The Gravity of Us

by Phil Stamper

At home, I’m invisible. At school, I’m bizarre.

You ever tell someone you’re overjoyed by something, when secretly you’d rather vomit in a bucket than talk about it anymore?

There’s a pretty high chance that one or both of our nights are about to be ruined by our parents.

Anxiety grips my chest as I take the stairs up our stoop, and I know Deb usually feels the same. To be quite honest, I would have been fine spending a few more minutes delaying the inevitable awkward conversations and heated fights that wait for me at home. Not like the arguments are ever directed at me, but they’re still all around me. Lingering.

My identity seems to change by the minute,

media journalism.

thing keeping me stable is the shield I put up. Cal the performer is always put together. Cal

“It’s just not great at home lately,”

This was my plan, my way in.

“Then just come up with a new plan.” I laugh, because that’s one thousand times easier said than done.

“The future is hard, eh?” His grip tightens on my leg. “Not so hard if you refuse to think about it.

“Honest question,” he says. “Do you ever feel like you don’t matter?

“Relationship?” I ask. He smiles back. “Relationship.”

But I can’t lose control. The rock hardens again. I’m fine. I’m okay.

The hole in my chest grows larger, and it physically hurts. I can’t breathe, I can’t exist. I can’t keep this up.

“Calvin, stop. It’s not your responsibility to worry about the mission, or Dad’s job, or the people in your life who need fixing, as you say. No one’s broken. Nothing is broken.”

find my voice again