Page 54 of Someone Like Me
She spins on her heel and is out of the room before I can summon another breath. Sweat has broken out above my lip and under my arms. I want to believe she’s being irrational, saying things to hurt me because she — for reasons I don’t understand — is hurting. But something in the lines of her face, in the heft of her words, fills me with doubt. And fear.
Sacrifices?
I’m suddenly terrified that her accusations are true.
What could she possibly mean?
I want to rush up to my room and call Mom, but a quick glance at the clock on the mantle tells me it’s not even four in the morning in Nigeria. Trembling and hugging my elbows, I let Gem into the back yard before locking up. While I wait for him to do his business, I look up at Drew’s apartment, yearning suddenly for the comfort of his company. But the glass panes in the door and his one window facing me are dark. I can’t imagine he’s already asleep, but I won’t bother him.
If he has a phone, he hasn’t bothered to give me the number. And going back there would, indeed, be selfish. He’s dealing with his own troubles. I don’t need to burden him with mine.
I lock up, turn off the lights downstairs, and trudge up to my room. Gemini follows closely at my side, and he stays by me as I wash my face, brush my teeth, and change into pajamas. I text Mom and ask her to call me as soon as she’s up. I tell her we’re fine, but I need to ask her something important.
It doesn’t matter when she calls. I know I’ll be awake.
I try to settle myself in meditation, but anxiety leashes my mind and runs wild with it. I give up sitting still and unroll my yoga mat. Seeking solace in my favorite YouTube channel, I find aYoga With Adrienetwenty-seven minute stress relief video. Seeing Adriene Mishler’s friendly smile and hearing her familiar voice gives me a measure of ease. I’ve been a devoted subscriber to her channel for four years now, and putting on a YWA video is like meeting up with an old friend.
Starting in a seated posture, Adriene takes me through a breath cycle of shoulder squeezes and neck stretches. A sequence of alternate nostril breathing morphs into cat-cow rotations, and then I move with her to downward dog and into a warrior series.
As I move, my anxiety lifts, but in its place, I become aware of a heavy sadness. And I realize this is what has driven the panic, what my mind really wanted to avoid. The sadness at being responsible for someone else’s suffering.
My certainty of this is rooted deep. No matter what answers Mom can give me, I’ve hurt Tori in some way. Intentional or not. And I can’t stand it.
I come to the end of the video, roll up my mat, and turn off my light. I stretch out on my bed, calmer but not comforted.
When my phone rings an hour later, I’m relieved Mom hasn’t chosen to Skype me. I don’t want to face anyone right now.
“Hey, baby, what’s the matter?” The concern in her voice makes my eyes sting. It’s so good to hear her, I want to cry. I hold it together, though, briefly recounting the scene Tori and I had downstairs.
“Mom, why would she say that? Why would she say I’m being selfish?”
“She said that?” Mom asks, sounding, to my relief, just as shocked as I am.
“Yes,”I say, stressing my confusion. “She said I was wasting my family’s sacrifices. And then she called me stupid for not seeing that.”
“Oh dear,” my mother says on a sigh. Her response makes me feel better for about five seconds. “I had no idea she felt that way about it.”
My stomach pitches. “About what?”
Mom makes a noise deep in her throat. Even from halfway across the globe, it sounds like regret.
“About what, Mom?”
For a moment, she doesn’t answer even though I’m hanging on her every word.
“About putting off pharmacy school.”
“What?!”
Pharmacy school? Tori? This is the first I’ve ever heard of it.
“Oh dear,” Mom says again.
“Mom. Tell me what’s going on.” She’d better hear the edge in my voice because I sure can.
“Well, your sister finished her chemistry degree the same year you graduated high school…”
This I already know. “Yeah, and?”
