(Photo by Joel Muniz on Unsplash)
“You okay, honey?” My mom asked, grabbing my left hand at the breakfast table. I had been staring at the tablecloth, my eyes lost in the patchwork design as I tried to comprehend the footage. My appetite had left me, as evidenced by the half-eaten eggs and untouched bacon. What did I do to them?
My mother rubbed her thumb against mine, urging me to answer. “I’m sorry, I don’t feel well.”
“Not trying to get out of school, are you?” My father teased, and my mom shot him an angry look.
“He doesn’t look great. I’m going to stay home with him today.” My mom stood up from the table, shooting a quick email to her boss. Do they still even have jobs? All they do is stand in that dead grass patch. Could we lose this house? Wait, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.
Dad gave a curt nod, patting me on the back as he stood up and put his dish in the sink. “Feel better, Anthony. I’ll see you both after work.”
Dad left a few minutes later, off to stand for hours on end.
“Alright, Anthony, first things first. I’m going to make you some soup for lunch, and then I’m going to finish all the projects I’ve been putting off. Do you need anything from me?”
I shook my head with a smile. I felt some relief in knowing she wouldn’t be stuck outside all day beyond her control. But after that footage, I couldn’t help but wonder what role I’ve unknowingly played since we moved here. My initial plan was to see if I had put anything on the back of her neck, but after she finished making the soup, all her motivation evaporated. The rest of her day was spent with her head pressed against the couch cushion, bingeing one of her soap operas.
Despite hating every second of this overly dramatic show, I liked lounging next to her, not having to run around the neighborhood to figure out what’s controlling them. But I knew it was only a matter of time before I needed to meet up with Ryanne and Brady. With each passing day, Brady had become more paranoid, nervous that his time was running out. I couldn’t blame him.
How much longer would it be before we figured it out? Would I be able to save mom and dad in time? I stared at mom a little too long, and she slowly turned her head over to me. I hadn’t seen her this relaxed in months. Although she wouldn’t admit it, considering how often she preaches about the importance of hard work, she seemed relieved to spend the day at home. Did she sense anything weird going on?
“What, Anthony? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. I was just wondering, how’s your job?” She chuckled for a second before realizing I was serious.
“My job? You’ve never asked me about it before.” She sat up. There was a dent in the cushion from where her head had laid most of the day.
“Well, I’m interested now,” I lied, but hoped she wouldn’t see right through it.
She weighed that statement for a second before replying, “You know, I can’t really recall much going on lately; I must block it out when I am home.”
“Does your body feel tired?”
She made a face. “What do you mean?”
“Like achy, hurting, anything like that?”
She shook her head. “Just mental exhaustion after sitting at a computer all day.”
I didn’t know what else to ask. Not unless I outright asked if she was even the slightest bit aware of what happened to her throughout the workdays.
“Anthony.” She reached forward and grabbed my hand like she often does. “You have not been yourself since we moved here, and I want to make sure that you are doing okay and adjusting well. I know you’ve made a few neighborhood friends, but is school going okay? Is there something that is bothering you?”
Should I tell her? Would she even believe me or think I was just making this up?
“You and dad don’t go to work every day,” I said, biting the bullet.
She narrowed her eyes, removing her hand from mine. “What are you talking about?”
“Both of you go out to the edge of the neighborhood and stand in the grass and shake violently until the workday is done. You have been doing this every day since we moved here.”
A flash of disappointment crossed her face. “Anthony, you know how your dad and I feel about lying.”
“I am not lying, Mom,” I replied. It was the truth, whether she wanted to believe me or not.
We were in a stalemate. She narrowed her eyes at me, waiting for me to break.
“Anthony, please tell me the truth.”
“I am, Mom,” I started, “Let me show you.”