Read Online And Then Things Fall Apart by Arlaina Tibensky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Arlaina Tibensky
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an individual. When he was in the hospital for kidney stones, I brought him a sea monkey kit to keep him occupied, and he thought it was as hilarious as I did.
I wanted the universe to know of our love, that we were thiscloseto doing it so watch and be in awe, because no one has ever been us or felt like us. We roamed the halls together like feral wolves. Standing in the hallway between the cafeteria and the gym, Matt would press my body against his by holding on to the thick strap on my book bag. Then hisother hand would be heavy on my neck, fingers entwined in my hair. And weâd kiss like ravenous blind people, trying to see from our throats. Our bodies radiated heat as we walked from our lockers to the parking lot.
When we were together, we were all that mattered. When the bell rang, weâd go to our separate classes and Iâd write my name and his inside hearts like a unicorn-loving idiot. I swear. I couldnât help it. Just thinking of his hands around my waist made me have to put my head on my desk to catch my breath. I felt all the time like Esther, while skiing downhill for the very first time, thinking that she was the happiest she had ever been. Just before she broke her leg.
This was right before the black hair, before the pink hair, before Amanda and the freezer, graffiti tights, keyboarding class, the pox. Before this disastrous summer. Nic and I were still talking every day, still laughing when I would call her name down the hall like the yodelers in that Ricola cough drop commercial, âNeeeee-co-laaaah.â
Iâll always remember those last days when my life was airy and exciting and I was the most famous girl in school who got to eat free food at the Dine & Dash with the coolest, most accomplished wrestler on the team, a boy whose every motion in life was part of a larger effort to get me into his beautiful bed. Before Dad moved out. Before Mom started meditating herself to sleep every night. Before now.
You know the saying âItâs darkest before the dawn,âright? Well, for me it was as bright as the freaking sun before the meteor hit.
I was ablaze with happiness.
And then things fell apart.
DATE: July 24
MOOD: Appalachian
BODY TEMP: 101.5
When I had the mumps back in February, they werenât as bad as the chicken pox. Ah. The mumps. The temporarily disfiguring childhood illness mocked in Three Stooges movies. I got them right around when Matt figured out exactly how far I would let his hand down my pants or into my bra before I jumped up in terror of my own desire and went home.
It was also the time when my beloved parents went into weekly counseling. They came home late and went to bed early on Wednesday nights while I ate flaminâ hot Cheetos and drank Dr Pepper and read and reread and read one more time The Bell Jar because it was the only thing that seemed real.
What was so weird about couples therapy (or whatever people are calling it nowadays) was all the sex they were having. Like most normal people, I donât think about my parentsâ, er, lovemaking. As a kid I never walked in on them,or if I did, I didnât realize it. I had never heard them before, but I did during those months of Wednesday night marriage analysis.
In the eye of the storm that was the breakup of their marriage, they did it all the time. And I could
hear them
. Moaning and thrusting, stifled yelps of laughter and pleasure, mattress squeaking, and all the other ridiculous comedy tropes you can imagine. Was it so wrong of me to think of this as a good sign? They were, after all, together. Making the love. A lot. But perhaps they were making the hate. Saying good-bye the way rabbits make bunnies.
This and all other kinds of heartbreaking and distracting crap was weakening my defenses, making me susceptible to whatever diseases I hadnât had the good fortune to previously contract. Whooping cough, diphtheria, scarlet-freaking-fever. Congratulations, mumps! You made it
I wanted the universe to know of our love, that we were thiscloseto doing it so watch and be in awe, because no one has ever been us or felt like us. We roamed the halls together like feral wolves. Standing in the hallway between the cafeteria and the gym, Matt would press my body against his by holding on to the thick strap on my book bag. Then hisother hand would be heavy on my neck, fingers entwined in my hair. And weâd kiss like ravenous blind people, trying to see from our throats. Our bodies radiated heat as we walked from our lockers to the parking lot.
When we were together, we were all that mattered. When the bell rang, weâd go to our separate classes and Iâd write my name and his inside hearts like a unicorn-loving idiot. I swear. I couldnât help it. Just thinking of his hands around my waist made me have to put my head on my desk to catch my breath. I felt all the time like Esther, while skiing downhill for the very first time, thinking that she was the happiest she had ever been. Just before she broke her leg.
This was right before the black hair, before the pink hair, before Amanda and the freezer, graffiti tights, keyboarding class, the pox. Before this disastrous summer. Nic and I were still talking every day, still laughing when I would call her name down the hall like the yodelers in that Ricola cough drop commercial, âNeeeee-co-laaaah.â
Iâll always remember those last days when my life was airy and exciting and I was the most famous girl in school who got to eat free food at the Dine & Dash with the coolest, most accomplished wrestler on the team, a boy whose every motion in life was part of a larger effort to get me into his beautiful bed. Before Dad moved out. Before Mom started meditating herself to sleep every night. Before now.
You know the saying âItâs darkest before the dawn,âright? Well, for me it was as bright as the freaking sun before the meteor hit.
I was ablaze with happiness.
And then things fell apart.
DATE: July 24
MOOD: Appalachian
BODY TEMP: 101.5
When I had the mumps back in February, they werenât as bad as the chicken pox. Ah. The mumps. The temporarily disfiguring childhood illness mocked in Three Stooges movies. I got them right around when Matt figured out exactly how far I would let his hand down my pants or into my bra before I jumped up in terror of my own desire and went home.
It was also the time when my beloved parents went into weekly counseling. They came home late and went to bed early on Wednesday nights while I ate flaminâ hot Cheetos and drank Dr Pepper and read and reread and read one more time The Bell Jar because it was the only thing that seemed real.
What was so weird about couples therapy (or whatever people are calling it nowadays) was all the sex they were having. Like most normal people, I donât think about my parentsâ, er, lovemaking. As a kid I never walked in on them,or if I did, I didnât realize it. I had never heard them before, but I did during those months of Wednesday night marriage analysis.
In the eye of the storm that was the breakup of their marriage, they did it all the time. And I could
hear them
. Moaning and thrusting, stifled yelps of laughter and pleasure, mattress squeaking, and all the other ridiculous comedy tropes you can imagine. Was it so wrong of me to think of this as a good sign? They were, after all, together. Making the love. A lot. But perhaps they were making the hate. Saying good-bye the way rabbits make bunnies.
This and all other kinds of heartbreaking and distracting crap was weakening my defenses, making me susceptible to whatever diseases I hadnât had the good fortune to previously contract. Whooping cough, diphtheria, scarlet-freaking-fever. Congratulations, mumps! You made it
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