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Sitting at the table across from Grandpa, my grandmother makes my plate and hands it back to me like I’m a small child.
“I see you’re still doing that painting stuff.”
Stabbing at a green bean with my fork, I say, “Yup.”
“That’s a nice hobby to have, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your schoolwork. You know that’s the most important thing, right? You can’t make money with art.”
The metal of the fork bites into my flesh. “So, you’ve said.”
“It’s the truth. You need a steady income and painting isn’t going to give you that. Plus, no one is going to take you serious with that kind of career.”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about…or at least get your advice on.” It’s a stupid thing to ask because I already know they’re both going to tell me I’m an idiot for even considering dropping out to pursue art, but like the sadist I am, I ask anyway.
“Well, what is it?” Grandma questions, impatiently.
The tension grows thick between us, the words hanging off the edge of my tongue.
Setting the fork on my plate, I look up at both of them. The only two family members, I have left. The only two people, I have to look to for advice.
“I’m thinking about dropping out of college and doing something with art. I would really like to get an apprenticeship…”
“No,” my grandma cuts me off, her voice stern. “Your parents would never forgive us for letting you drop out to pursue something like that. Did you ever hear of the term starving artist? That term didn’t come out of thin air.”
“I just don’t think I’m cut out for college,” I whisper.
“Of course, you are, you just need to get this art nonsense out of your head and concentrate on your studies. You need to think of the big picture here. Where would you live if you dropped out of school now? Would you come back here?”
I shrug, “I was thinking just until I find something…”
“Lily,” my grandma cuts me off once more. “You know we loved having you here, but you can’t stay here forever. You know, we don’t have the money for an extra person to be living with us, and you’re an adult now. You need to grow up and take care of yourself.”
“It would only be for a short while…”
“Enough, you’re not dropping out of school to chase after some ridiculous dream of becoming an artist. If you do, then you’ll lose our support completely.”
She’s not serious, is she? Looking at her, I can see that she’s more than serious, in fact, she looks like she’s ready to tell me to get out right this second, and the fact that she said our tells me that they’ve already talked about this. Anger burns through me like a wildfire moving through the forest.
“If my parents were still alive, they would support my choices. They’d want me to follow my dreams. They wouldn’t treat me the way that you both are right now.”
“You’re wrong. Your mother would never have allowed you to pursue art. There is no money in art, and without money, you cannot live. I’m sorry, child, but I will not allow you to live under mine and your grandpa’s roof while chasing some dream that’s never going to happen. I’ve already told you. If you drop out, any support we’ve given you is gone.”
Emotions clog my throat, and I have to blink to fight back the tears. For years I’ve wished my parents were alive, but I’ve never missed them more than I do right now.
I need support, love, and I’m not going to find any of those things here. Coming here, back to this house, back to them, it was a mistake. Shoving from the table, I nearly knock the chair over as I get up.
“Where are you going?” my grandmother asks, her voice edging on anger.
“Leaving. Coming here was a mistake. I don’t know why I ever thought to come back here. Maybe I was hoping you guys would show that you cared about me for once and didn’t see me as the only reminder of your daughter, of the three people you lost.”
“We don’t see you like that,” Grandpa adds, but it’s too late because I know deep down, they do. I’m a screw-up, a reminder of three lives that no longer exist and as long as I stay here, that’s all I’ll ever be to them.
“It sure feels like that,” I accuse, turning and storming out of the room. Taking two steps at a time, I rush up the stairs and into my room. I’m a burden to everyone. I can’t stay here. I can’t be a reminder. Coming here was supposed to help things, but it seems it’s only made them worse. With tears in my eyes, I get my phone out of my desk. There’s only one person to call, and that’s the one person I ran from, the one person that I need, the one person that I know will support whatever decisions I make.
