Read Online Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self by Danielle Evans - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Danielle Evans
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circumstances, but nothing came to mind. I focused instead on the insulting giddiness of the waiting-room magazine covers, their cheerful refusal to be about anything that mattered.
A nurse punctuated the silence. “Miss Ellis?”
She led me down the hallway and opened the door to a room, but didn’t enter. I could see her hovering in the entry. Before I walked through the door, I heard Allison’s voice, still thick like sweet liquid. “You came.”
She looked worse than I was expecting, but I already couldn’t remember how I’d pictured her all this time. Certainly I was never picturing her in a hospital bed, with bandages and an IV and a red plastic food tray in her lap. She was thinner now than she had been when I had known her as a child; the roundness I remembered in her face had given way to something angular. Her eyes, which I’d remembered as being almost electric blue, seemed gray in this light, and her long hair was feathered with split ends. She looked exposed in a flimsy cloth gown; I wondered if there were levels of crazy here, if some people qualified to wear real clothes and others didn’t. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. Allison smiled at me. I smiled back. I looked around the room, wondering what was coming next. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, as if counting down for an explosion.
“What happened?” I asked, which was the most delicate way I could think of putting the question. Something cold flashed through her eyes briefly, and then she smiled at me again. “I got divorced last month,” she said. “But I got divorced once before, and I didn’t try to kill myself afterward, so I guess that’s not it, is it?”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I probably should have learned my lesson about marriage the first time.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I nodded at my engagement ring.
“I bet he’s a nice guy,” Allison said. “Is he a lawyer too?”
“Jason’s a journalist,” I said. “And I’m not a lawyer yet. I just graduated.”
“Still, look at you now. I always hoped you were doing well. Our grandmother would love it.”
The way she said it, it sounded like an accusation and a compliment at the same time. I waited for her to tell me why she’d asked me to come. To fill the silence, I told her a little about school, about Jason, about the sample bar question essays I’d written out and read into a tape recorder that I played so often I could hear it in my sleep.
“What are you doing these days?” I asked finally.
“Other than slitting my wrists?”
I flinched.
“I teach music,” she said. “We tried to make a real pianist out of me, but I was never quite good enough. My heart wasn’t in it.”
“ ‘We ’?”
“Grandma and I,” she said. “Grandma more than me. My parents gave me to her after that summer, you know. They put me in a place like this for a few weeks, and when I came out they said they simply lacked the knowledge to deal with a child with those kinds of issues. They moved to LA the next year.”
“I know,” I said. I had known, but hearing it out loud still felt like a slap. “I never understood why you told them. You could have said I’d fallen. I never told them you pushed me. I never said that. I wouldn’t have.”
“I could have said a lot of things,” said Allison. “I thought my parents would come get me and yours would come get you. I thought if anyone got in trouble, it would be our grandmother.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We were kids. We didn’t know what we were doing.”
“It took me all these years to figure out that she didn’t know, either. She had the next decade of my life scheduled before my parents were on the plane. She was so scared to mess up again that I was barely allowed to leave the house. I think I got married the first time just to get away from her. She went on and on about my first husband being trash. Her favorite thing to say when I messed up was that I took after my mother’s
A nurse punctuated the silence. “Miss Ellis?”
She led me down the hallway and opened the door to a room, but didn’t enter. I could see her hovering in the entry. Before I walked through the door, I heard Allison’s voice, still thick like sweet liquid. “You came.”
She looked worse than I was expecting, but I already couldn’t remember how I’d pictured her all this time. Certainly I was never picturing her in a hospital bed, with bandages and an IV and a red plastic food tray in her lap. She was thinner now than she had been when I had known her as a child; the roundness I remembered in her face had given way to something angular. Her eyes, which I’d remembered as being almost electric blue, seemed gray in this light, and her long hair was feathered with split ends. She looked exposed in a flimsy cloth gown; I wondered if there were levels of crazy here, if some people qualified to wear real clothes and others didn’t. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. Allison smiled at me. I smiled back. I looked around the room, wondering what was coming next. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, as if counting down for an explosion.
“What happened?” I asked, which was the most delicate way I could think of putting the question. Something cold flashed through her eyes briefly, and then she smiled at me again. “I got divorced last month,” she said. “But I got divorced once before, and I didn’t try to kill myself afterward, so I guess that’s not it, is it?”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I probably should have learned my lesson about marriage the first time.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I nodded at my engagement ring.
“I bet he’s a nice guy,” Allison said. “Is he a lawyer too?”
“Jason’s a journalist,” I said. “And I’m not a lawyer yet. I just graduated.”
“Still, look at you now. I always hoped you were doing well. Our grandmother would love it.”
The way she said it, it sounded like an accusation and a compliment at the same time. I waited for her to tell me why she’d asked me to come. To fill the silence, I told her a little about school, about Jason, about the sample bar question essays I’d written out and read into a tape recorder that I played so often I could hear it in my sleep.
“What are you doing these days?” I asked finally.
“Other than slitting my wrists?”
I flinched.
“I teach music,” she said. “We tried to make a real pianist out of me, but I was never quite good enough. My heart wasn’t in it.”
“ ‘We ’?”
“Grandma and I,” she said. “Grandma more than me. My parents gave me to her after that summer, you know. They put me in a place like this for a few weeks, and when I came out they said they simply lacked the knowledge to deal with a child with those kinds of issues. They moved to LA the next year.”
“I know,” I said. I had known, but hearing it out loud still felt like a slap. “I never understood why you told them. You could have said I’d fallen. I never told them you pushed me. I never said that. I wouldn’t have.”
“I could have said a lot of things,” said Allison. “I thought my parents would come get me and yours would come get you. I thought if anyone got in trouble, it would be our grandmother.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “We were kids. We didn’t know what we were doing.”
“It took me all these years to figure out that she didn’t know, either. She had the next decade of my life scheduled before my parents were on the plane. She was so scared to mess up again that I was barely allowed to leave the house. I think I got married the first time just to get away from her. She went on and on about my first husband being trash. Her favorite thing to say when I messed up was that I took after my mother’s
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