didnât feel giddy or light-headed as I might have felt that weekend in the Berkshires. All I felt was tired, and sad, and just a little relieved.
IT was clear and cool on the Monday afternoon when we had driven back to school from the Berkshires. Somewhere near the Connecticut border, weâd gotten off the highway to stop for gas and get a quick bite to eat. We were at a big intersection, with a handful of fast food restaurants to the east and a sprawling K-Mart to the west. We were stopped at a light when we were abruptly jolted forward, hit from behind by a bulky SUV. And then we had slammed into the car in front of us, too. The SUV hadnât been moving that quickly, but still there was enough force for the rear bumper of Danielâs Subaru to detach and hang limply from its base, and for me to smack my forehead hard against the dashboard.
âFuck!â Daniel said. âFuck! Are you okay?â
âIâm fine, Iâm fine.â I touched my fingers to the spot above my right eyebrow, discovered it was damp with blood.
âShit, Emma!â
Daniel got out of the car to examine the damage. A stout, dark-skinned woman in a sari rushed over from the SUV, apologizing profusely.
âIâm so sorry!â she said. âI got a call from my sister that sheâs in the hospital and I just got distracted! Iâm just so worked up and worried and I just wasnât paying attention!â
âItâs okay,â Daniel said to her. âIt happens. Everyoneâs fine, donât worry, letâs just call 911 and exchange our information.â
I needed three stitches but was otherwise fine. The emergency room was nearly empty, and Daniel sat in the plastic seat beside me, resting his hand on my leg as the doctor closed the slit above my eyebrow, still caked with blood.
âWait until my dad hears that we got into an accident because you were giving me road head! Heâll be pretty pissed!â
âShut up,â I said. I could feel myself blushing. I tried not to move, careful not to disrupt the doctorâs hands. âYou arenât funny.â
âWell, Iâm
a little
funny,â Daniel said.
AFTER the pain and shock had subsided, I still felt a little shaken up, emotional, really, and the first person I wanted to callâas I usually did in situations like thisâwas my mother. And then Iâd felt shitty about not having told my parents I was going away to begin with, and hoped that they wouldnât be angry. (
Youâre seventeen
, Daniel had said.
You donât have to call your parents every time you make a move.
) I wondered if I shouldnât even call, but I always felt anchored by my parents in circumstances like this, soothed by the idea that they would do whatever they could to ease my anxiety. My mother was always so composed, so calm in situations that made me panic.
I called home and choked up just at the sound of her voice. (Why did this always happen? Why did I always regress to a five-year-old when I was in touch with my parents and even the tiniest bit distressed?)
âOh sweetie pie, what is it? Is everything okay?â
âYes, yes, Iâm fine, sorry. Iâm totally fine.â I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. âDaniel and I just got into a little accident. Iâm okay, but I just feel kind of shaken up and wanted to call you.â
I remembered this moment at the diner with Daniel, as he cut through a stack of pancakes, and I wondered if I would ever again be able to rely on my mother. For anything at all.
chapter
6
MY father was on his winter break from school too, and so for the next eight days, we were both free to roam the open spaces of that strange, dark time. Free to indulge, to pick and dissect, to really embrace all that darkness. I wished so much that things had been different, that instead, we could both be overwhelmed with a thousand different things, constantly coming and
IT was clear and cool on the Monday afternoon when we had driven back to school from the Berkshires. Somewhere near the Connecticut border, weâd gotten off the highway to stop for gas and get a quick bite to eat. We were at a big intersection, with a handful of fast food restaurants to the east and a sprawling K-Mart to the west. We were stopped at a light when we were abruptly jolted forward, hit from behind by a bulky SUV. And then we had slammed into the car in front of us, too. The SUV hadnât been moving that quickly, but still there was enough force for the rear bumper of Danielâs Subaru to detach and hang limply from its base, and for me to smack my forehead hard against the dashboard.
âFuck!â Daniel said. âFuck! Are you okay?â
âIâm fine, Iâm fine.â I touched my fingers to the spot above my right eyebrow, discovered it was damp with blood.
âShit, Emma!â
Daniel got out of the car to examine the damage. A stout, dark-skinned woman in a sari rushed over from the SUV, apologizing profusely.
âIâm so sorry!â she said. âI got a call from my sister that sheâs in the hospital and I just got distracted! Iâm just so worked up and worried and I just wasnât paying attention!â
âItâs okay,â Daniel said to her. âIt happens. Everyoneâs fine, donât worry, letâs just call 911 and exchange our information.â
I needed three stitches but was otherwise fine. The emergency room was nearly empty, and Daniel sat in the plastic seat beside me, resting his hand on my leg as the doctor closed the slit above my eyebrow, still caked with blood.
âWait until my dad hears that we got into an accident because you were giving me road head! Heâll be pretty pissed!â
âShut up,â I said. I could feel myself blushing. I tried not to move, careful not to disrupt the doctorâs hands. âYou arenât funny.â
âWell, Iâm
a little
funny,â Daniel said.
AFTER the pain and shock had subsided, I still felt a little shaken up, emotional, really, and the first person I wanted to callâas I usually did in situations like thisâwas my mother. And then Iâd felt shitty about not having told my parents I was going away to begin with, and hoped that they wouldnât be angry. (
Youâre seventeen
, Daniel had said.
You donât have to call your parents every time you make a move.
) I wondered if I shouldnât even call, but I always felt anchored by my parents in circumstances like this, soothed by the idea that they would do whatever they could to ease my anxiety. My mother was always so composed, so calm in situations that made me panic.
I called home and choked up just at the sound of her voice. (Why did this always happen? Why did I always regress to a five-year-old when I was in touch with my parents and even the tiniest bit distressed?)
âOh sweetie pie, what is it? Is everything okay?â
âYes, yes, Iâm fine, sorry. Iâm totally fine.â I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. âDaniel and I just got into a little accident. Iâm okay, but I just feel kind of shaken up and wanted to call you.â
I remembered this moment at the diner with Daniel, as he cut through a stack of pancakes, and I wondered if I would ever again be able to rely on my mother. For anything at all.
chapter
6
MY father was on his winter break from school too, and so for the next eight days, we were both free to roam the open spaces of that strange, dark time. Free to indulge, to pick and dissect, to really embrace all that darkness. I wished so much that things had been different, that instead, we could both be overwhelmed with a thousand different things, constantly coming and
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