Flower Boy (BoyxBoy)

lxv

kevin.

THE SNOW IS FINALLY STARTING TO FALL. We're already two weeks into December, so I guess it's about time.

I've been home for a few days so far, but it doesn't feel like I belong here. It's only me and my mom here in our big farmhouse, surrounded by neighbors we don't know. We have some Amish who live across the street that give us cookies on the holidays, but they're kind of weird. I mean, they're Amish, so it's a given.

I'm standing at my window now, watching them work despite the cold weather and light snow. They look like little ants from so far away, working hard to run the colony.

A light touch graces my shoulder. I look to my right and see my mom standing next to me, her eyes around the same height as my shoulder.

"Are you okay, baby?"

I return my gaze out the window. "I don't know. I have a weird feeling in my stomach."

"Why's that?" She hums.

"I just—When I left the house on Tuesday, I left Edd in the dust. We haven't been talking for a few weeks and I-I just left."

My mom's tone changes slightly, like a dog who was just given a bone—probably since I never really talk about my school life too much. "What happened?"

I shake my head. "I don't want to talk about this right now. Please?"

As much as she doesn't want to, she lets go. Her hand is still resting on my shoulder, though, as she asks me when I want to leave to see my dad. I tell her that we can leave in an hour.

My father's condition is pretty rare for someone his age. He first started showing signs of Lewy Body Dementia when he was 48, two years earlier than people typically get it. People like him with this condition typically can't sleep at night, have a hard time concentrating a split second after being on top of things, see hallucinations, and feel agitation and depression. At first, we wrote it off as insomnia since he complained about not being able to sleep, and not being able to focus at work because of it. He got some meds for that, but after a few months, it started to get worse. The medication wasn't working, and now he was lacking motivation and sleeping during the day.

Mom and I were really worried about him, but we didn't know what was happening to him. Nobody knew—not even the doctors could explain why he was acting like this. Eventually, my mom found him outside at midnight yelling across the yard at somebody who wasn't there. He was like a maniac, going crazy at this guy that he thought he saw. Once he started leaving the stove on and losing concentration while he was driving, my mom had him checked up again. They said he was Schizophrenic—another misdiagnosis.

Things got really bad for a while. Mom couldn't handle the stress of trying to babysit my dad and resorted to drinking bottles of red wine at night to relax. They fought a lot too because my dad refused to take his medication. I thought they were going to fall apart—I thought my life was crumbling before my very eyes and I'd be forced to look after my dad by myself if my mom left.

I don't know what happened, but one day I walked downstairs and my dad had his bags packed. I was scared, started panicking that he was leaving me with mom for good. But when my mom came down, they hugged and looked at me sadly.

"I'm leaving, Kevin," he told me. Angry tears pricked at my eyes, but before I could say anything he continued with: "I'm going to get help. I'm... not right in the head. Your mother found somewhere for me to get the, um, safety that I need."

I didn't have any words. Part of me was begging him to stay because thinking of him living in some hospital didn't feel any different than my parents being divorced. It felt scary and embarrassing, which was childish of me to think, but most people's fathers don't live in a mental hospital. Most of me was relieved that we didn't have to watch him all the time though. I felt bad about it, but thinking finally being able to lay in bed and relax, not waking up to hear my dad yelling outside or calling to clarify where he was going at 7 o'clock in the morning.