The pancakes are perfect—round and golden, soft but a little crispy near the edges. I slather them in maple syrup and fruit. But then Mom goes to the fridge and takes out the whipped cream, giving me an apologetic look as if she had upsetting news.  It is a treat, a very special one, and she only ever brings it out if she has upsetting news. My imagination wanders, presuming what she is about to tell me. I brace myself for impact as she slowly takes a seat next to me.

“You know,” she begins. “Your father and I have not been getting along as we thought we would in the past few years.  That is why we thought it would be better if he moved away and only came to visit, to give us some space. We realized we are both happier living separate lives.”

My heart starts pounding in my head.  My hands get sticky and wet. Suddenly, the thought of warm, fresh pancakes only makes me feel sick.  I push my plate away and look into my mother’s eyes. I could see her desperation as much as I could smell the maple syrup dripping off my fork.

“Your father and I are getting divorced,” she simply concludes.

I want to scream and cry, but instead I take off my jacket of emotions, and I simply give my mom a hug.

* * *

As a seventh grader, school has been hard for me to keep up with.  English, though, makes me feel safe inside. Maybe it is the deep, smooth, rich accent of my teacher, or maybe not.  Maybe I just like English.

“Children,” my English teacher begins. “You are to write about the ocean today.  Think of what it makes you feel and how you can relate to the ocean.”

I begin to think of the ocean.  How all of the sharks, dolphins, and fish just flow with the waves and the currents.  They never try to fight that current.

* * *

Weeks pass by slowly.  Each day I miss my dad more and more.  I am in a wave of emotions. My thoughts often wander more than they used to, causing my grades to drop.  I have stomach cramps and headaches frequently.  

“Mr. Peterson, I need to go to the nurse,” I blurt out.

“Ok, then.” he says, looking at me as if I had just interrupted him while he was reading the Declaration of Independence in 1776. “Go.”

I walk faster than a shooting star.  By the time I reach the nurse, I am out of breath.  I sit on the hard cot in silence.

“What’s the matter, honey?” nurse Carol asks.

A huge lump forms in my throat, my stomach flips, my hands become sweaty, and a bubble of tears pop in my eyes.  It is as if someone has broken the dam that lead to the river. The waves of emotions have built up, driving me further and further away from shore, causing a tsunami.  In the background of all the crying, I hear nurse Carol talking to my mother on the phone.

“Your daughter has started to cry all of a sudden,” she says.

“What!” my mother screams. “She’s dying?!”

“No, no.  Crying. C-R-Y-I-N-G,” the nurse spells.

“I’ll come,” my mom declares.

This only made the situation worse for me, though.  Now I have to explain everything to my mom.  

About ten minutes later, I stop crying, and my mom walks into the nurse’s office.  

“What’s the matter, love?” my mom asks me.

“Can we go home?” I ask.

“Come on,” she says.  She opens the door as she thanks Carol.  Once we arrive home I run upstairs and shove myself under my blankets.  A tear rolls down my cheek. Whenever I used to get upset, my dad would make me laugh, but now he’s gone.

“I miss Dad!” I cry.

“I know, honey.  I do, too,” she says.

“Mom!” I yell. “This isn’t about you.  Everything is always about you: you weren’t happy with him, so you took him away from me.  You think you know how I feel?  Well, I’m sorry, but you don’t!”

“Mackenzie! You do not get to talk to me like that!”

“If I don’t, you don’t listen!” 

“Enough of this!” she yells.

I stay in my room all evening.  I don’t even go down stairs for dinner.  Around eight o’clock, I hear a knock on my door.  I don’t say anything. She comes in holding a snickerdoodle cookie and a glass of warm milk.  My favorite.  

“I’m sorry,” she begins. “I know I was being selfish, but I just want you to know this is hard for me, too.  I’ve known your father since high school and he was different then. It is hard for me to know how he has changed.”

“I’m sorry, too.  I just felt like you didn’t care about how I was affected and how much I was struggling from this.  I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, giving me a hug. “We can bring those waves down together.”