All the Other Days. Jack Hartley

with pride.

      ‘It’s not what you think. We’re just friends.’ I feel a big grin come across my face as I say this, and then I see the way Mom is looking back at me.

      ‘That grin says it all, son. I’m glad you had a good day. Go get ready for dinner. It’s five minutes away.’

      I go upstairs and fall flat on my back on my bed. How has she not found out I skipped? I’ve never done anything like this before, and it actually worked. I got to spend the day with Kate and skip the classes I hate, and Mom is none the wiser. I don’t know what is happening, but for once I don’t feel like I need to fly away from here.

      Sarah

      Day 17,745

      It pains me that Judd sees me like this: sitting on the kitchen floor crying, because Tom doesn’t know how to express his feelings in a healthy way. Instead, taking it out on me with whatever is in sight of his grasp. After we have a fight or disagreement, Judd always checks up on me, tries to cheer me up - make everything seem normal. He’s always been a sensitive boy, and I love this quality about him. There’s something that makes him far more compassionate than others his age. He cares for me so deeply, and I know I’m the luckiest mother in the world to have him. I want to give him the world, everything that he deserves, but I worry about him all the time. He’s always so quiet tells me little about what’s really going on in his life. When he’s at home, he’s usually upstairs in his room, and I can hear his music playing and the movies going all night. I often wonder what goes on in there, inside of that room and inside that troubled head of his. The drawings on the walls are another thing that worries me, I don’t understand them, if they’re some part of a school project or if that’s what’s inside his mind at night. The closest I can get to knowing that he is safe and being heard is getting the school counsellor to talk to him, because at least that way he has someone who will listen to him without judgement.

      In the bathroom, the pain sinks in and I let down the tough walls I put up for when I’m around Judd. I start cleaning the dry blood off my face where the paper towels couldn’t. I can already feel the bruising starting on my cheeks, and it hurts to even raise my brows as it pulls against my cheek bone. I know this isn’t right and I certainly don’t want Judd to be living with this either, thinking this is how families should function.

      It’s just so hard to get enough money to support us two, and I’m so scared of what Tom will do. He never used to be violent or an angry man either. It wasn’t until we had our miscarriage ten years ago that things started to change. Before then, he was the most charming and loving man and everything I ever wanted in my life. But then, his depression worsened. He always had mental health issues throughout his life, even when we were in high school. But he was able to manage it and not let it change who he was or how he acted around people. But after the miscarriage, it came back with vengeance, like all the years of ignoring it amounted into this new form that he had no control over. He would have manic episodes when Judd was younger and these would sometimes last days or weeks. And although he wasn’t himself at all, at least he was happy and spent a lot of time with Judd. Then the major depressive episodes would strike and this turned into weeks of him isolating himself from all those that love him. He was alone, because he placed himself there, and was unable to talk to me. He could barely work, which was another contributing factor putting stress on our marriage. It would be days of him lying in his bed with the curtains shut and this blank look on his face. Tom was always one to keep to himself and he hates asking for help, so when I suggested he saw a professional about his feelings, he turned sour. He saw it as me trying to ridicule him, although that was the last thing on my mind. I just wanted him to get the help he needed, for our family Instead, releasing whatever was inside of him and letting it out onto me became his way to deal with his issues.

      I brush my teeth and then get into my bed. He’s fast asleep, just like nothing has happened. I lie there wide awake with my face throbbing in pain. Tomorrow, he’ll get up and go to work before we’re all up, escape us for the day and then come home like the night before never existed. These are the days I wish I could blank out and not remember, like he does. But those memories stick with me, etched into my mind, along with the bruises, as a reminder of the life I’m now living.