I was sitting by the window, smoking and staring out into space when I heard somebody knock gently on my door. I sighed, shaken away from my blissful nothingness, and turned toward the door taking another drag.
"Who is it?" I asked, and god help me I didn't mean to sound as bitter as I did. It just came out that way. I shook my head slowly. It was the damn wishes. I wondered how fully this other persona would take over. It wasn't like my memory was being affected. I could still remember everything about my life before this afternoon. It was more my attitudes and emotions that were being affected. I wondered if Karyn was dealing with the same issue.
I flicked my ashes in the small tray as my mother's voice answered back. "Jon, it's me. Can I come in?"
Great, I thought. She's gonna come in here and give me the whole speech about how my dad really loves me, and he just doesn't know how to deal with this very well. It was the same speech she'd given me a thousand times over. Or at least, I could recall vague shadows of memories about her giving me this speech. As I debated whether or not to let her in, Celine Dion's Because You Love Me was playing in the background.
Finally I relented. After all, she wasn't the bad guy here. She'd always been understanding and supportive. At least I was pretty sure she had been. This whole wish business was getting more and more confusing by the minute. Every so often I still found myself thinking about the guys in my class and wondering who was going to hit on me. I was hoping it would be Derrick Thomas. He, in my humble opinion, was the very definition of manhood, and the thought of kissing him, and holding onto him and... well, the thought of all those things was making me stir a little.
"Jon, please?" I heard my mother plead. I slid away from the fantasy for a moment, filing it away for later, and finally answered her.
.
"Yeah," I told her, "Come in."
She entered and looked genuinely concerned. "I wish you wouldn't do that Jon," she said softly, glancing at the cigarette in my hand.
"I'm sure there's a lot of things you guys wish about me," I told her, surprised at how angry I sounded.
"Jon you know that's not fair," she said as she sat down on the edge of my bed. When she looked me in the eye, I found some of my anger subsiding. "You know we love you Jon, you know that right?"
I nodded.
"We know that it wasn't a choice," she began.
"Not mine anyway," I said absentmindedly, before I could stop myself. Shocked at what I had said, afraid that I might accidentally reveal something I shouldn't, I didn't say anything else.
"I know that," my mother told me, "and believe it or not, so does your father, and believe it or not, he does love you Jon. Very much." She paused for a moment, allowing this to sink in.
I put my cigarette out. "He has a funny way of showing it," I said defiantly. I stood up, and turned toward the window again. My eyes were drawn toward the soft glow of the evening sky.
"He just doesn't know how to relate to you," she told me. I knew it was true, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with his constant ridicule.
I turned and watched her turn and leave my room, closing the door behind her. Why does this have to be so damn hard! I thought as I plopped back down onto the bed. I spent most of the rest of my night there.
