Through Your Eyes, Chapter One

My story starts in high school. Senior year. Graduation day. The happiest day of a teenager’s life.

I’d already walked. No pranks or anything, as I was not the type to draw much attention to myself. One kid did go naked underneath his cap and gown, but he didn’t have the guts to flash the crowd or anything. His grandparents flew in from London by surprise to see him walk, so those plans were off. Altogether, it was pretty uneventful. It was an outside graduation, early Saturday morning. No ironic rain; just a beautiful day. We were the Haven Highlanders, class of who cares, marching in unison in tacky lightning yellow gowns. Everybody had white tassels, but I went with black. I’m not emo or anything, but I do appreciate meager acts of rebellion, and this was good enough. At the end of the alma mater, all the kids threw their caps in the air like a scene out of an eighties teenage dramedy. I took mine off instead and handed it to Mom, since I know she’d want to frame it and hang it in the house somewhere with my graduation photos. She’s sentimental enough for both of us.

After the pictures and the hugs and the handshakes, we went back home. Dad asked me if I felt different now that it was all over. “No,” I replied, and it was not the answer Dad wanted, or at least it wasn’t enough of an answer. I was dreading the day, because I knew what this was bringing. Family. Banners. Streamers. Attention that I didn’t want from people I didn’t want to see, people whom I’ve managed to avoid most of the time, Christmas and Easter excluded. I preferred my distant family like they were with me at birthdays: hundreds of miles away, sending a card with a grumpy cat on it, with ten bucks and a cut-and-paste greeting in it. Or, even better, Uncle Greg who would just send a check in an envelope with “Happy Birthday” written in the “For” blank at the bottom-left. That’s how I preferred family interaction: feigned interest and no waste of time.

Mom was at the opposite end of the scale, as she was an event planner by trade and this was her opportunity to show off. She would ardently plan and structure the event in grand detail two weeks out, then spend the week prior stressed out beyond reason. The day of, she would break her back doing everything herself (even though she had divvied out responsibilities all week), and not enjoy one second of the event herself. The week after, she would continuously ask us about every detail, if she could have done something different, if each individual detail was anything less than perfect. The process would only end when Grandma Muller would call her and tell her how wonderful things were and how all the guests had sang my mother’s praises. It isn’t the way that I prefer to get things done, but Mom was a special one.

I stood, looking out the window in my room and taking survey of the backyard. I watched my father fix the “Congratulations!” banner six times now, and each time he would go back to setting up the picnic tables and chairs when the wind would roar up and tear the banner back down. He would grunt, look around to see if anyone was nearby, then he would solidly and pointedly swear, grab the banner, and impatiently string it back up. Five minutes later, we’d rinse and repeat.

Various smells undulated around the house, swelling its walls with aromas of food baking and boiling, mixed with scented candles masking whatever dust-bunnies my mother swore still survived her three different vacuumings. With the family coming over soon, she would enrich their stomachs with four various meat entrées, eight different sides, two different salads with twelve different homemade dressings, three different breads and five different pies for dessert. There were small nations that didn’t eat this good on Christmas day, and Mom wouldn’t dare trust another soul in the room with her precious smorgasbord.

Understand that NOT ONCE did I suspect that all this was for me. They may have called this a graduation party, but I didn’t mistake this as being “my” party. For Mom, this was her justification for not staying at home with me and my older brother like she did with her first three kids. If she could prove that she was as gifted an event planner as she thought she was, she could put aside the guilt that she had for returning to work after raising her first three and leaving the remaining two to fend for themselves. For Dad, this was about putting on the best show for his wife that found lipstick on his collar when he returned from a work retreat three months back; if he wanted to avoid an expensive call from Mom’s lawyer, he’d play the dutiful husband in front of the family. For the rest of the family, this was Tabbi’s day.

Tabbi. Tabitha Eskridge. My cousin. My nemesis.

