Cry him a river

Metal hits metal as she inserts the key into our front door.

She steps inside first, placing the bag of groceries next to her. I, too, hush through the door and let my bag fall to the floor.

When dad comes walking down the stairs his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

„Hey, there. How was your trip, Alex?“, he beams.

I want to answer, but the words die on my tongue and I just give him a little smile and go upstairs.

While slowly taking in each step I take I hear an alarming voice from below me.

„Can’t he just help with the groceries, he’s not a baby.“, my brother scuffs while almost spitting at my mother with the way he works his mouth.

„He’s not feeling well, you know that.“, my mother roams.

„Does he have cancer? No. Is his leg broken? No!“

„Young man, if you don’t calm down I will–„, my father starts, taking a step forward, but after noting my presence suddenly falling into himself.

„Alex, what is it?“, he asks.

Suddenly I start crying. I cry hard and loud into my elbow and both my parents immediately storm towards me.

Mom, dad and me sit down on the table and I climb into mom’s lab to cry more.

My brother has sat down again, playing videogames on the coach.

It’s been there the whole time. The urge to scream laid heavy in the back of my throat.

As if she read my mind, my mother whispers, „Scream if you need to. It’s okay, honey.“

And so I scream into her shoulder.

„Come on, cry upstairs!“, my brother yells almost louder than me. „You’re so messed up, just go back to the hospital.“

„Watch your mouth. Let him cry.“, my father says dangerously.

„Well, he can cry me a river.“

I suddenly stop my crying. I tell my mother I’m alright and vanish into my room.

I close the door and sit on my bed. I don’t continue the crying after that.

Because my brother isn’t wrong.

He’s right. Cry him a fat river, Alex.

I sleep in my own bed for the first time in six months that night.