BooksBarbecue
Back Little Universes
Chapters (63)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Part 1
  6. Mae
  7. Hannah
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. Part 2
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. Part 3
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. Epilogue
  59. Mental Health Resources
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  62. About the Author
  63. Newsletter Sign-up

Hannah looks at me like I am a waste dump being sent back to Earth. She looks at me like she wants me to disappear.

“Fuck you, Mae.”

Abort mission. Abort.

“Nah, I didn’t—I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t say things in the most helpful way. I know that. I’m sorry. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

Hannah turns around, starts crossing the parking lot in the direction of the T. Her legs are so long, I’d have to run to catch up to her. I want her to choose to stop. To not make me always have to run after her.

“Hannah!” I yell.

She doesn’t turn around.

I watch my sister stomp away, arms wrapped around her against the cold, and I think I know what it would be like to be on a space walk and have your tether break.

All you can do is float in the darkness, watching the light slip away.

If my sister were a weather system viewed from the ISS, she would be great big storm clouds sweeping over the face of Earth, covering whole landmasses, blocking out the sun.

More and more I keep thinking about the Little Prince’s rose and how he left his planet, Asteroid B-612, even though he loved her, because she was impossible to live with. No matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. And she was always waving her petals, so to speak—saber rattling, raring for a fight. Snapping at him. Refusing to accept his help. Totally self-absorbed.

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck on Asteroid B-612 with Hannah.

Honestly, I am growing very tired of it.

And I don’t like being cursed at.

Or walked away from.

And I don’t like being lied to.

I found a postcard. I don’t know when it came in. Why she didn’t tell me. And I can’t even say anything because I found it when I was going through her stuff, looking for more pills to throw away. Why would she keep that from me? Their last words to us. As though, by rights, they belong to her more than they do to me. She is part of them. She is made up of their genes. So maybe they are more hers.

But maybe the worst part of finding that postcard was: What was the joke Dad was going to tell me?

It might make me insane, never knowing.