the worst moments of his life, the fear of telling, of becoming....different to them.  "Instantly she just pulled me to her and held on and I started crying.   She started crying.  I couldn't talk for a few minutes but finally....I told her."  He stopped to look at me.  He looked away when I didn't look back at him.  I couldn't.  My own eyes were full. "Sometimes I wish I had never told."

Now I did look at him.  "Why?"   I know I had needed desperately to talk to someone, it's why I told Mary.  And I often regretted telling her, for my sake, and for hers.  

"I use to think that no matter what happened to me, I could deal with it.  But there were times when I didn't think I could handle what it did to mom and dad.  I mean, I'm glad I told them.  But there were times when I would have given anything to take it back so they didn't know."

"Why?"

"There was nothing I could do to help them.  Nothing.  I'll never forget hearing mom come in to check me every night.  Two or three times a night.  I think she still does sometimes.  The worst was when I would hear them crying.  Both of them.  And they were crying because of me."

"They didn't blame you."

"I know that.  I understand why they were crying but doesn't make it any easier when a ten year old boy hears his mom and dad crying.  I think it was worse than anything that happened before or since.  Court was pretty bad though."

"Court?"   He looked at me in surprise at my exclamation.

"Yeah, mom and dad pressed charges."  

"You had to go to court?"  

"No, the guy plead and spent less than a year in jail.  He didn't even go to prison.  Just jail."  I couldn't imagine going to court and telling people what had happened.

"Is he still around here?"

"No, he wasn't from around here.  This happened before we moved here.  After everything was over dad thought it was best that we move away because this guy wasn't going anywhere when he got out.  His family was all over the place."

I said....NO

My radio alarm sat quietly in the dark.  I turned the music on quietly and scooted back until I was in the corner where my headboard met the wall.  I pulled the covers up over me, trying to make sure the covers stayed neat on the bed but all of me was covered.  It was very frustrating that I couldn't have it both ways.  I got up, made the bed and took an old comforter out of my closet, got back up on the bed in that same corner and covered up with the old comforter.  I liked this comforter.  No matter how old it was, it was still thick and soft.  I kept it in my closet where I kept my sheets and blankets for my bed.

That's another thing mom couldn't understand.  Why I took all of my bedding out of the linen closet in the hallway and put it in my bedroom closet.  The best reason I could give her was that I liked the feeling of all of my stuff being in "my" place.  Which was my room of course.  Actually, that's the best reason I could give myself.

I thought of Mary.  Her room really looked nice today.  Leaps and bounds better than what it usually looks like.  I looked around at my own room and felt good about it's neat appearance.  I took a lot of pride in keeping it neat and clean.  Funny, it drove Mary crazy to be in my room, you'd think it would drive me crazy to be in her room.  But it didn't.  I never felt uneasy in there.  I need to ask mom if I can paint the walls a cream color.  I really don't like these yellow walls.  And I need to move the furniture.

I thought all night.  Or so it seemed.  It felt like I was consciously thinking all night.  About the furniture in my room.  But somewhere in the night I had slid down until I was on my side with my back up against the wall and my head pressed in to the headboard.  I woke before the alarm went off.  Feeling kind of hazy I went through my morning routine of eating with mom and dad, showering, brushing my teeth in my robe and then going to my room for make up and getting dressed.

I stood at my dresser looking in the mirror.  At the makeup sitting neatly in it's basket.  I didn't feel much like looking good today.  Still wet, I brushed my hair out and pulled it back with a plain hair band in to a simple pony tail.  I dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt that was very soft, with our school logo on it.   I looked in the mirror, I looked young in the clothes, I felt.... what I thought eighty must feel like.  Maybe eighty doesn't feel this way.  Maybe this is what seventeen feels like when it doesn't feel right.  Great, a gloomy day was to be had by me today.  Knowing sure made it seem unavoidable.

The day went relatively fast and passed by without me being very much a part of it.  By the time I found myself in the newspaper room I didn't even remember most of the day.  I checked my notebooks and saw my notes for the day and my homework listed in my day planner, that kind of brought the day back to me.  I remembered the words and writing them.  I tried hard to focus on the work at hand now.  We were editing our first final draft of the year for our school paper and we were all pretty excited.  Mary came in late.  

She sat next to me exclaiming "what a day!"  She was smiling, like most times.  Sometimes it just felt good to be with someone who just felt good.  Like I could just absorb that feeling.  She turned to me and whispered "I think Tim Shyder likes me."

"How do you know?" I whispered back.  She grinned and shrugged, he had just walked in and sat at the table next to ours.  He looked at her and she smiled.  I turned my attention to the draft of the page I was working on.  Before I knew it, Mary was at the other table talking with Tim.  I hope he likes her.  Mary then started going back and forth between me at my table and Tim at his table.  Which was a little annoying, but bearable. For some reason I was very uninterested in this usually exciting exchange of 'discovering if someone-likes-someone-else' type drama.

Soon enough Mary and I were heading out the front door of school.  Mary had her parent's car, I really felt like walking but I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I got in the car and we headed home.

"Tim asked me out".   She was nearly giddy.

"I didn't even know you liked Tim."

"I didn't either, I don't know if I do.  It's just....he likes me, that's kind of neat.  So why not go out and see if I like him too."

