Page 28 of The Breaking Pointe

a lifetime of regret

COLTON

In the end, my mother looks like she belongs in no place other than heaven while laying at peace in her casket. We got her a cream-color one, closer to gold because she’s worthy of it. I even had her name engraved into the side. Steven picked her dress in the shade of her favorite lavender color, which really brought it together. But it doesn’t make it less surreal.

Something that nobody tells you about your parents dying is that you’ll have to revisit the regret you once had for every stupid past decision you made that may have warranted their stress or disappointment. You revisit it because you’re angry that there was too many times you dedicated your youth to being irresponsible and ungrateful, when you could’ve done yourself a favor and listened. Of course, that’s what coming of age is about, but it makes no difference. Those mistakes could’ve been good memories to look back on. I could go on and on about how I could’ve been different, but it won’t alter the idea that we’re

all just a strange species, floating around on a rock. The only consumable alleviation is that most of us are equally as confused as our neighbors about what exactly our purposes in this life are. We all jump the gun—assuming we know what life has to offer,

and that we know what we want out of it. Until the road map changes.

The unfortunate part of being a person who jumps the gun is that you’re constantly over-expectant of the world around you. You don’t think—you know. You’re so sure of yourself that when it comes down to the final say, and you’re wrong, it hits like a truck. It leaves you wondering how you missed all of the signs. Every single time. Even though you do it over and over, you never learn.

It never changes. It’s the mere reason that my relationships fail, and my peers find me overwhelming. It’s the very thing that I hurt myself with, and it’s on constant replay. In some cases, it’s like the negative monster that creeps on your shoulder and convinces you nothing will go well. Sometimes you learn that the ending result is usually not bad, and that you panicked for nothing. Better than what you expected. Most of the time, though, that isn’t the case.

Like right now, for instance.

The reality of losing my mother is sitting in front of my face now, and there isn’t a thing I can do to change that. It’s worse than what I ever presumed it could be. Looking back at her turning into a vegetative state over the span of a year, the at- home nurse and hospice care was probably one of the only good decisions I made regarding my life. Making sure that the woman who took care of me all this time was taken care of for the last time.

I noted to Steven that it’s probably best for him to pack his

things and not stay there alone. It’s traumatic enough knowing she’s gone. Staying in the same house where she passed doesn’t make it better. I helped him prepare, of course. I couldn’t exactly leave his side at a time like this. He might not think I’m the greatest, but I know that the last thing that he needs is to be left alone—and to be honest, I need his company, too. The feeling of being alone and losing her can be felt together.

While planning the funeral, I realized that people rely on God more than I thought. Not just for blessings, but sanity and explanations for things that don’t exactly have answers. I always wondered why people trail to religion whenever death makes a cameo. Why is it so comforting to us to imagine an afterlife—or uncomfortable for us not to?

My mother used to drag me and my brother to church every Sunday without fail. At first, I never thought anything of it. Not until I was around the age of maybe twelve. I started to question why all these bad things kept happening if we were being good people. I felt as though nobody was worthy of my obedience or good nature if my sinless existence was being rewarded. I didn’t then, but I now know the reward in the long run is whatever feelings are left behind after the decision you made. Good or bad, you have to live with it. So, with that said, hopefully, you’ve made a good decision, because you can’t change any narratives or create any cover-ups to take your mind away from the inevitable after that. That’s what makes this quite possibly the hardest challenge I have ever taken on.

Which is rich, coming from someone who once adored a challenge.

My inability to react emotionally to everything is tormenting. It’s always been a struggle, but at a time like this, not being able to grieve the way I want is beyond me. It’s as if I don’t

care—when in fact, I’m in shambles. I’m on thin ice with Steven now, as well, because of it. I would love to give him a complete blueprint of my mental state, but it’s easier to tell him that it’s all gonna be okay. Unlike our dad, I always have tried to steer him into the idea that things were good before they were bad. I think he’s caught onto my act, though.

So has Noelle.

Since the news of my mother’s passing, there’s been moments where Steven becomes snippy with me, and I can tell what it’s about each time. He has a right to be upset. We’re both hurting in ways that can’t be comprehended on a surface level. There’s no good way for me to explain how I’m physically unable to show how I truly feel about it all, and it’s my fault. If I let it continue, it’ll be more than my fault.

It’ll be the reason my brother wants nothing to do with me. Adding to the multitude of stress, Trey had been helping Steven and I move him into my place for the time being. At least until he starts college. Even when I think I’ll be okay with sending him off on his own, I suddenly know exactly what my mother meant when she would freak out over one of her baby birds leaving the nest. It’s like sending them to war. I know what this world is capable of—but he has no idea. He’s still a child, in my eyes. There’s still so many lessons to be learned where he’ll find himself needing a mother or father, and he won’t have either one to call. I can be present and lend him every limb I have in order for him to triumph, but I can’t replace our parents.

As for my mother’s belongings, I’m stuck. I can’t bring myself to touch anything or take it from its place just yet. I’m not sure when I will. Until then, I’m more focused on the part of me that felt like it sailed away the minute Noelle told me she had passed. The awful, lonely, crippling feeling. I experienced just

about all of the firsts with my parents. I saw everything. From the moments they argued to the moments when it was just my mom, and all she could feel was alone. Down to the nights that she would only be able to cry and say, “It’s just me and you against the world, Cole. Nobody else.”

My heart can’t seem to let go of those memories without a fight.

And now, it’s just me. Suddenly, I’m not twenty-seven anymore, but instead, I’m five-years-old again, and I know nothing.