Tabbi was the Salutatorian of our senior class. She was disappointed, as she had missed Valedictorian by one-tenth of a grade point. Her parents were Geoff and Lynn Eskridge; Lynn was my Dad’s sister, and there have been epic warrior poems written about their rivalry (which furthered the importance of the event for Dad, surely). Tabbi was a full year younger than me, but she tested a grade higher when she decided to slum it with we public school kids, so she ended up in my grade. We didn’t have any classes together, because she was in all the Advanced Placement and International Baccalaureate classes, whereas I took classes with Haven’s finest, where kids were excused from classes for meetings with probation officers.

I had a small group of very close friends, but Tabbi didn’t have time to really have friends. I had average-to-bad grades, my friends, I wrestled, and I wrote opinion pieces for the student newspaper. Tabbi, on the other hand, wasn’t allowed grades lower than a ninety-five. She was the president of the F.C.A., captain of the soccer team, quiz bowl ringer, anchor-leg for the track team’s four-by-one, four-by-four, and four-by eight, youth group student advisor at church, and reigning trophy student for several Honor Societies. After soccer game victories, she couldn’t go out with the rest of the girls, because that would eat into her study time and the time she put aside for feeding and clothing the homeless in her church’s homeless ministry. Every ounce of her perfection served only to highlight how truly tragic I was in every aspect of my life. And she was an only child, so Uncle Geoff and Aunt Lynn had her up on a pedestal that no one could reach. I, on the other hand, was the forgotten youngest of five kids, and my worst sin was that I hadn’t had the courtesy to get out of the house yet.

Oh, and her graduation speech? It was freakin’ awesome. This party was supposed to be for both of us, but honestly? She should have had her name on the banner.

Cars started pulling in the driveway as Dad started taking a hammer and nails to the menacing banner. Mom tapped her hand on the kitchen window to make him stop swearing as Uncle Stevie and Aunt Karen rang the doorbell at the front door. I sighed and sank deeper into my desk chair in my bedroom, certain that I’d have to paint on a smile and act interested and humble in just a few moments.

Congratulations, Sam… now act like you’ve accomplished something.

Uncle Stevie and Aunt Karen’s twin girls, Kim and Chloe, seven years a piece, ran into the house and into the living room, planting themselves on the couch and pulling out their smartphones, as social networking was far more interesting than anything we could offer. Stevie was woefully disinterested in anything we had to say, much like his daughters. His drug of choice was the television, and he itched as he glared at the living room flatscreen, aghast at the fact that we hadn’t even turned the dang thing on. Uncle Greg and Aunt Eliza pulled up with their son, Derek, who was another Tabbi in the making. He was the starting quarterback for his middle school team as a seventh grader, and Uncle Greg was already splicing together game film for the local college scouts. He swore the idea was “early marketing” for his son, but I think we all understood that all Derek knew about football was what he learned from playing Madden and that Greg was reliving his glory days through his son. They also had a brand new baby girl, Lisa, four months old and, lacking a proper throwing arm, was quickly forgotten by Greg. Aunt Eliza, on the other hand, worshipped this baby, cooing and cawing and generally ignoring the world; six months from that day, and Eliza will be begging for adult human conversation, but for the moment, the new-baby-luster hadn’t worn off.

Uncle Mark and Aunt Cynthia, Mom’s sister, were the next to show up. Aunt Cynthia was seven months pregnant and big as a house, sweating through her shirt and walking like she was carrying a one ton boulder in her stomach. Mark was a business accountant, and I imagine he couldn’t see us very well, his nose always pointed to the sky. He saw us as “country people” and didn’t really want to sully himself in our presence. If one of his golfing buddies were to drive by, he’d have jumped in the bushes without hesitation.

“Sam?” my mom called up the stairs, “Sam, honey, guests are starting to arrive. You need to come down and do some greeting.”

“Is Brandon here?” I called down.

“Definitely not, honey. You need to come down.”

I crept to the top of the stairs, “Why not?”

“I don’t know, Sam. He said something about a road trip with friends and summer school in college and a couple of other things, but he said he wouldn’t make it home until July at the soonest,” she seemed genuinely annoyed at this.

“What about J.J.? Corey? Lindsay? Are any of my siblings coming?”

“I’m afraid not, sweetie. Joey Junior’s son is sick with the flu. Lindsay couldn’t afford a plane ticket, and I’m not really sure what state Corey is in, and his phone is shut off.” I couldn’t blame her; at least she wasn’t lying to me, and the look on her face showed just as much disappointment as mine.

