The Heartbroken - S01 E211

Story 2 years ago

The Heartbroken - S01 E211

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 211

I almost didn’t finish my entry in time, actually, but I

managed to send it for the elimination just four

minutes shy of the deadline. I didn’t even think that I

could do it, but once I got home last night, I all but

rushed up to my room.

When I sat down in front of my laptop, I thought I

wouldn’t be able to do it after all, but once I

positioned my hands on the keyboard, the words

simply came, tumbling out from some unidentified

part of my subconscious.

It was probably not as refined and polished, since I’d

only gotten the chance to read it over twice before I

sent it. I was worried that I might have missed a

typo, but once I hit send, I couldn’t help but feel like I

accomplished something of great importance.

It might not be my best piece and the rushed writing

might not be able to get past the elimination, but that

was okay.

It wasn’t about succeeding. It was about trying.

And this—this thought that my Dad had once said to

me—was exactly what I had been searching for

when I was talking to Cedric, when he was saying

something about the treatments not working; when

he insisted that he wasn’t getting any better at all.

Nothing in this world was certain. Nothing was a

hundred percent sure.

But the odds of failing should never get in the way of

trying.

So whether or not my piece gets chosen, I didn’t

care.

“I found the flyer,” my mom finally said, breaking

my train of thought. She set the knife down and

leaned against the counter and looked at me. “You

must have dropped it.”

I blinked. “The flyer?”

“About the contest.”

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” There was a slight

tinge of hurt in the way her eyes regarded me.

I set the mixing bowl down, trying to figure out what

to reply. Her expectant gaze lingered on me and I

found myself swallowing, averting my gaze. “I don’t

know. It’s just… it felt like something personal.”

She seemed to understand. Something in her eyes

softened and she dropped her gaze, picking the knife

up again. “Well, did you get to finish it?”

Looking at her, drinking in that hesitant lilt to her

words, I took a deep breath. “Do you… do you want

to read it?”

Her eyes snapped to mine.

I bit down on my lip, fighting the urge to take the

words back. Letting her read it felt like letting her see

every part of my existence. Unlike the eyes of those

judges, of the other people who will read it, my

mom knew me. My mom was someone who

would look at me, after reading it, and know exactly

who I was.

When a thankful smile appeared on her face,

however, I didn’t regret the offer.

We abandoned our tasks for a second as I brought

her up to my room. While I waited for my laptop to

boot, I looked over my shoulder and saw Mom

holding up the photo of me and Dad on my bedside

drawer.

She set it back down and looked at me, looking both

uncomfortable and at home in my room as she

walked over to where I was sitting in front of my

study table.

I stood up so she could sit and read the Word

document I left opened for her.

I stayed quiet as she read. I counted the seconds

down. The minutes. I sat on my bed, waiting for her

to finish. Time ticked by soundlessly and I could

almost feel something shifting in the air.