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This is not the sort of thing I'd like to recall, so much as it is the sort of thing I must. Last Saturday, my father filed for divorce. In the afternoon, long after mother had left for work (and my father had supposedly given her the paperwork to look at -I'm not certain he did or didn't), he packed up two boxes of her belongings -mostly clothes. She came home incredibly early -she's a flight attendant, so anything under three days after leaving for work is coming home early. She called the cops. They arrived while I was using the restroom, so after I urinated, I put the lid down and sat there, listening and silently sobbing. Just before they left, I left the restroom, used google maps, called my boss and got the day off work, and then rode my bike for two hours. Jasmine, after I knocked on the door, called for her mom. After a little while, her father came out. We spoke for no more than a moment, then he went back inside and got his shoes. We got in their car -after he noticed I had rode a bike there, and then I broke down. After nearly leaving the neighborhood, we went back so he could get a cell phone, and he kindly put my bike behind his back gate on his way, as I remained in the car, sobbing. He took me to Ihop. We sat down in a window booth, chatting on and off. He left the booth for a time, in which I assume he made some calls -I didn't pay attention to how long he was gone. I downed three glasses of water, including the first I had gotten, before he returned. We sat in silence for a little while more, as I drank another glass of water. He left again for a time, and then returned. A moment later, as I was starting on my fifth glass of water, I felt hands on my shoulders and looked back to see his wife, and a bit behind her and to the side, Jasmine. She gave me a short shoulder massage, and I moped around a bit more in silence. We ended up back at their house, where Jasmine and I cooked up a pie, some tarts, and a few cookies with just pre-made pie shells, apple filling she had made some time before, and a bit of strawberry jam. It cheered me up quite a bit.
I'm grateful for their kindness. Even after I made a fool of myself and thought I'd destroyed any hope of hospitality from their family, they helped me out. Thanks to them that first day, I haven't had another breakdown like in the bathroom and their car... Not yet anyway. I just have this feeling that another breakdown's inevitable. I've never been one to claim that I know what it's like to be loved by my parents, being the invisible middle child and practically raising myself -relying on my parents for food and shelter. Just the same, it's hard... I can't tell what's going to happen or what it's going to be like when things are finalized... It frightens me.