“I had to make it to all their graduation parties. Can I sit this one out like them?” I mumbled.

“ ‘Friad not. Put on a clean shirt. Granny will be here soon, too.”

I begrudgingly did as she asked, grabbing a clean-ish shirt and popped it with some body spray for that extra kick of fake cleanliness. I struggled down the stairs, preparing myself for the onslaught of hugs, the assault of heavy-handed pats on the back, the torrent of fake cheek kisses, and the bombardment of congratulatory handshakes. The twins weren’t interested, and Derek was far more interested in the television than my presence. Uncle Paul arrived; he was my creepy single Uncle, Dad’s brother, always grumbling and, more often than not, sloshed. He did bring good gifts though, if you could survive the bear hug. Aunt Cathy slipped in the front trying to remain unnoticed. She was Uncle Ed’s wife, and Ed was my mother’s brother, but he was conspicuously absent. She walked into the kitchen and spoke with my mother for a few moments. When she returned to the living room, Mom was behind her looking very annoyed.

“Sammy, sweet boy, this is from Uncle Ed, me, and the kids,” she handed me a large bag overflowing with colored paper, kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. She handed Mom a second bag for Tabbi. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, sweetie, but I have a showing at one and I have to pick your cousin Melanie up from soccer in fifteen minutes.”

“No problem, Aunt Cathy,” I smiled and accepted the gift graciously, “Tell Uncle Ed thanks for me whenever he wakes up.”

She smiled uncomfortably and shared a look with my mother, “Oh, I will. You be good now, and congratulations,” she waved at Mark and Cynthia on her way out the door.

As she pulled out, turned around, and headed for the exit, another car pulled in, a newish Escalade followed by a brand-new sports sedan, baby blue. “Tabbi’s here,” Mom announced and headed back into the kitchen to continue stirring between sips from her wine glass.

Uncle Geoff and Aunt Lynn pulled to a stop in the driveway, blocking in anyone who might have thought to slip out when no one was looking. Geoff stepped around the side and opened the door for Granny Mary, who struggled to get down from so tall an S.U.V. When she settled herself on solid ground, she fixed and fussed with her dress, making sure that she was as lady-like as possible. Granny had turned ninety last summer, and you would swear she was just turning sixty. She carried herself with such pride and beauty; she was a remarkable woman, far better than the children she raised. She stood and waited for Tabbi, who was still fooling around with the gadgets in the new car that Geoff and Lynn got her for graduation. She stood out of it, straightened and tightened her ponytail, and gracefully stepped towards Granny. She took Granny’s arm in hers and they walked together, agonizingly elegant, to the front door, Geoff and Lynn behind them.

I sat down on the staircase; there was no purpose in me getting caught up in the hoopla of my far-better cousin’s arrival, so I rode the wave out on the staircase. Mom hollered her greetings from the kitchen, her voice slightly more affected by the drink than she thought. Various aunts and uncles, even the bratty twins, made their way to pay homage to the queen as she walked through the front door. She hugged and kissed everyone, a smile and direct eye-contact with everyone she embraced. Geoff placed his armful of presents down, some in my pile but many more in Tabbi’s. While they talked and hugged it out with everyone, Granny managed to slip through the crowd, to the stairs, and in front of me.

“Hey there, big boy,” she smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey, Granny.”

“This your party?” she smiled and giggled at her joke.

“That’s what the invite says. I haven’t seen the cake, though.”

She chuckled, “Is your room clean? Under the bed and in your closet?”

“Yes ma’am,” I lied. I doubted she would want to climb the stairs to call my bluff.

She grabbed me around the waist and hugged me tight, as I was far taller than her, “Do you have any idea how proud of you I am?” She meant it. I know she meant it.

