It’s
Okay to Feel
Cory was uncomfortable: the air
conditioning in Camille’s car didn’t work, creating a kind of thick layer of
atmospheric humidity that could only exist in the tiny space that was her two-door
Toyota Camry, making it difficult to breathe. The air reeked with a terrible
mixture of body odor, sweat, salt, and whatever air freshener Camille was
using. Fresh linen maybe. None of this was really new to him, but what always
bothered him was how Camille can drive so nonchalantly without even showing as
much as a sign of displeasure.
Cory
rolled down his window to try to escape.
A light breeze whistled in as the window slowly crawled down the door, but the
wind was equally as hot and unbearable. They were stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the highway, and the collective heat of the summer air and the
exhaust being released by the surrounding cars blew in a draft of exasperated
mugginess and dirty fumes.
Cory’s
last chance for relief dissipated instantly, only making him more irritated
and irritable as ever. He couldn’t find any position to get comfortable - his
shirt was bunched up and sticking to his back which had darkened in shade from
his sweat, and the leather on the seats was just warm enough for Cory to feel a
slight burning sensation when his exposed skin made contact. Again, the thought
ran through his mind of how Camille can just sit there and not let it affect
her. It angered him immensely. He thought why must I be the only one to suffer?
Camille
kept her head and her eyes still, waiting patiently as the car inched forward
every few minutes. She hated sitting in traffic - she felt that the overall
anxiety of the other drivers was heightened for no other reason than that they
were in a hurry for the sake of being in a hurry. People were generally selfish
on the road, she thought. It made no sense to get upset when you had nowhere to
go. The honks and beepings of cars only added to everyone’s frustration, but
Camille kept composed, her breathing steady and firm.
Camille
had grown accustomed to the environment of her car. It felt relaxing and cool
to her, a nice escape from the summer air, then again, she never really minded
the heat. However, she didn’t like the feeling of sweat dripping down the
canyon of her back. The tickling of each bead of salty water gave her the
awkward feeling of unattractiveness that constantly plagued her mind and the
minds of so many other girls. She could feel a small diamond sweat spot forming
along the curve of her back, fusing her back to her seat. Camille tried to ignore
it as best she could, maintaining her hands at the 10 and 2 positions.
Camille
decided to look out her window to catch a glimpse of what little scenery there
was beyond the concrete overpass. Streetlights, stoplights, and billboards hung
over the buildings and cars below like branches and vines in a metal jungle.
The cars on the streets looked like herds of cattle, following each other
aimlessly to destinations that they couldn’t wait to get to, destinations as
arbitrary and insignificant as those on the highway with her and Cory. Camille
felt, despite all the chaos down below, amidst all the confusion of the
highway, she could still find some semblance of peace within the isolation of
her own little car.
“All
right,” Cory began with an exhausted and infuriated impatience, “I’m just going
to come out and say it.” Camille slumped her head down to her chest and let out
a deep sigh. There goes the peace, she thought.
Cory
repositioned himself carefully in his seat to face Camille.
“Do you just not care about what
happens to dad?” he asked. His face was contorted with great confusion, anger,
concern, and disbelief for both their dad and Camille.
“Of
course I care about dad,” she replied.
“Well,
you sure have a funny way of showing it,” Cory lashed back.
“What
were you expecting?”
“I
don’t know. Something. Anything,” he said, waving his hands in anger.
There
was a pause. Camille didn’t know how to respond.
“Dude.
We just found out that dad has cancer - Cancer!.”
Camille
drew in a deep breath. She could feel her body tense. She loosened her grip on
the steering wheel, lowered her shoulders and exhaled. The air felt like it
somehow got warmer. The tension in the tiny space made it feel thicker,
heavier.
“Yes.
Dad has cancer,” Camille explained. “Yes, it’s unfortunate, but what do you
want me to do about it?”
“I
want you to feel something about it!”
Cory yelled. “Don’t you feel sad? Upset? Angry? Scared?! Anything at all about
dad’s current condition?!”
Camille
took a few seconds for his words to resonate, shaking the air between them with
violent force, thinking how she truly felt. Their dad had given them the news
no more than an hour before. She didn’t react as dramatically as he did. He was
very much distraught. She kept a level head throughout the entire meeting in
the hospital room, thinking of all possible next steps after the big reveal.
“If
I were to choose one,” Camille paused, “I suppose I would be sad.”
“So
then why couldn’t you just show that to dad?” Cory retorted. “How do you think
that makes dad feel when he sees you unphased by something so big, huh?”
“It’s
out of my control of what happens to him, Cory,” she asserted. “Getting upset
won’t do him any good.”
“It
lets him know that you care about him. That you’re worried about him.”
“Don’t
assume that I don’t feel the same things you do, the only difference is I’m not
letting my emotions get carried away.”