"Oh."

"Oh?  Is that all you say is 'oh'?"

I can't say that id really doesn't matter to me because I can't think of anything clearly.  I and really DON'T have any feelings about it.  So I punt.  I turn sideways in my seat and smile at her.  "I'm sorry Mary, I was still thinking about the paper.  I have to refocus.  Are you going to go?  I mean, where are you going.  And when are you going?"

That was all she needed to hear.  She spent the rest of the drive home telling me they were going out Friday, tomorrow.  And they were going to start with the high school football game.  Then go out to eat from there.

"You don't mind do you?"  She said as we slammed the car's doors shut after she parked behind her house.  I pretended the sound of the doors made it  so I couldn't hear her.  "I'm sorry I couldn't hear you."

"About the game tomorrow, you don't care if I go with Tim do you?"

Somewhere over the past week we must have said we were going together.  "No, no you go ahead.  Mom and dad would probably like having me home for a night."

"You aren't even going to go?"  She feigned surprise though both knew she wasn't surprised at all.  

I felt like I had to say just the right thing.  I don't want her to worry about me, feel guilty or think there was something wrong.  "No, I really think I've been neglecting them lately.  I really think they would feel good if they thought I was staying home to be with them."

"Okay....are you coming in?"   She had started to walk up the back steps of the house.  But I had stood still.

"No, I told mom I would start dinner tonight, and I think I'm going to try and get my homework done earlier.  I didn't get it done until 10:30 last night."

We rambled on a little then she went in and I headed home.  Mom and dad's cars were gone and I let myself in to the house.  I dropped my backpack on the bottom step of the stairway to the upstairs.  And went to the kitchen.  

I almost sucked my tongue down my throat when I saw Doug sitting at the kitchen table.  I stopped dead in my tracks.

Shit.

"I let myself in with the key they gave me.".  Where was his car?  "I parked a little down the street. I thought you might be trying to avoid me."   He stood up.  I took about five steps back in to the hallway.  He stepped forward and I stepped further back, in to the living room.  "Why are you backing up?  You act like you're scared of me.  You know you don't have any reason to be scared of me Nicky."

Get away from me!  You are a sick son of a bitch!  Why couldn't I open my mouth and scream at him!  

He stepped up to me and put his arms around me.  The stench of his cologne clogged my nose.  I couldn't breath.

"Don't....touch.....me."

I kept my arms by my sides, which were trapped by his arms around me anyway.  I didn't fight.  I never had.  And I had never, ever, said "don't touch me".

But I did, this time.

He put his hands on my shoulders and stepped back to look down at me.

"What did you say?"  I stepped back and his hands fell by his side.  I think he looked scared.

"Don't touch me."

"Why Nicky?  You always like this, with me."  Hesitantly he took a step towards me.  I couldn't scream at him all of the things that were screaming in my head.  It wasn't even words.   It was was pain.

Anger.

Disgust.

Guilt.

Shame.

It was every fear I had ever had in my life.  What was it he thought I liked?  Which one of these things screaming in my head was the part I liked?  Was it the five year old that decided I liked this?  Or the seventeen year old who felt like a whore.  Felt like trash.  Felt like everyone else was better than her.

"Don't touch me."  I couldn't say anything else.  My insides were quivering so much I thought surely he could see my whole body shaking violently.  But he just looked at me.  There was nothing else I could do.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't say anything.  He stared.  I stared at the empty space next to his ugly head.  Finally, it had to have been hours, he walked past me and out the door.  I didn't move.  I didn't breath.  After what had to have been less than a minute that lasted for years I heard a car start in the distance.  It had to be him leaving.  

It can't be over.

Gone.

For good?  For good.  I knew it.  It was over.  He knew it.  On shaky legs I walked into the kitchen.  Maybe seven minutes had passed since I had come home.  I unlocked the back door and walked my very, now obviously, shaking body outside.  I walked to the middle of the yard and sat down.  How long?  Ten years, twelve, more?  I was cold.  I was trembling-no-shaking.  I looked at my hands, and watched them shake.  My heart was beating in my ears.  Leaves are everywhere.  Why didn't this feel better?  I wanted to scream.

I had the urge to get up and physically run.

But all I could do was sit there.

I wanted to beat the hell out of something.   I clenched my hands in to fists.

All I could so was sit there.

I closed my eyes and all I could see was white, hot white!  I put my fists to the sides of my head and pushed on my head.   All this time....

All this time and all I had to say was 'don't touch me'.   He just walked out.  And that's all it took?

At some point I got up and went inside.  Mindlessly I set about to making something for dinner.  Somehow I finished it, sat down with mom and dad when they came home and ate it and made my way upstairs to do my homework.   But I sat.  Unaware of anything else because my brain was so full of this.  I heard mom and dad downstairs.  I didn't really want to be around anyone.  But knowing them, one of them would be up here before too long to see if I was okay.  I might as well head them off at the pass.

I moved.  Automatically.   Which felt so normal to me.

I made myself go downstairs.  They were just going out on the porch.  I followed.  They sat on the swing at the far end of the porch and I sat on one of the gliders.   "What brings you down from your sanctuary?"  Dad put his arm around mom while looking at me.  A show of comfort that I did not take any comfort from.  I guess he wanted me to reply in some way.