Comfort Food

My son, finally, got out of his room. He didn’t even saw me. He passed by my anguished face that pretended to read a book from the very instant that I heard the lock of his door. He went into the bathroom and stayed there for years. Or maybe months. Perhaps days or some hours, I don’t know, he stayed there a long time. Or so it seemed to me. But he came out, eventually, from the bathroom, not for the heartbreak, not from the emotional collapse that was tearing him apart. Loss. It will do that to you. The incapacity to understand how, when or why that first adolescent love is lost.

Picture by karlos Wayne

He passed me by again without seeing me, his hand was about to open his bedroom’s door, but he stopped there. I silently prayed that he has seen it. Well, I didn’t really pray, I wouldn’t know how to do it, but I did ask. I asked as we, people who don’t believe in gods or dragons, ask for things. To whoever is up there. Or down here. Or in another dimension next to ours. I just asked for he to see it, so I wouldn’t need to tell him myself. Because if I told him, he would decide not to see it. Never mind, it’s complicated, he is a teenager. The point is that yes! he saw it. He retraced his steps and this time I had my book closed. He looked at me. Or maybe he looked at the chair I was sitting on, I couldn’t really decipher it. But he grabbed the tuna sandwich with cheese and avocado form the counter and when he returned to his room, he didn’t see me cry while I smiled. I already won a battle. He was no longer going to die of hunger. Of love yes, maybe. You can also die from a heartbreak, so they say. When I heard the lock closing again, I jumped out of the chair hoping, for the first time three days, that he wouldn’t leave this room. Not at that moment. I couldn’t have him, by any chance, to open the rubbish bin and discovered the seven tuna, cheese and avocado sandwiches that I left on the counter every four or five hours for the last three days and he didn’t see them. I wouldn’t dare to make him feel guilty about that too.

“How easy would have been, dad” he told me three days ago, swimming on tears “If she had been the one who left me.”