I had just set the timer on the oven, thinking I was in the clear, when she breezed in. She took one look at me, froze in place, and then dropped her gaze. In slow, exhausted movements, she set her briefcase down on the floor and took her jacket off, hanging it on the rack in the laundry room she’d just passed through. I could see her throat working as she swallowed hard, her eyebrows pinched together in thought, but her jaw wasn’t tense, which meant she wasn’t mad. Maybe she couldn’t look my way because somewhere deep down inside, she felt bad for what she’d done. Guilty even. Maybe I wanted to believe that somewhere past the resentment and hatred she showed me, she actually cared. Then again, maybe that was simply wishful thinking on my part.
“I’m, uh… I’m not really hungry tonight, Bree. You can just wrap up the leftovers and we’ll have it tomorrow.” Her words were soft-spoken, which coming from anyone else would’ve sounded remorseful. “I’m tired and think I should go to bed early.” Not once did she meet my eyes, or even glance my way. She kept her head down, staring at her shoes, and then walked from the room.
Even her footfalls on the stairs were silent. And I waited and waited for the familiar sound of her door to close, only to hear the faint click of the latch, as if she didn’t even have the energy to shut it with her normal gusto.
I stood in the middle of the silent kitchen, baffled at what I’d just witnessed. My mom was mean, sure, and what happened the night before wasn’t the first time I’d been injured by her anger. But she wasn’t necessarily physically abusive, either. It was a rare occurrence for my pain to show on my body. I typically suffered from mental pain by her words that cut like razors to my soul, not physical pain inflicted by her hand. So maybe she truly did feel bad about it. Maybe, now that she was sober, she realized what she’d done and regretted it. However, she still had yet to apologize to me. I wouldn’t hold my breath for that one. Her obvious remorse would have to be enough.
I had never, in all my years, received an apology from my mother for anything. I wouldn’t expect one now.
The rest of the night stayed quiet. I ate alone in blissful silence and then cleaned up the kitchen. I took a long, hot bath, hoping it would relax me, and then started on my homework—without my TV on this time. Then I went to sleep, replaying the way a certain pair of crystal-clear blue eyes held me with such concern. Concern I never remembered experiencing before.
But the next night, just as I began to fully allow myself to relax, everything changed.
On Thursday, I walked into first period like I had the previous three mornings, except this time, anger fueled my every step. The wound on my eye had begun to close, but the betrayal I felt on the inside gaped open and remained raw. I stormed to my seat, ignoring Mr. Taylor’s cheerful greeting. After trying a few times to get me to talk, he gave up and moved to the podium at the front of the class, waiting for the bell to ring. I’m sure he knew I was mad. And he’d be an idiot not to know why. But the classroom was no place to discuss it.
“All right, class,” he said from the chalkboard after everyone found their seats and settled down. “We’re going to do things a little differently today. We’re going to have an open discussion about the topics coming up in the next chapter. There are no right or wrong opinions, but I think we should talk about this before getting into what the textbook will be teaching us. I’m sure most of you don’t pay attention to what goes on in the world around you, and I can bet that none of you watch the news. So if you don’t know what we’re talking about today, or don’t have an opinion, it’s fine. As long as you’re listening and observing.”
The entire room went silent as everyone sat at the edge of their seats, sucked into every word he spoke. It irritated me how he could captivate so many kids. But I also felt envious that while everyone seemed to be so eager to learn, all I wanted to do was yell at him. Then cry. But mostly yell.
“Today we are going to discuss our government and the role it plays in helping other countries. If you aren’t aware, we give and offer aid both financially and through our armed forces. We train and assist overseas militaries, we help with funding, and give assistance during natural disasters. So, what I want to know is, how do you feel about that? This is largely funded by your parents’ tax dollars, and once you get a job—if you don’t already have one—your tax dollars will contribute as well. And since this will be something you’ll have to deal with in the very near future, I want to know what your opinion is on the place America has in the world.”
“I think it’s none of our business what goes on in other countries,” I said before anyone else had a chance to raise their hand. I didn’t even bother waiting to be called on. I just shouted my answer out, lacing my words with the anger that erupted inside me.
Everyone turned to stare at me—most of them in shock since I rarely played an active role in class participation—and then looked back to our teacher for his response. Mr. Taylor tilted his head and blinked at me a few times, probably trying to figure out how to handle my outburst, and then said, “So you don’t think we should help others in need? You don’t think it’s our responsibility as the world’s leader to aid another country in the middle of a crisis?”
“You said there were no wrong opinions,” I argued back, not wavering from my answer.
“You are correct, Bree. Your opinion is not wrong, I’m just asking for clarification to make sure I understand you and to ensure that you have all the facts before making up your mind. Why do you feel this way?”
I cleared my throat and sat a little straighter in my seat, ignoring the fact that everyone in the room had their eyes glued to me. I guess I wasn’t invisible anymore, but I couldn’t digest that. I had to come up with something to say. “I just don’t think that it does any good for us to go in and dictate what’s best for other countries. It’s their land, their people, their religions…their government. They should be able to make those decisions without the big, badass United States government coming in and making it for them. The end result is that it just causes more problems for everyone involved.” I took a deep breath, but it didn’t stop my angry tirade. Without thought, I continued. “Look at what happened on September eleventh. That wouldn’t have happened if we’d stayed out of other people’s business. We stepped in to help the Middle East, and it backfired.”
“So you’re saying nine-eleven was our fault?” someone from the other side of the room shouted. It seemed as though I’d pissed him off, or offended him. Which may very well be the case. It was a rather risky opinion to share.
Turning to that side of the classroom, to address whoever it was that spoke up, I started to explain myself before Mr. Taylor could interject. “I’m not saying we asked for it, or that we deserved it, or that it was right. All I’m saying is, these extremists hate us for meddling in their business, and they’re crazy enough to do what they did. And it’s not going to stop, because what did we do after that? We went back, and meddled some more. Where does it end?”
“Hold on.” Mr. Taylor stepped forward and held up his hand, halting anyone else from joining the discussion. “These extremists…they’re going into these countries and trying to take them over. We go in to keep that from happening, and that’s why they hate us. Because we’re stopping them from conquering these places and keeping them from growing their mercenaries.” He took a deep breath and ran his hand down the back of his neck, as if relieving tension. “Let’s look at this from a different point of view. Pretend each one of you is a country, okay? Your families are your citizens. Your house is your land. This might bring everything into a better perspective. So, Aubrey, say your sadistic brother is trying to take over your land, taking control of your country, and he’s slaughtering your citizens in order to gain that control. You’re helpless, right? You don’t think that it’s”—he pointed to a kid in the front row—“Steven’s right, as the leading country in the world, to come in and help you out? To save your people and keep your brother from causing more destruction to your family?”