shit show ⋆ bo burnham

01.

it was quiet now.

nearly four years of silence.

"are you sure? is . . . is that what you want?" bo's mother radiated concern through his phone screen. although, he could only see a third of her face properly, as she still hadn't quite perfected the purpose of facetime and was holding her phone far too closely to the many features that she had graciously blessed bo's genes with.

"he's a grown man, patricia," he could hear his father chiming in the distance, the bland masculinity scrutinizing any doubts he thought he had. " i think it'll be good for him. how is he going to grow if all he does is mope?"

"now scott, that's enough-"

"no, he's right. i need the distraction." bo fiddled with the hem of his shirt slowly, mindlessly. the silence in his living room contrasted heavily with the sudden silence emitting from his phone. he could tell his mother was watching him on her screen; giving him that sad, but proud expression. it gave him a rotten feeling. " . . . and it's what i want."

"then that's all that should matter. you have always been great, bo."

"except for that one time. and literally every time before that." his lips curled into a reassuring half-smile, letting a soft chuckle escape past his lips. "thank you."

"all will be well, honey. i'm very eager to see you creating again." the sound of sudden rustling muffled choppily out of his phone speakers while she rummaged for what he presumed was her glasses. he basked in it. it was such a mundane moment; so simple and overlooked. just watching his mother look for her glasses was beginning to make him emotional. everything was making him emotional as of late.

eventually his mother was tucking the bold frames behind her ears, immediately bringing the phone back to that aimless position nearly six inches from her face. "when am i getting grandkids?"

the question was so abrupt; bo couldn't help but laugh. "bruce would be so hurt if he could understand what you just asked." with the mention of the name, bo glanced over to see his small companion resting in his dog bed. such an angel.

"really, honey. you're almost thirty. don't you think time is . . . running out?"

" . . . hasn't it already?"

bo could then hear a gentle sigh, and immediately knew his viewpoint had already impacted the state of the call. a quiet moment passed before he spoke up once more. flame control. "i know i've been dormant for a few years. i've tried to date, tried to meet new people. i'm just overly critical when it comes to thinking about trying to let someone into my life again — either they're worth it, or they're not."

" y / n was worth it."

bo promptly sunk deeper into his sofa at the sound of her name, wishing to be fully engulfed and suffocated in the cushions until he simply died. it took everything within him not to hang up the call. "can we not talk about this? yeah? you don't—"

"the last time i saw her was the last time i saw you truly happy."

the words fermented within him, and suddenly that rotten feeling he previously possessed fumigated. "really? do you really think i've spent all of this time mourning the death of a relationship? there are bigger problems i've been focusing on, you know. like my mental health — grounding myself in anxiety-ridden situations. re–learning how to get out of bed in the morning. reminding and forcing myself to eat three healthy, balanced meals a day. trying to exist through all of it despite preferring the alternative, which is being planted in a fucking graveyard somewhere away from all of the consistent eyes and mouths roaming every corner of this planet."