I tossed the comforter off of me and threw on some clothes, stumbled into the bathroom. I brushed the moss off my teeth, splashed water on my face, tried to freshen my appearance. In the mirror, I saw my sickness, sallowness. Hair in tangles, disordered. I had become so pale that the circles under my eyes were colored black purple. I didn’t understand why I had such dark circles; I’d done nothing but sleep for the past few days. I wrapped my hair in a bun and painted over the darkness under my eyes.

Disappointment

Disappointment

“What’s this? Do you still have a fever?” Mom asked when I climbed into the passenger seat.

“No, no. I think I’m coming around,” I answered, flipping on the radio. It was just past four in the afternoon, but the sun was on its way down. As we inched forward in the traffic, Mom told me about some friend drama with my sister, Gunna. One of the girls had had sex for the first time, and she showed Gunna and the other girls a pair of bloody underpants to prove it.

“They’re only twelve—should they be having sex already?” Mom asked, launching back into her story before I had a chance to respond. “Gunna’s lost all interest in the piano. We really have to push her to practice at home.” My mother talked and talked as we slowly made our way toward the shopping center at Skeifan. I leaned against the cold window, watching a drizzle of sleet fall to the sidewalk, melt into the grayness of the pavement.

Mom parked in front of a pricey furniture store and unstrapped her seat belt. I felt like I couldn’t move. I had no way to muster energy for this snob store.

“Come on,” Mom said, urging me to unhook my seat belt. I had such a lump in my throat, I couldn’t speak. As soon as we made eye contact, I broke into tears. She was completely taken aback. By sheer force of will, I was able to stutter, between deep sobs, “I’m . . . not . . . doing so . . . well . . .”

Mom leaned over the armrest, wrapped her arms around me, tried to comfort me. I felt I didn’t deserve how good she was with me, not with how self-centered I’d been. In a calm, almost sedative voice, she asked, “What’s wrong, love?”

I couldn’t tell her what happened, couldn’t talk about it. I had promised to keep the secret, but only halfheartedly. I lifted my arms, turned my wrists toward her.

Mom gasped. And said sadly, “My girl.” She tightened her arms around my shaking frame, and we cried together to the murmur of traffic in the parking lot.

The Situation

The Situation

I’m not going to leave him. I don’t want to go home to Mom and Dad. He takes care of me now.

Out and About

Out and About