The Gravity of Us

by Phil Stamper

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.

But it’s like everything my mom says hurts him like a physical attack. He snaps back, which triggers my mom’s anxiety.

It’s messy, it’s real, in a way that’s too raw to be captured by a camera.

I just do my best every day. It’s all any of us can do.”

I’m experiencing literal—okay, figurative—organ failure right now.

They break her heart, and I fix it.

Sometimes, it feels like the only thing keeping me stable is the shield I put up. Cal the performer is always put together. Cal the friend is always there to fix your problems.

“I’ll make friends—or I won’t, I don’t know. People generally suck anyway

I have lived through figurative hell, and my reward? Arriving in literal hell. Clear Lake, Texas, at ninety-two degrees.

I smile because it’s the only thing holding me and this family together,

Thankfully, I find the words. “How’s the fungus?” They’re not the best words, but they’re words nonetheless.

“I don’t know. Dirt suits you? I have a thing for gardeners?” I pause. “I’m awful at this.”