The Talk

            I picked at the scab on my knee, wincing as the tender flesh, not quite healed, is exposed. My parents flank each side of me on my twin bed, the mattress creaking underneath our combined weight. I can feel them exchanging glances over my bent form. My dad clears his throat.

            “Tessa… when two people love each other…” he trails off, scratching the back of his head.

            I can hear my little brother and his friends’ carefree laughter outside my window, and I itch to join them, even though I am now far too old for any games they are playing. The air seems heavy with words unspoken, and even though I am not sure why, I can feel the tension building.

            I continue to stare at my knee, intently focused on the small indentures and grooves of my skin. There is a streak of dirt trailing down my calf, dirtying my white sock. For some reason I can’t name, I am loath for the conversation to continue. My dad tries again.

            “Tessa, when two people are in love – “

            “Jesus Christ, Carl, I think she gets it.” My mother’s voice whips through the room like a knife slicing through butter. My dad jerks. I look up at him, but instantly turn my head away from his burning face.

“Tessa,” my mother says. “When two people are together - married people,” she stares pointedly at my father, “they want to have children. And to do this, there is an act with which they must complete.”

She shifts on the bed and raises her eyes to the ceiling. I take the brief respite to bolt from the bed and stand by my old, oak desk. I begin to finger the gold, plastic trophies that line the top, their tacky shine giving me an odd comfort.

My parents start to whisper behind me, my mother’s voice forceful and my dad’s filled with unease.  I am used to the quiet complacency of my father, but my mother’s discomfiture unnerves me. Never have I seen my mother so at a loss for words. She commands each room she enters, firing off tasks and instructions like a militant captain leading a wayward group of soldiers. I am in awe and deeply uneasy of this formidable, unseen foe that has stopped my mother in her tracks.

“Tessa.”

My mother again. My name was beginning to sound foreign to my own ears, each utterance of the two syllables sounding more and more combative.

“Tessa, look at me,” she demands sharply.

I spin around on my heel and clasp my hands together, forcing myself to look into her steely, gray eyes. Her returned resolve steadies me somewhat, as I am used to her confidence. But this ease dissipates as I listen on with a mixture of horror and incredulity. Laughter bubbles to my mouth without warning, and I clamp my hand over my mouth.

“And this is how children are made,” she finishes. She stands up, brushing off her hands like another chore had been completed, and exits the room. I stare at the empty doorway dumbly.

“If you have any questions…” my dad starts to say.

I shake my head hurriedly, longing for him to leave. He stands up and smiles weakly.

“Alright, kiddo.”

He ruffles my head before he goes, something he hasn’t done in what seems like ages.

When they are gone, I don’t move from my spot. The new facts I have acquired bounce around my head like a pin-ball machine, but I am unsure of this new game.

I finger the trophies again, but this time, they do not look the same.