My entire childhood is filled with memories of him writing. The newspaper constantly has deadlines; I know he won’t be able to stay away from work the entire evening.
Despite wanting to make a statement by not eating, I snarf down the pizza right away because my stomach is killing me. I guzzle down the Coke and throw the empty can in the cardboard box doubling as a garbage can when Cassie calls me on my cell.
“How’s it going with your dad?” she asks.
“Hmmm. Well, the apartment’s practically empty and it smells bad. He forced me to come, Cass. Literally. He picked me up, put me over his shoulder and carried me to the car.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“The only good thing about being here is that I got pizza instead of Mom’s lentil lasagna.” I switch the cell phone to the other ear. “How was your date?”
“Victor didn’t have any plans to take me to the casino,” she says. “He drove way up to Grant Park just to make out. He was all over me, Sylvie! And when I told him to get off, he was blown away. He actually said, ‘But I don’t get it. I’ve got a condom.’ Ugh!”
Even after all the dating she’s done over the summer, Cassie’s still shocked that guys are basically jerks. Too many years of no experience. We laugh about tonight, but she’s lucky. Things could have turned out differently.
“Stick to nice guys from now on, why don’t you?” I say before hanging up, meaning it.
Just not Kevin nice.
After the phone call, I can’t sleep and I have nothing to do. I haven’t charged my phone since Dad moved out. The thing’s dying and Mom didn’t pack my charger, so I have no internet access. There’s no TV. No computer. Mom didn’t even pack a book in with my stuff. And my backpack is out in the living room where either Dad or Sam must be sleeping on the floor. So, I have a lot of time for introspection. Mom would be thrilled: introspection is her word. Goes along with the yoga.
Dad doesn’t have any curtains. The street light shines right into the room, right onto me like a spotlight in an interrogation: Who do you think you are, anyways? I lie on the floor, my thoughts keeping me awake, slamming constantly into each other in my brain, ripping away my resolve to stay stoic.
I think about the time we all camped out up north at Luna White Deer. I must have been six, maybe seven. Sam and I took turns jumping from a huge moss covered rock in the forest. On my third jump off, I twisted my ankle. That was before things got bad with me. Before I had lots of “incidents.” There was no checklist yet as to what to test when I got hurt. No constant questions or calls to the doctor. There were just my Dad’s strong arms around me and his kisses on my forehead. Just my mom’s gentle grip on my ankle, doing magic with a bandage and her fingers. No one freaked. Instead, the four of us made popcorn by shaking a metal box full of kernels over the fire. Sam threw the burnt pieces towards the targets I drew in the dirt with a stick. And Mom and Dad fought over who got the last cold beer.
Not over the cost of my medical insurance.
Or whether all the tests are helping or hurting.
Or about their lack of time together as a regular couple.
Or because all my mom’s energy is spent worrying. About me.
I break down. For the first time since Mom and Dad have separated, my tears get the best of me, and I cry until nothing more comes. My head is pounding and my insides feel like they’ve gone through a cheese grater.
It’ll be okay , I tell myself. Everything will be okay. All will be okay. I concentrate so hard on making myself believe it, that I don’t notice right away when my limbs go numb. I take a breath to brace myself, knowing I can’t control what comes next. And with a pop I’m out of my body.
I wait, fear keeping me still and silent. But I don’t hear the hissing. I slowly gaze around me. No shadows. No menacing fingers.
Thank God. They ruin everything.
Navigation outside my
Despite wanting to make a statement by not eating, I snarf down the pizza right away because my stomach is killing me. I guzzle down the Coke and throw the empty can in the cardboard box doubling as a garbage can when Cassie calls me on my cell.
“How’s it going with your dad?” she asks.
“Hmmm. Well, the apartment’s practically empty and it smells bad. He forced me to come, Cass. Literally. He picked me up, put me over his shoulder and carried me to the car.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“The only good thing about being here is that I got pizza instead of Mom’s lentil lasagna.” I switch the cell phone to the other ear. “How was your date?”
“Victor didn’t have any plans to take me to the casino,” she says. “He drove way up to Grant Park just to make out. He was all over me, Sylvie! And when I told him to get off, he was blown away. He actually said, ‘But I don’t get it. I’ve got a condom.’ Ugh!”
Even after all the dating she’s done over the summer, Cassie’s still shocked that guys are basically jerks. Too many years of no experience. We laugh about tonight, but she’s lucky. Things could have turned out differently.
“Stick to nice guys from now on, why don’t you?” I say before hanging up, meaning it.
Just not Kevin nice.
After the phone call, I can’t sleep and I have nothing to do. I haven’t charged my phone since Dad moved out. The thing’s dying and Mom didn’t pack my charger, so I have no internet access. There’s no TV. No computer. Mom didn’t even pack a book in with my stuff. And my backpack is out in the living room where either Dad or Sam must be sleeping on the floor. So, I have a lot of time for introspection. Mom would be thrilled: introspection is her word. Goes along with the yoga.
Dad doesn’t have any curtains. The street light shines right into the room, right onto me like a spotlight in an interrogation: Who do you think you are, anyways? I lie on the floor, my thoughts keeping me awake, slamming constantly into each other in my brain, ripping away my resolve to stay stoic.
I think about the time we all camped out up north at Luna White Deer. I must have been six, maybe seven. Sam and I took turns jumping from a huge moss covered rock in the forest. On my third jump off, I twisted my ankle. That was before things got bad with me. Before I had lots of “incidents.” There was no checklist yet as to what to test when I got hurt. No constant questions or calls to the doctor. There were just my Dad’s strong arms around me and his kisses on my forehead. Just my mom’s gentle grip on my ankle, doing magic with a bandage and her fingers. No one freaked. Instead, the four of us made popcorn by shaking a metal box full of kernels over the fire. Sam threw the burnt pieces towards the targets I drew in the dirt with a stick. And Mom and Dad fought over who got the last cold beer.
Not over the cost of my medical insurance.
Or whether all the tests are helping or hurting.
Or about their lack of time together as a regular couple.
Or because all my mom’s energy is spent worrying. About me.
I break down. For the first time since Mom and Dad have separated, my tears get the best of me, and I cry until nothing more comes. My head is pounding and my insides feel like they’ve gone through a cheese grater.
It’ll be okay , I tell myself. Everything will be okay. All will be okay. I concentrate so hard on making myself believe it, that I don’t notice right away when my limbs go numb. I take a breath to brace myself, knowing I can’t control what comes next. And with a pop I’m out of my body.
I wait, fear keeping me still and silent. But I don’t hear the hissing. I slowly gaze around me. No shadows. No menacing fingers.
Thank God. They ruin everything.
Navigation outside my
Similar Books