“Yes ma’am,” I hugged her tightly, or at least as tight as you could hug a woman her age without breaking anything. I kissed the crown of her head, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Oh, the Lord wouldn’t let me miss this. I got your present over there. It’s a little college care-package. Some underwear, socks, undershirts and the like.” I smiled. I didn’t own a pair of underwear that this woman didn’t buy for me. She grabbed my hand in hers and stretched up on her tippy-toes to kiss my cheek. “I love you very much, and I am so very proud of you, honey,” and when she released my hands, she had left in it a wad of about two hundred in twenty-dollar bills. She gave me a smile and a wink and walked back to the living room. I just shook my head and smiled.

“ ‘Sup, son?!” Tabbi made her way through the crowd of hugs to greet me near the stairs, thinking her mock-“hood” accent to be the best ice-breaker for her inept cousin, hand raised in the air like she was ready to slap the devil out of my poor, reluctant hand.

“Hey,” I avoided her odd attempt to “dap me up” and hugged her instead. It seemed like the trendy thing to do, anyways, “I liked your speech.”

“Thanks. All I kept thinking was ‘I’m talking too much… I’m talking too much…,’” she shook her head, amber bangs swaying back and forth.

“That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? Bust your hump, get the grades, make us hear about it for hours at the end?”

“I guess you’re right. Payback for all the wedgies and swirlies, right?” she giggled.

“Ummm, no. I don’t recall you ever getting wedgied or swirlied… I recall you being one of the most popular kids in the school…”

“Well, I had my big-cousin-security watching my back, right? No one would mess with me with you around.”[This is what she did. She made everyone feel like they had a hand in making her great. It wasn’t just because she was truly great… she lied to make you feel like you played a part. I was invisible; I was never there to watch out for her, nor would anybody be intimidated enough to give a crap about my opinion of her. Case-in-point, I was the one who threw a pocket dictionary at her at the Honor Roll assembly. She really was perfect, and she wouldn’t even take credit for it. I understood why everyone else enjoyed her doing this, but with me, it was so obvious that it was just plain annoying.]

“Sure,” I scoffed.

“Hey, everybody!” Mom came from the kitchen, sing-songing her introduction to the world, “Dinner’s about to be served, if everyone can make their way to the backyard, we’ve got everything set-up outside. We’ll pray and get to the eatin’!”

We slowly made our way out the back door. Dad was putting the finishing touches on a nice collage, in my honor, assembled next to the presents that he placed on a table near the tall, wooden fence. Just as he taped the last picture to poster board, Uncle Geoff hauled the miniature shrine they made for Tabbi and slammed it on the table on the other side of the presents. Dad grimaced at the mockery, making his memorial to me look like a second grade science fair project by comparison.

“Alright everybody,” Dad shook off his annoyance and tried to bring everything to order as we shuffled out of the back door and to the fold-out plastic tables set up around the yard, “Well, thanks for everyone being here today for our two, lovely kids, Samuel and Tabitha!”

[Mock applause.]

“We’re all very proud of you both,” Dad continued, “And I’d like to say that this food looks and smells delicious! Everybody give it up for my beautiful wife who has been slaving over the stove all morning. Joyce, everybody!” [More mock applause. Mom didn’t even look up, busy spooning the mashed potatoes out of the pot into a large serving bowl on the table, one long lock of golden hair spilling over her face that fought against her many attempts to blow it out of the way.] “Before we dig in, though, let’s take a moment to thank God and bless the meal.”

As is the custom, everybody dropped their chins to their chest, several sounds of popping necks and people releasing long-held breaths. Everyone knew the drill; it might as well have been a moment of silence at the beginning of school, one last thing to endure before the rest of our day starts.

“Heavenly Father, we thank you for the many blessings that you’ve granted us this fine day…,” Dad began, eyes closed tight, speaking in a cadence he never otherwise uses.

Uncle Stevie had his head lowered in reverence. He stared longingly at the birdbath in the corner, the glazed-over expression on his face showing that his mind was nowhere near his body at the moment. The twins didn’t acknowledge the praying, nor did they stop tweeting each other throughout.

“…these two beautiful children, their hard work and dedication, the years they spent growing and serving as an example to You…”

Mom was stirring the potato salad with her eyes closed; speaking with God was important, but He surely didn’t frown on multi-tasking, did He? Aunt Karen had made her way behind Mom and a step out of her view, as she sampled the ham, and the turkey, and I believe I saw her take a sip from the gravy bowl, but I might have imagined that.

