Again, But Better

23. I Have Confidence in Me
February 28, 2011 (take two)
Mom and Dad,
I’ll see you two on Thursday. I’m
nervous, but I’m ready for you this time.
XO,
Shane
Somehow, it’s March. I’m in the kitchen with Atticus and
Babe. They’re watching 
Glee,
and I’m sitting next to them,
staring blindly at the wall, clutching the leather armrest.
When the time comes, I stand up calmly.
“Are those your parents?” Atticus smiles.
“Yeah, they’re visiting this weekend,” I tell them. I suck in
a deep breath before stepping out of the kitchen and closing
the door behind me.
“Hi, sweetheart!” My dad sweeps me into a hug.
When he releases me, my mother swoops in. “Shane,
surprise!”
“Take us into the kitchen. I want to meet your friends!” he
exclaims.
“Can we just hang out the three of us tonight?” I ask
immediately.

---

“We want to meet your friends and take them out! Then the
three of us have all weekend,” he says.
“Sweetie, we’re so excited to get a taste of the world
you’re living in out here!” my mom gushes.
“Okay,” I reason, “I’ll introduce them now, and then we’ll
go out to dinner just the three of us, okay?”
“So all of you been traveling every weekend, huh?” my father
asks as he drops his glass on the table.
We sit around a small circular table at Delia’s. My feet
vibrate against the floor. That’s how fast they’re moving.
“Oh my gosh, yeah. Shane, why haven’t you been posting
anything on Facebook?” Mom asks.
“I’ve been posting on my blog,” I point out. My armpits
are sweating.
“I don’t know how to get to your blog. Can you send it to
me in an email?” Dad commands.
I fiddle with my napkin. “I’ve put links to some of the
posts on Facebook.”
“Yes, I’ve been following the posts, honey, but the family
wants to see pictures! You’re taking pictures, right? This is
such a dream come true, to be able to keep up with your
studies and travel the world at the same time.” Emotion coats
her voice. Her smile wobbles with pride.
“Well, I’ve put some of the pictures in the blog posts.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same as on Facebook!” Mom laughs.
“So where have you gone? Give us the rundown,” my
father says jovially.
I provide a rundown.
“Sounds like you’re having the time of your life. Can we
stay here with you for the rest of the trip?” Dad suggests

---

jokingly.
I chuckle uncomfortably.
“Tell us about work!” my mom prompts. “I want to hear
gory details!”
“We don’t need the gory details,” Dad shoos. “Just tell us
about it. You learning a lot?”
Inhale. Exhale. Fiddle with a napkin. “Um, yeah…” My
breaths are coming in big, swollen bursts. 
You can do this.
Mom puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right,
honey?”
Breathe
. “Yeah. I’m fine, I. Okay.”
“Okay?” my mom repeats.
“Drink some water or something!” Dad urges. I down a
gulp of water. They watch me for a long moment.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks again.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m good.”
“Good.” Mom smiles.
“Okay, so how’s the health clinic going?” he repeats.
“I have to tell you guys something.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” My mom smiles. “As long as
you don’t get pregnant—”
I cut her off. “No.”
“Okay, no need to get crabby. What is it?” She laughs.
Her demeanor sobers quickly when my facial expression
doesn’t change. “Shane, what is it?”
I take one last breath and exhale the words, “I lied about
this being a premed program.”
Dad’s face juts forward. “What?”
“What do you mean, you lied?” Mom says with confusion.
“I mean, there is no premed program out here.”

---

They both speak at the same time.
“What do you mean? You signed up for it! 
I read the damn
brochure!
” my dad insists.
“How can there be no premed program? You’re premed …
yeah, the brochure!” Mom sounds disoriented.
I look over at Dad. “So, I made the brochure myself.” I
swallow. “There is no premed track out here.”
There’s a moment of silence as my father’s face flushes
neon, and then he explodes.
“You conned us? 
You little shit
,” he growls.
I push my chair away from the table, back straightening
against the seat.
“Sal,” my mother scolds.
“I’m sorry, it was wrong! I want to be a writer, and I saw
an opportunity, and I did something stupid,” I explain.
“A writer? Where the hell is this coming from!”
“I told you I wanted to write when I was applying to
schools!” I screech. “You said I couldn’t apply for any creative
majors!”
Dad roars on like I haven’t spoken. “Are you telling me
you’ve lost an entire semester of required courses? You’re
supposed to take the MCATs when you get back!”
“You won’t be ready for the MCATs,” Mom echoes softly
like she’s drifting away.
“I don’t want to take the MCATs,” I breathe. I feel twenty
pounds lighter as the words leave my mouth. I really, really
don’t. Why did I push myself through taking them?
“Shane!” gasps my mother. For Mom. That’s why. But
she’ll understand. She has to understand.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” booms my father. “I’m
over here shelling out thousands of dollars for 
your
education,

---

and you’re out here completely disrespecting me? Lyin’ to
me!”
“I’m sorry! It’s just not what I’m passionate about! I want
to—”
“Stop. You’re on the next fucking flight to New York!”
“I’m not going back yet. I’m seeing this through. I have a
great internship.” I struggle to keep my words coherent. “And
I’m really doing well there.”
Dad jerks up from the table. “What did you just say to
me?”
“I said”—I heave a rattling breath—“I’m not going back
yet.”
“Give me your phone,” he demands.
“I’m sorry, no,” I answer.
His teeth grind. “You know, I do everything for you. You
ungrateful little brat. I do what’s 
best
for you—”
“Forcing me into a life I don’t want isn’t what’s best for
me!” I scream.
I whip up my hand and cover my mouth.
The anger in his eyes sears a hole right through my chest.
My voice drops. “Dad, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry! But
you’re wasting your money pushing me into medical school.
That’s not what I want to do!”
“You throw this education away, and you’re going to be
living in a 
fucking box
on the street! And don’t think for a
second you’re going to be able to call me for help!” His words
thunder around the dining room.
“Dad, why won’t you believe in me? Why would you say
that? What have I ever failed at to make you think that would
happen? I’m working so hard! I always work so hard!”
I throw a desperate glance at my mother, who is staring
into her plate. “Mom!” I yell.

---

She gives the tiniest shake of her head.
“Don’t look at her, you look at me! I built this life for you.
I work day in, day out for you to have this life! These
opportunities. You know my dad had nothing, chasing cartoon
dreams of being a fuckin’ poet. I had nothin’. I handed you the
tools for everything!” he bellows.
His eyes bore straight into mine as he growls, “I don’t
want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. Don’t call me
for money. Don’t call me for anything.” He charges away from
the table.
“I’m sorry,” I blubber after him. “I’m grateful, Dad. It’s”—
sob
—“just not the right path for”—I inhale sharply as the
restaurant door falls shut behind him—“me.”
I look to my mother. “Mom, I’m sorry!” gurgles from my
throat. She won’t meet my eyes.
“Shane, how could you do this?” With another shake of the
head, she follows him out. I try to quell the maelstrom of hurt
raging in my chest.
You knew it wouldn’t go over well.
I swallow, gulp down the rest of my water, head out onto
the street, and walk. I walk and walk until I can think again.
Until I can breathe normally. Until I can turn the light back on.