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Authors: Kathleen Glasgow
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answer, Dr. Helen flips through the pile of papers on her lap. “There’s a halfway house that may have room for you, possibly as early as next month. They specialize in substance addiction, but that is one of your subsets. You’ll need to stay with your mother before then, of course, since you can’t stay here. No one wants you back in your previous situation, no one.”
Previous situation:
meaning, homeless. Meaning, Dumpster diving. Meaning, cold and sick and Fucking Frank and the men who fuck girls.
I look at the turtle. His legs twitch, like he’s shrugging at me:
What do you expect me to do? I’m a goddamn turtle trapped in a tank.
Outside the window, the sky is turning hard and gray. Fucking Frank. A halfway house. I’m being sent back outside.
When I say it, I sound like a little baby, and that makes me even madder. “It’s still
cold
outside.”
Dr. Helen says, “We’ll do everything we can, but is there absolutely no possibility of long-term reconciliation with your mother, even with counseling? She’s agreed to house you until a bed opens at the halfway house. That says something to me, that she’s trying.”
I look at Casper in desperation. I think her eyes are the saddest things I’ve seen in a long, long time.
Very, very slowly, she shakes her head from side to side. “I don’t see any other option, Charlotte. I’m very sorry.”
Once my mother hit my ear so hard I heard the howling of trains for a week. I get up and walk to the door.
Casper says, “We’re not abandoning you, Charlotte. We’ve investigated every possible option, there just isn’t—”
“No.” I open the door. “Thank you. I’m going to my room now.”
Casper calls after me, but I don’t stop. My ears are a sea of bees. Our rooms are on the fourth floor, Dinnaken Wing. I pass by Louisa and go into the bathroom and stand there for a while. Louisa says my name.
Then I step into our shower and pound my forehead into the wall until the bees die.
When Casper comes running in, she grabs me around the waist and pulls at me to get me to stop. I take her beautiful yellowy baby bird hair in my hands and I yank so hard that she cries out and pushes away. I slide to the floor, warm blood trickling down to my mouth.
I say
sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry.
Feathery strands of her hair flutter in my hands. I’ll never be beautiful or normal like Casper, and just like that, just realizing that, out everything comes, all she ever asked of me.
I tell her: After my father died, my mother curled up into something tight and awful and there was no more music in the house, there was no more touching, she was only a ghost that moved and smoked. If I got in her way, if the school called, if I took money from her purse, if I was just
me,
the yelling started. She yelled for years. When she got tired of yelling, she started hitting.
Casper blots my face with a cloth as I talk. Louisa wrings her hands in the doorway. Girls pile up behind her, pushing, trying to get a look.
I say: She’s been hitting me for a long time. I say: I started hitting back.
I say: Please don’t make me go back outside. I tell her about the man in the underpass, he broke my tooth and broke me, and it hurts swelling out of me, but I give it to her, all the horrible words in my heart—about Ellis, about Fucking Frank.
I stop. Her eyes are watery. I’ve given her too much. Two orderlies muscle through the crowd of girls. There are little pinpricks of blood at the roots of Casper’s hair, little blips of red amid the yellow. They help her up and she doesn’t say anything to me, just limps away.
A TIMELINE
A girl is born.
Her father loves her. Her mother loves her father.
Her father is sad.
Her father drinks and smokes, rocks and cries.
Into the river he goes.
The mother becomes a fist.
The girl is alone.
The girl is not good in the world.
No one likes the girl.
She tries.
But her mouth is mush.
Stupid girl. Angry girl.
Doctors: Give her
Previous situation:
meaning, homeless. Meaning, Dumpster diving. Meaning, cold and sick and Fucking Frank and the men who fuck girls.
I look at the turtle. His legs twitch, like he’s shrugging at me:
What do you expect me to do? I’m a goddamn turtle trapped in a tank.
Outside the window, the sky is turning hard and gray. Fucking Frank. A halfway house. I’m being sent back outside.
When I say it, I sound like a little baby, and that makes me even madder. “It’s still
cold
outside.”
Dr. Helen says, “We’ll do everything we can, but is there absolutely no possibility of long-term reconciliation with your mother, even with counseling? She’s agreed to house you until a bed opens at the halfway house. That says something to me, that she’s trying.”
I look at Casper in desperation. I think her eyes are the saddest things I’ve seen in a long, long time.
Very, very slowly, she shakes her head from side to side. “I don’t see any other option, Charlotte. I’m very sorry.”
Once my mother hit my ear so hard I heard the howling of trains for a week. I get up and walk to the door.
Casper says, “We’re not abandoning you, Charlotte. We’ve investigated every possible option, there just isn’t—”
“No.” I open the door. “Thank you. I’m going to my room now.”
Casper calls after me, but I don’t stop. My ears are a sea of bees. Our rooms are on the fourth floor, Dinnaken Wing. I pass by Louisa and go into the bathroom and stand there for a while. Louisa says my name.
Then I step into our shower and pound my forehead into the wall until the bees die.
When Casper comes running in, she grabs me around the waist and pulls at me to get me to stop. I take her beautiful yellowy baby bird hair in my hands and I yank so hard that she cries out and pushes away. I slide to the floor, warm blood trickling down to my mouth.
I say
sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry.
Feathery strands of her hair flutter in my hands. I’ll never be beautiful or normal like Casper, and just like that, just realizing that, out everything comes, all she ever asked of me.
I tell her: After my father died, my mother curled up into something tight and awful and there was no more music in the house, there was no more touching, she was only a ghost that moved and smoked. If I got in her way, if the school called, if I took money from her purse, if I was just
me,
the yelling started. She yelled for years. When she got tired of yelling, she started hitting.
Casper blots my face with a cloth as I talk. Louisa wrings her hands in the doorway. Girls pile up behind her, pushing, trying to get a look.
I say: She’s been hitting me for a long time. I say: I started hitting back.
I say: Please don’t make me go back outside. I tell her about the man in the underpass, he broke my tooth and broke me, and it hurts swelling out of me, but I give it to her, all the horrible words in my heart—about Ellis, about Fucking Frank.
I stop. Her eyes are watery. I’ve given her too much. Two orderlies muscle through the crowd of girls. There are little pinpricks of blood at the roots of Casper’s hair, little blips of red amid the yellow. They help her up and she doesn’t say anything to me, just limps away.
A TIMELINE
A girl is born.
Her father loves her. Her mother loves her father.
Her father is sad.
Her father drinks and smokes, rocks and cries.
Into the river he goes.
The mother becomes a fist.
The girl is alone.
The girl is not good in the world.
No one likes the girl.
She tries.
But her mouth is mush.
Stupid girl. Angry girl.
Doctors: Give her
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