“…You for the gifts You’ve given to us, Lord. We’re humble in the blessings You’ve given us, thankful for life, and for love, and…”

Uncle Greg studied his smartphone, thumbing through baseball scores, smiling and frowning repeatedly as the scores popped up and he saw the dollar signs from the bets he made with his bookie rise and fall. Aunt Eliza’s mind was miles away as well, as she had popped out a breast and started feeding her newborn, rolling her fingers through Lisa’s silky blond hair as she fed hungrily. At least someone didn’t have to pray before dinner started.

“… and thank You for this food, and we ask that You bless it in the nourishment of our bodies, to help us grow into better…”

Uncle Mark and Aunt Cynthia sat in the far corner; they were obviously not praying, but they weren’t disturbing anyone, either. Uncle Paul had slipped in the gate in the back without being noticed. He was the only single person in the family (his wife left him last year after his second DUI arrest), and he took the solemn moment as an opportunity to down a large gulp from the flask in his back pocket.

“…thankful for the loving, beautiful hands that prepared it, and we hope to spend this time of fellowship…”

Granny sat next to Lynn, praying softly with her head bowed. Lynn held Tabbi’s hand in hers, aggressively raising both her hands to the sky. Her empty hand spread the fingers wide, and she echoed Dad’s every word with “Yes, Lord,” and “thank You, Lord,” twisting her body into a painful mass of tangled muscles. Tabbi’s arm hung loosely from Lynn’s grip, and with her head lowered, she played with the rocks on the ground with her toes. Geoff stared at the Shrine to Tabbi, making mental notes of what to adjust before he grabbed his plate.

“…And we pray this in your Son’s mighty name, and all God’s children say…”

“AMEN,” we all exclaimed, right on cue. And with that, everyone shot to the buffet line.

I waited while everyone feasted, casting smiles and head-nods at people as they walked by congratulating me. This was my family, and as I looked at their faces, I couldn’t see past the mask they all wore. The masks with the smiles. The masks with the frowns. They wore that prayer like a mask, and I could see their faces now. The smiles. The handshakes. The sentiments. The well-wishes. So many people spending so much time lying to me about things that don’t need lies. If you don’t care, my feelings are not hurt. If you’re here for the food alone, you know what? You and me both. I see so many masks so very often, I can’t remember what their faces look like half the time. I’ve known these people all of my life. These people are strangers to me.

“This is crazy,” Tabbi slid into the chair across from me, “I tried talking to the twins, and they didn’t say a word. A few seconds later, my phone goes off. They tweeted me. ‘Great being here at my big cousin’s graduation party. #readyforcake.’ Can you believe that?”

“Yeah,” I smiled, “#talkmuch?”

“I think talking will be banned soon.” She smiled and poured her dressing over her salad, “Why aren’t you eating?”

“Afraid Aunt Karen will take my arm off if I reach for the chicken tenders.”

She snorted through a bite of her salad, “Maybe Stevie’s not feeding her at home, you think?”

“Dude, Cynthia is eating for what looks like seven over there, and she has a small, reasonable plate. How do you explain the mountain of food that Karen’s working with?”

“You don’t, buddy,” she smiled, “You just smile and accept that we all share the same genetic material that makes up this circus.”

“No thank you,” I grunted, giving up on food, “Three month’s time, and I won’t be claiming any of you.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she poked my arm with her fork, “You decided on where you’re going yet?”

“Yeah. I’ll be heading over to Morrow State. Majoring in ‘getting the heck outta here.’”

“Go Morrow State!” she mocked, “They’re the Red Devils, right?”

“Oh yeah, and don’t think I didn’t consider that when I made the final decision.” I smiled knowing that my mother would never wear a t-shirt with a smiling Satan in a football jersey on it. That’s where Brandon went, and Mom hated even the idea of it. With the amazing stories he’s told me about the place, it is exactly the place you want to go to forget about your crazy family. “What about you?”

“Still chewing over all the options.”

“Options, huh?” I scoffed. She meant she was counting the money that each school was throwing at her to get her 4.72 GPA through their doors.