“Why
not, Cam? It’s okay to feel. What. All of a sudden you think you’re better than
everyone else?”
“Why
is this always an issue with you?”
“Because
it’s never an issue with you!” Cory
screamed. “You never react, never respond, never let yourself go there.”
“Again,
what good would that do?”
“Ugh,”
Cory grunted in disgust. “You just don’t get it. I don’t think you ever will.”
He rested his elbow on the open window and propped his head on his hand as he
looked out onto the sea of cars. Ahead he could see the collective fumes of the
cars floating upward, waving fantastically, distorting the horizon into an
upward cascading waterfall.
Camille’s
grip grew tighter, her knuckles turning a little white over the wheel. Her
forehead stiffened, her brows met at the bridge of her nose, her lips pursed,
doing her best to restrain sound from escaping her mouth.
“You
know what, Cory, you’re right,” Camille finally said. Her words had a
calculated disdain to them. Cory could feel the air beginning to turn cold from
her words. It was arid and still, a chill running down his spine as her words
penetrated his soul. He rolled up his window and turned to face her again, his
face unmoved.
“You’re right, I don’t get it,” she
continued. “I don’t get why getting emotional will help me. I don’t get why
getting emotional will help dad.” Camille’s voice rose higher with each
sentence, growing in intensity and anger. “I don’t get why you think this is a
problem. I don’t get how you think that it’s okay to be that emotional. You’re
like a loose cannon: you let your emotions fly every which way without any
regard to any damage you might actually be causing to everyone around you. To
me, that’s reckless. Have you ever considered that your upset or whatever you
felt today in that hospital room might be causing dad more stress? You have no
control. I do! So don’t try lecturing
me on what I should and shouldn’t be feeling, because I do feel. I do hurt. This isn’t easy for me either.”
Camille’s speech hung in the air,
echoing like Zeus’ lightning cracking in the distance. They boomed with
ferocious vigor. Cory could see a single tear slowly drip from the corner of her
eye and down her cheek. Camille took a deep breath, eyes on the road, ignoring
it completely.
“That’s called frustration,” Cory
finally said rigidly.
She didn’t respond. A small smirk
curled at the corner of her mouth at the smartass comment, but it was immediately
turned back into a frown.
“I’m not asking you to be as big and
dramatic as me,” Cory assured her, “I’m just asking that you feel something,
like you are now.” He spoke with a calmness that was comforting. His movements
were slight, his message clear. “The reason I let myself feel so much is
because it lets me be vulnerable. It lets me know that I’m human because I feel these things. It’s
natural to feel those things, Cam. Anger. Sadness. Happiness. Why do you want
to suppress that? You can learn and grow from these experiences, but you need
to be able to accept them as they come. It may look like I get out of control,
but by submitting to them, by understanding and acknowledging why I feel these
things in these moments, I become more in control. Don’t think of them as
anything less than an extension of you. Don’t ignore them.”
There was another pause. Camille was
beside herself, speechless. Tears started to flow down her cheeks. Her eyes
were puffy and red, her bottom lip quivering in between breaths to try and calm
down. She wiped her face with her hand. Something about what Cory said rang
true to her. She never really considered that before. For all the thinking that
she does, she never really thought about it like that.
Cory extended his arm and gave Camille
a light pat on the shoulder. She looked over to him. His expression was stern,
but relaxed. Something in his eyes displayed a mixture of worry and assurance.
His eyes suggested that everything was going to be okay, that she would be
okay.
“Do you feel better now?” he asked.
Camille took a second to compose
herself. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“Good,” he said. He pulled back his
hand. “Sometimes you think too much.”
She couldn’t help but let out a tiny
laugh. She didn’t think something like that was possible. When did Cory become
so smart, she thought.
Cory repositioned himself so that he
was firmly planted in his seat. His posture was straight, his back completely
against the seat, one hand on his lap, the other on the door’s armrest. He was
looking forward, outward beyond the windshield. The flashing red lights of
brakes looked like fireflies whisking across a cluttered landscape of bulky
metal pylons. He was completely calm, a slight smile on his face. He felt cool,
peaceful. Whatever atmosphere he imagined in the car seemed to have lifted
away. He felt he could breathe again.
Camille’s tears had finally
subsided. Her chest felt warm. The warmth spread across her body like fire. The
air was stifling, and it reeked of sweat and salt. Camille decided to roll down
her window, hoping to gain some relief. To her surprise, the warm incoming
breeze felt refreshing against her face. Everything was going to be okay. She
could feel it.
Matthew Comorre
Matthew Comorre
is an emerging Los Angeles writer hoping to get his works published for the
first time. He found writing while pursuing his business degree, developing it
into a passion. He hopes that his writing will connect with readers on a personal
level while exploring new and familiar territory.