have to.
“Of course not,” I say. “I'm just, you know, blown into a billion bits.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You must be.” And she starts to cry.
I have this guilty twinge, knowing that really she does love Claire.
“I miss her so much!” she wails. Even if she loves herself more.
Our Room
Mom makes our room the thing she flips out about. Flips. All. The. Way. Out.
I'm on the computer, talking with Audrey, who is so mad at Leila that everything is normal for a minute.
audball says: such a sneaky spoiled brat
gnatbite says: no kidding but we know all that
audball says: ive been saving tips for a month to get that skirt&she goes&buys 2!
“Natalie!” Mom's at the door. She steps in and looks around.
“Hi, Mom,” I say. “What did the cops want?”
She looks at me as if she's deciding whether I can handle the news.
“What?”
“The driver says that Claire appeared out of nowhere. That she ran into the road.” Her hand goes to her eyes.
“Mom, you don't think…? No way,” I say. “You put that evil thought out of your brain right now. It was an accident, through and through.”
“It had to be.” Mom sounds so weary.
“What do the cops think?”
“They're just asking questions. None of it will make a difference to Claire.”
I turn back to the computer.
audball says: i am so gonna spill something on her 1st chance i get
audball says: chocolate milk AND ketchup AND gravy
I think Mom's gone, but then, “Natalie Johnson, this room is a sty.”
I glance around. It
is
kind of trashed. All the drawers half open, clothes on floor, both beds unmade, all surfaces hidden under dishes and debris. But no more than usual.
“Meh,” I say. “Most of it is Claire's.”
Like an alien possession the way she goes from Stoned Dowdy Mother to Shrieking Harridan in the time it takes to click a mouse.
“Getawayfromthatscreenthisinstantandgetyourbutt towork.Don'tyouthinkweallhaveenoughtoworryaboutwith-outturningintocompletepigs?Howdareyoubehavelikethis inyoursister'sroomthrowing
shit
allovertheplaceasifnothing matters.Nothingcouldmattermorethanyoulookingafter everythinguntilyoursistercomeshome!”
She actually says
butt
and
shit.
And she gropes her way out of the room exploding into tears, fingers grabbing the doorframe so she doesn't fall over.
The rims of my eyes are burning, fighting tears. Howcan she pick on me now? How wrong is that? I'm suffering as much as she is! More, maybe, since she's got meds to supposedly numb her feelings. I'm suffering more than
Claire
, even, since she's unconscious! Can't Mom see that?
I'm
the one with the black hole in my universe.
Archeology
I kick the door closed,
bam!
Then,
gnatbite says: g2g, momspaz
audball says: boo, k bye
I sign off and roll onto the floor.
I have to breathe a few times, let the furious buzz subside. I hear Mom leave for the hospital, still crackly-voiced, telling Dad she's going to see Claire before she picks up her sister, Jeanie, at the train.
I get distracted and examine things from the floor point of view for a while. Picture of neglect. Plenty of dust bunnies. Dust antelopes, actually. Can't see too far under the beds, with the heaps of kicked-aside clothing blocking the vista. Except there's my red sweatshirt, lost before the end of school. And Claire's excellent prom shoes, half a size too small for me.
I find the shin guard that Claire had to pay for because she didn't return it, and here's Joe-boy's Sixers T-shirt that Claire swore she'd keep forever.
I start tossing stuff into a pile on the rug. Eventually, as the pile gets higher, I'm forced to stand up. I start at the top, folding each thing and sticking it on Claire's bed or mine. Even as I'm realizing there are clothes here that Claire may never wear again.
Don't go there….
The black thingy has not yet left my body.
The room gets cleaner than it's been in weeks. I put Claire's clothes into her drawers and mine into mine. Overflow into the laundry hamper, dirty or
“Of course not,” I say. “I'm just, you know, blown into a billion bits.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You must be.” And she starts to cry.
I have this guilty twinge, knowing that really she does love Claire.
“I miss her so much!” she wails. Even if she loves herself more.
Our Room
Mom makes our room the thing she flips out about. Flips. All. The. Way. Out.
I'm on the computer, talking with Audrey, who is so mad at Leila that everything is normal for a minute.
audball says: such a sneaky spoiled brat
gnatbite says: no kidding but we know all that
audball says: ive been saving tips for a month to get that skirt&she goes&buys 2!
“Natalie!” Mom's at the door. She steps in and looks around.
“Hi, Mom,” I say. “What did the cops want?”
She looks at me as if she's deciding whether I can handle the news.
“What?”
“The driver says that Claire appeared out of nowhere. That she ran into the road.” Her hand goes to her eyes.
“Mom, you don't think…? No way,” I say. “You put that evil thought out of your brain right now. It was an accident, through and through.”
“It had to be.” Mom sounds so weary.
“What do the cops think?”
“They're just asking questions. None of it will make a difference to Claire.”
I turn back to the computer.
audball says: i am so gonna spill something on her 1st chance i get
audball says: chocolate milk AND ketchup AND gravy
I think Mom's gone, but then, “Natalie Johnson, this room is a sty.”
I glance around. It
is
kind of trashed. All the drawers half open, clothes on floor, both beds unmade, all surfaces hidden under dishes and debris. But no more than usual.
“Meh,” I say. “Most of it is Claire's.”
Like an alien possession the way she goes from Stoned Dowdy Mother to Shrieking Harridan in the time it takes to click a mouse.
“Getawayfromthatscreenthisinstantandgetyourbutt towork.Don'tyouthinkweallhaveenoughtoworryaboutwith-outturningintocompletepigs?Howdareyoubehavelikethis inyoursister'sroomthrowing
shit
allovertheplaceasifnothing matters.Nothingcouldmattermorethanyoulookingafter everythinguntilyoursistercomeshome!”
She actually says
butt
and
shit.
And she gropes her way out of the room exploding into tears, fingers grabbing the doorframe so she doesn't fall over.
The rims of my eyes are burning, fighting tears. Howcan she pick on me now? How wrong is that? I'm suffering as much as she is! More, maybe, since she's got meds to supposedly numb her feelings. I'm suffering more than
Claire
, even, since she's unconscious! Can't Mom see that?
I'm
the one with the black hole in my universe.
Archeology
I kick the door closed,
bam!
Then,
gnatbite says: g2g, momspaz
audball says: boo, k bye
I sign off and roll onto the floor.
I have to breathe a few times, let the furious buzz subside. I hear Mom leave for the hospital, still crackly-voiced, telling Dad she's going to see Claire before she picks up her sister, Jeanie, at the train.
I get distracted and examine things from the floor point of view for a while. Picture of neglect. Plenty of dust bunnies. Dust antelopes, actually. Can't see too far under the beds, with the heaps of kicked-aside clothing blocking the vista. Except there's my red sweatshirt, lost before the end of school. And Claire's excellent prom shoes, half a size too small for me.
I find the shin guard that Claire had to pay for because she didn't return it, and here's Joe-boy's Sixers T-shirt that Claire swore she'd keep forever.
I start tossing stuff into a pile on the rug. Eventually, as the pile gets higher, I'm forced to stand up. I start at the top, folding each thing and sticking it on Claire's bed or mine. Even as I'm realizing there are clothes here that Claire may never wear again.
Don't go there….
The black thingy has not yet left my body.
The room gets cleaner than it's been in weeks. I put Claire's clothes into her drawers and mine into mine. Overflow into the laundry hamper, dirty or
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