“Yeah. All the schools Mom’s picked out for me are nice and all, and money’s not a factor because I’m pretty much getting full rides to all of them. It’s the social part of it all. College is supposed to be a very social experience, right?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. I was surprised she even considered it, “What’s wrong with Lynn’s choices?”

“They’re all tiny, little private colleges. Most of them are religious-based, to some extent. Everybody knows everything you’re doing, and most of them disapprove. Frankly, it’s a lot like living here.”

I smiled. I knew exactly what she was talking about. “That’s what I like about Morrow State. It’s huge. It’s located in the city, so there’s a lot going on. Nobody knows you like they do here. I don’t know. There’s something nice about getting lost in the crowd, sometimes. Am I right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been lost in the crowd. I’ve never really felt lost before; not in this town, I mean.” Her eyes dulled as she stared off into the world beyond the backyard fence, “ I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

I’d never heard Tabbi speak like that before. She was always supposed to be this shiny example of what to do, and I hated her for it. I have four older siblings, and I’ve always been judged and had to live up to their standards. That’s hard enough. But when they’re all gone and it’s just me? It should be my turn. But Tabbi’s always screwed up the curve for me, and then she came to my school and screwed it up for everyone else. Frankly, I always assumed her purpose on this world was to spend eighteen years showing me up, go to college, get a husband, and end up just like her mother. Her talking this way made me see her as human, for once. I know that’s not very nice, but for a brief moment, she was my little cousin and not my measuring stick.

“And my mom’s top three schools for me? All-girls’ schools. Single gender? Are you serious? How am I supposed to nail down a husband at an all-girls’ school?” she angrily stabbed her lettuce.

“Maybe she’s only looking out for your education,” I smiled and dulled my tone so that she knew that I was poking fun at her.

“Yeah, I’m not going to school to become a nun. That ain’t happening,” she rolled a small tomato around the plate with her fork.

“Tabitha, honey, come over here and talk with Nan about your plans,” Aunt Lynn called from across the yard. Tabbi sighed deeply and stood, abandoning her salad to the flies. She meandered slowly towards her mother, Lynn sing-songing her many praises, delivering Tabitha’s public address for sainthood.

Maybe an hour longer, I remember thinking. Just an hour, maybe two, and I can go back to junk television and staring at the clock waiting for college to begin. I had wanted to go to Morrow State ever since we dropped Brandon off outside his dorm just three years prior. The car fumes. The cop sirens. More than three stop lights. It was an atmosphere that was foreign to me, and I loved it. I wanted the opposite of this town, this lifestyle. “Better” didn’t matter; “different” is all that mattered. I never really thought that small town life was “bad” by any definition of the word, but I knew that there had to be “more”, and that’s what I wanted.

I wanted more.

My parents and family had three years to come to terms with me wanting to go there, and seeing as how Brandon was still alive (more or less) and thriving (more or… well… just less), they’ve given up on their “the sky is falling” nonsense a long time ago. They weren’t exactly thrilled I was going there, but the alternative would be me sitting here in my boxer shorts day in and day out, waiting for the right job opportunity to “pop-up”, all while living on their dime and data package. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had the “Bon Voyage” banner already back from the printers.

“I’m sorry….what?!” Aunt Lynn broke me out of my staring contest with the buffet table. I was losing, anyways. I snapped to just in time to see Lynn begin to unravel, “What do you mean, Morrow State?!?!”

“Well, you asked me to tell Granny where I was going to school,” Tabbi sheepishly muttered, “and I answered her.”

“This is absolutely not what we discussed!” Lynn’s left eye twitched, enough to notice it but not heavy enough to question whether we’d stumbled upon stroke territory.

“I didn’t think there was anything to discuss, Mom,” Tabbi replied. “You’ve been begging me for weeks to give you an answer. Now here I am, letting you know. It is my decision, right?”

Ouch. I love watching girls fight, especially smart ones. I’m not talking about cat fights and hair pulling. I’m talking about good ole-fashioned, passive-aggressive, loaded-question, “no-win” scenarios like this. Lynn says “no”, then she’s a fascist who is trying to run her daughter’s life. Say “yes,” and now you’re nodding your consent to Tabbi’s new drug addiction and “alternative lifestyle choices.” Back and forth, like verbal tennis if you replaced the ball with a live grenade.