The burial is the longest part of funerals. Waiting for everyone to arrive at the grave to give a last goodbye feels like centuries. Then if that isn’t enough, you have to watch your loved one go six feet deep into soil in slow motion. Now that it’s all over, the heavy feeling in my head is gaining up on me again. While everyone is leaving, my dress shoes are planted in the grass, my eyes are stuck memorizing the details of the box my mother lays inside.

This is what hollowness feels like.

“Cole, man—I gotta get going. I have work I have to finish,”

Trey says after marching up to me through the damp grass”

You gonna be alright?”

His eyes squint a bit as he questions me.

My hands stuffed in my pockets, I detach my eyes from the hole in the ground and look at him.

“I keep looking at the hole as if it’ll disappear—and that this will all be a fabrication in my mind,”

I say, blankly.

The pause of silence between us tells me he can’t find anything good to say to me. Not that I’m sure there would be anything good to say at all.

“I’m sorry. I wish I had better advice for this,”

he says, his tone guilty and mellow.

My eyes waver back to the hole. He looks at Noelle who’s standing close beside me, then at me.

“Be good to yourself, okay? I love you like my own little brother,”

he says before looking at Noelle again”

Just…watch him for me, okay?”

He pats my shoulder, giving me one last look before he starts on his way.

Getting a glimpse of his exit, I catch the sight of Steven on a nearby bench, looking defeated.

“I know everyone is basically gone now—but we can stay, if you want?”

Noelle prods, rubbing my bicep as she speaks at a measured volume.

I shake my head”

No, I need to get Steven home. I’m sure he wants to get out of here.”

I sigh, pulling my hands from my pockets, using one to search for one of her hands.

She takes it, following me to collect Steven.

* * *

Throughout the day, the vision of her in the casket sits in my head. It’s equally as bothersome as all of the other visuals I get when I close my eyes. It doesn’t over power the one of my father, but it comes pretty close.

I thought a few beers would make me feel something other than sorrow, but I was incorrect with that assumption. It’s beer number three, and I’m still feeling nothing. To boot, Noelle’s been sleeping soundly while I throw them back and sit in my art room with multiple distractions. It’s not a lot—but working on Noelle’s music box is something. It’s coming along, too. I just need to somehow tune it, and then I can mold it all back together. I wish it was this easy to fix myself.

What a trick of the trade that would be. I’d never have a

problem again.

As expected, Steven is hidden, too. That part I can’t bestow judgment upon, as I, too, would rather isolate myself and hide from the world. Right now, it isn’t offering anything worth my while. And unsurprisingly, I think I managed to stay awake longer than everyone else. If I’m going to stay awake and dwell, I should do it alone. All I have to blame are the racing thoughts in my head and the endless tantalization of horrible possibilities to come. I finally got some peace and quiet, and I don’t want it.

I want anything but it.

Getting up from the wooden stool, I chug the last bit of my beer, stepping out of the art room and into the dining room, tossing the can in the trash. As I pass the couch, I take a few throw blankets that were draped along the back and lay them over Noelle and Bonnie as my last task before walking down the hall to the guest room. Clearing my throat silently, I give the door a gentle knock.

Getting no response, I knock once more, waiting a few seconds until I deem it time to possibly freak out.

Opening the door, slowly, I announce myself, “Steve, it’s me. You alright?”

I look around, inspecting the scene and seeing him lay in the middle of the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Fine,”

he murmurs.

“Alright. Make some noise next time, kid, don’t scare me,”

I say, leaning against the corridor.

“Gotcha,”

he murmurs again.

I rub my lips together, glancing behind me before I step into the room and close the door softly.

“Look, Steven. I won’t force you to stay here if you don’t want to. I know you’re moving into the dorms soon. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

I scratch the back of my

neck”

But, you know you’re welcome to stay.”

“I can’t go back there,”

he says, looking my way, but this time he sounds much clearer.

“Then don’t.”

I shrug, shaking my head.

He sits up, his gaze becoming a harsh grimace”

Why are you acting like she’s not dead? It’s been days, and you haven’t even shed a tear—not one.”

Looking off to the side, then the floor, I shamefully speak, “It’s not as easy for me, Steve.”

“Why not?! It’s never easy for you! Just say you don’t care, and move on!”

His anger and yelling brings him to his feet, a weariness lingering in his tone.

“Steven, you don’t think I’m hurt? I am!”

I ignorantly raise my voice and yell back”

I had to plan this entire goddamned thing, after planning out a comfortable way for her to die! All I’ve been doing is my best! I’m trying!”

Watching streams of tears fall from his eyes, he shakes his head before talking”

Try harder.”

Breathlessly, I exhale, dumbstruck.

“Can you just get out? Please?”

He buries his head in his hands, turning away from me.

Clenching my jaw tightly, I accept. “Fine.”

I turn to face the door, opening it and exiting quickly.

I begin closing it behind me, hearing footsteps shuffle behind me. When I turn around, Noelle is standing there—sleepy-eyed and holding herself.

“I’m sorry if you heard that,” I blurt.

“I’m only making sure things are okay between you two,”

she says, rubbing her eyes.

“I don’t know,”

I answer honestly, sliding past her to walk back to the kitchen.

She follows closely behind me, standing beside me as I sit at the island.

“Can I do anything?”

she asks as her fingers run through the hair on the back of my head.

“You being here is enough,”

I reassure her.

Her being here is as good as it’s going to get. I have her, and I have my sibling. I don’t have contentment or true happiness. All I can do is hope that it’s on the way.

Maybe it is.