off the end of the word with unspoken emotions. What if you tried?
“Yes.” I want to try.
“You take after your father, always looking for something better.” Her words slapped hard enough to slam me into the stove. The sharp corners of the burner knobs pressed into my hip, leaving the especially painful bruises of a slow, long lasting impact.
“Growing up isn’t the same as leaving.” Let me try.
“You could have chosen to grow up here. I don’t want to fight about this. I’ll cook tonight.” Firm resolve shot through her spine. Her tense jaw clamped down on her words. It didn’t feel like winning. Sharp rocks weighed down my heart, poked holes in the dreams.
“What? Don’t you have anything to say about it?”
“Well, you know, I wouldn’t mind it if you left. Just leaving me alone here. It’s just a shame. You could have stayed for so much.”
“Stayed for what? To be your farm hand forever?” I will try.
“Is that how you think I see you?” There’s no wall that can hold back a hurricane. They only break under the pressure. Her eyes were enough to crush any barrier.
“Mom, are you that desperate for me to stay?” My tone was measured and even, trying to hold back the pain tightening in my throat, choking my voice. “Do you feel alone?”
“I just want to keep my baby boy close. Make sure you turn into a good man.” The lies were syrup, dripping through the hurt.
“Haven’t you taught me well enough already?” I WILL try.
“You’re still a boy.”
“Not anymore, Mom.” I am trying.