“Darling…,” Lynn carefully countered, “...while it is ultimately your choice, we had so many great schools on our list. Morrow State didn’t even crack the top twenty. Where did all of the other options go?”

“There are lots of factors, Mom. Cost, being one. Morrow State offered me a full ride. Tuition. Board. Food. Books. Summer internships, paid. I can even use most of the in-state scholarship funds as walking-around money. They’ll basically pay me to study.”

“We can give you walking around money,” Geoff butted in. Poor guy; he really thought that was the point.

“Then how am I going learn self-reliance, Daddy?” she responded. He bowed out after that. This was Lynn’s fight.

“Honey, college will teach you self-reliance. It will teach you how to make it without us. It will teach you a great many things,” Lynn found her footing and dug in, “but it can also teach you things you don’t want to learn. Things you don’t need to tempt yourself with. That school is full of sex, and drugs, and alcohol. It’s full of sin. Why should you choose 'sin' if you have so many other options?”

She had a point. I just sat and chewed the inside of my cheek. Yes, Lynn knew that I was going there, and she didn’t care that I was in earshot. Neither did I, for that matter; the abundance of sin there was yet another selling point for me, as far as I was concerned. I was officially Team “Melting Pot of Sin and Shame.” I’m already planning the bake-sale.

“Mom… what options are you referring to?” Tabbi’s words were calm, calculated. She understood that yelling would do her no good; she had to be more adult than the adults here, “Private schools? Single-gender religious schools that may as well be convents? What good will more sheltering give me, mother?”

“It will protect you from the sinners of the world, Tabitha.”

“And who will save them?” Oh, man, that jab hit square. I could see her setting this up. Prize-fighter, this one here.

“There are plenty of people in this world who can help them, sweetie.”

“And I could be one of those people, mother! The righteous aren’t to be locked away from the lost! What would the world be now if Christ Jesus had stayed locked inside the church?”

[Hate to say it, but I saw that one coming]

She continued, “I need to know the world so I know where to serve. So I know WHO to serve. Lock me away, and every life I might help change goes without me. Stays lost. How is that serving God’s purpose?”

Crickets. I’ve seen tomatoes paler than Lynn’s grimace, but she had nothing. How do you argue against that? You can’t. Checkmate. She’d might as well start signing up for classes. She’s a Red Devil now.

“I know you’re upset, Mom, Daddy… but I’ve made my decision and I will make you proud of me for it.”

Nice little touch. I had half a mind to run up and hand her a microphone just so she could drop it and walk off stage. Everyone who had stopped filling their faces with potato salad to listen to the argument finally settled and returned to their food. Conversation started to pick up again, and for half a second, I thought it might go unnoticed if I were to sneak up and grab one or two of those crab cakes Mom made when, to my horror, I hear Lynn ask Tabbi one last question.

“Tabitha, honey, may I ask who or what led you to choose Morrow State?”

No.

No. Don’t do this. Don’t say “me.” Say you saw a great poster for the school, or that it has a great International Business school or something. Don’t put me out there. I’m not quite the black sheep of the family yet. Maybe a dirty gray. Don’t do this.

“Well… I’ve thought about it for a long time, and it’s always been on my list; I just never told you, because I always knew you wouldn’t approve.”

Okay, I thought. Maybe I’m safe.

“In the end, I figured ‘if it is good enough for my big cousin Sam, then it is good enough for me.’ Sam loved it so much, and I really want to be at a place that could bring that much joy to someone. I’ve always respected Sam, even if we never really ran in the same circles. He’ll look out for me.”

I distinctly remember not turning around. I squeezed my eyelids tightly shut and tried desperately to not interpret the grumbling that spread around the backyard. As gingerly as possible, I collected three crab cakes, a large hunk of cake (the corner piece; hadn’t even been cut yet) and a tall glass of the punch Mom made out of lime sherbert and lemon soda. Without turning around, I tiptoed over and through the sliding glass doors into the house, a dozen or more eyes staring death-glares through my back.