Page 16 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar
I don’t sleep tonight either, but this time instead of lying down and trying to ignore The Thoughts, I don’t even bother closing
my eyes. It’s almost like I was a dying car battery that just got jumped. All the energy I’ve been missing for the last couple
weeks is suddenly in my grasp.
I remember the counselor’s offer from before. If I finish my overdue homework, it’ll probably be enough to get my mom to ease
off, even with me having failed a test. Which will hopefully get Yami and Jamal to stop worrying, too.
I sit at my desk and get started.
While I know this stuff, it’s still not exactly quick work. I feel like they make this shit purposely time-consuming just
to steal our lives away. Still, I’m faster than most, so by the time I finish, the sun still isn’t up. I check my dying phone.
Three in the morning.
What else can I do to make things up to my mom and Yami?
I jump up and quickly start cleaning my room, which I’ve been putting off so long I’m surprised my clothes haven’t fossilized on the floor.
With how much energy I have, though, it only takes me a half hour or so to organize everything and put away my laundry.
But now I’m in a cleaning mood, so I expand my chores to the rest of the house.
First up, dishes. I do them as quietly as I can manage. I sweep next, then scrub the floors. I do it on my hands and knees
with a washcloth instead of with the mop, since that’s how Mami does it when she wants to be extra thorough. Once the floors
are spotless, the couches fluffed, the surfaces dusted, the windows cleaned, and the mess in the living room reorganized,
there’s still about an hour before my alarm goes off, so I go ahead and clean the bathroom too, making sure to even scrub
the shower.
Suddenly I feel gross, being the dirtiest thing in the bathroom. I don’t even know when the last time I showered was. Today
is different, though. After cleaning the rest of the house, the last thing to wash off is myself, so I hop in the shower for
the first time in too long.
For once, I feel the way everyone else says they feel when they shower. Refreshed, energized, creative. I even find myself
singing a made-up song while I shampoo. I don’t know what’s wrong with not-today me, but usually showers take energy instead of giving it. Everything takes energy most days. Getting out of bed, getting dressed, social interaction, and,
yes, showering.
Today, though. Today, ha ha! Today is the shit. I’m the shit. Today I’m showered and dressed before Yami even manages to make it to the bathroom at all.
Mami’s not up yet either, so I decide to make pancakes before she wakes up as a surprise.
I’m not making them from scratch or anything, but this pancake mix and milk are working their asses off.
They smell better than any breakfast I’ve ever made.
Hell, better than most Mami’s made. I can’t help myself.
I eat the first one I finish, just to make sure it tastes as good as it smells.
And, oh my God, how the fuck does it taste even better ?
Who says I can’t cook? I’m Gordon fucking Ramsay, bitch!
“Cesar?” Mami comes into the kitchen, looking around the house in awe. I grin at her.
“I’m making pancakes!” I say proudly.
She tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t have to do all this, mijo.”
“I wanted to!” I say eagerly, almost interrupting, but this time it’s because I’m excited and not angry.
She finally smiles and holds her arms out for a hug. I put the spatula down and fall into it.
“Love you, Mami,” I say softly.
“I love you too, mijo. So, so much. Thank you for this.”
“Um, what happened in here?”
Mami and I pull away to find Yami wandering the living room and looking around. Her eyes catch the coffee table, where I’ve
organized all their jewelry by color.
“I cleaned!” I beam.
“You rearranged the jewelry?” She sounds like she’s biting back some kind of emotion. Happiness? Relief? “How are we supposed
to know which order is which?” Her voice is a little louder now. Okay. Um, maybe that’s anger.
“Oh, I... I didn’t realize—” I start, but Mami interrupts.
“It’s okay, mijo. We’ll figure it out! Thank you for cleaning!”
Then I realize her smile is forced. Like she’s still walking on eggshells.
“Yamilet, thank your brother for his hard work,” Mami says, enunciating through her fake-smiling teeth, eyes darting from
me to Yami like she’s afraid a bomb might go off.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say before Yami has to swallow her pride to thank me for giving her more work. “I’ll fix it,
okay?”
“I know you were trying to help, but... this is gonna take hours to figure out,” Yami says, rubbing a frustrated hand down her face.
“I said I’ll fix it. There’s nothing to worry about, okay?”
“Thank you, Cesar,” Mami says, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing.
I don’t know what it is about the touch, but it’s like she detonated that bomb she was so afraid of setting off. I shake her
hand off, unable to control my outburst. It’s like all the high energy that kept me feeling so good all night turns on me
out of nowhere. The energy is there, but now that there’s nowhere productive to channel it, it turns sour and uncontrollable.
“Don’t touch me!” I shout, then run to my room and slam the door.
Okay, logically I know I’m overreacting. I know something isn’t right here, but I can’t help it.
Even when I try to make things right, all I’m capable of is fucking everything up.