4

HUDSON

MY FATHER WOULD TELL ME THAT HATRED WAS A COWARDLY MAN'S BURDEN. He had always been one to choose kindness over hatred, which made me wonder how I became the exact opposite. I suffered an ongoing war with my inner demons. The anger often took control of me, as if I was not strong enough to push the emotion back, but I sometimes wondered if I bothered to fight it or if I enjoyed the consuming rage. It's better to feel anger than feel nothing at all.

As I arrived home, I made a beeline for the garage, my usual after-school hangout. My father and I often spent our time there if we were not at his shop. He was a local mechanic and owned a small auto repair store. He had a talent for engines and mechanical engineering. A talent I am proud to say he passed down to me. For as long as I can remember, we spent our weekends working on beat-up cars he would find in the scrap yards. He would bring them home and teach me everything he knew. It used to drive my mom insane every time he brought home junk, but she let it slide because she knew it made him happy and I loved it just as much. He would tell me you could always fix something broken. You just needed to put your time into it.

I entered the garage and felt at ease. This was my haven. My dad's head appeared from under the hood, his face covered in rust and oil splotches.

"I got a call from your principal." He said as he rubbed his hands with the cloth he kept tucked into his overalls. "I thought I would only get one on the second day."

"It was for a legitimate reason." I said, avoiding eye contact.

"Punching someone is a legitimate reason?"

"If you met the guy, you would understand."

My impulsivity led me to reckless decisions, with dire consequences. My dad sighed and placed the cloth on the rickety counter.

"Look, you have been through a lot, but people will stop giving you the benefit of the doubt."

I rolled my eyes with a groan.

"Please, not another lecture."

"It's not a lecture." He said and raised his hands in the air, declaring surrender. "It's advice."

I leaned against the beat-up vehicle that was our latest project and rubbed my eyes until I saw stars.

"I miss her too, you know."

My jaw clenched. I shut my eyes. One, two, three–inhale and exhale.

"I have some homework." I replied, before hurrying inside the house.

Grief was an odd emotion. It came in the tiniest waves, so casual you barely feel it. Waves would pick up, wash over you, and bring a hurricane. It gave you time to catch your breath until it consumed you once again, returning until you were drowning in it. Grief is ruthless, but patient. It had no deadline. Each person's stages vary, yet we all face the same fate. All outcomes were harsh. Loving someone comes with the greatest consequence. You open your heart to the most unbearable pain. Every time you lose someone you love; you lose a part of yourself. Some claim pain fades, but I disagree. I believe you carry the pain with you forever, as it plagues your thoughts. Losing someone takes your mind on a different course. I found it tragically beautiful how one person could have such an influence on your emotional well-being.

Feeling the weight of fatigue settle over me like a heavy blanket, I trudged to my room. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on my bed. The soft sheets and mattress offered a welcome respite from the demanding day. My eyes closed, attempting to let sleep wash over me. But, as I felt myself on the brink of sleep, my phone buzzed with a notification.

Groaning in annoyance, I reached for my phone on the nightstand. I glanced at the screen. Stacy. I debated whether to respond or ignore it, but the lure of sleep was impossible to resist. With a resigned sigh, I swiped to dismiss the notification and dropped the phone beside me.

Closing my eyes once more, I shifted further into the mattress. I placed my hands on my abdomen and focused on the rhythm of my breathing. Minutes faded into the outside world. I succumbed to sleep's embrace.

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