Read Online Girls Fall Down by Maggie Helwig - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggie Helwig
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, FIC000000, Romance, Suspense fiction, Political, Photographers, Toronto (Ont.), Airborne Infection
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forehead on his hands. âThe little black spots, you know? Theyâre blood spots, actually. It means thereâs bleeding inside the retina. Not a lot. It hasnât got in the way of anything yet. But itâs ⦠you know, thereâs no way out here. Thereâs just not a way out of this.â
âAlex.â
Donât try to touch me
, he thought. But she put her hand on his arm, and he flinched away.
âSorry,â she whispered.
âI mean, I knew I wasnât going to be running around when I was ninety. I always knew that. Diabetes ⦠itâs a chronic condition with a reduced life expectancy. Prospects are getting better, but thatâs whatit is, and you know my blood sugar control was a problem for a long time. Partly my own fault. Whether you have complications ⦠glucose control counts for a lot, and then some of itâs just luck. And Iâm not very lucky. It happens to be my eyes.â
He watched her hands, on the table near his own, and noticed for the first time that she bit her nails; they were short and uneven and ragged. There was a scar across the back of her right hand, a soft puckering of the skin, and he thought he remembered it from the days at
Dissonance
, her fingers resting on the keyboard of the old type-setting machine. She wanted to take his hand right now, he knew that, wanted to hold his hand in hers or put her arms around him, because that was what people did. People who had known each other, a long time ago.
âI canât talk about it, Susie. Iâm sorry, but I just canât talk about it.â
âNo. Itâs all right.â
Tell me a story
, he thought.
âSo this thing about teenage girls. You know, when I was a teenage girl I wanted to be a prophet,â she said slowly, almost as if sheâd heard him. âWhich is pretty funny, because I wasnât any more religious then than I am now. But I really wanted to, I wanted to be seeing lights on the road to Damascus and getting the word straight from God.â
âWhat was God going to say to you?â
âWell, I donât know, do I? I never did get the word. Basically I just wanted everybody to stand around and marvel at me.â
âOh, they probably did anyway.â
âSure. Whatever.â She shifted in her chair. âYou want another beer?â
He paused and then nodded. Susie came back into his life, and instantly he started taking chances with his blood sugar. He couldnât let this go much further. But one more beer was not a big risk.
âEvelynâs got the word from God, you know,â said Susie, when she came back to the table with the glasses.
âThis we always knew.â
âDid Adrian tell you what sheâs doing? Sheâs a priest now, isnât that something?â
âCan women do that?â
âWith the Anglicans they can.â
âAnd do the people marvel at her?â
âHonestly? I donât see how they couldnât.â
These are some things that girls do.
In this city and in other cities, there are girls who cut their arms with the blades of razors. In the moment before they strike, all the anger and confusion in the world crumples up into their hands, sweat beading on their foreheads, and the blade slides into the skin with a sharp and accurate pain. The thick line of blood pours out like peace.
There are girls who starve, their hearts thin and pure, dreaming of the day when they can walk invisibly through the leaves in a trance of harmlessness. To do no damage, to touch no thing.
In Kosovo, girls fall down in their classrooms with headaches and dizziness and problems drawing breath, gasping words like
gas
and
poison
. Lines of cars stream towards the hospitals, filled with half-conscious girls with racing hearts, driven in by their terrified families, and doctors hand them sedatives and vitamins because they can think of nothing else to do. On the west coast of
âAlex.â
Donât try to touch me
, he thought. But she put her hand on his arm, and he flinched away.
âSorry,â she whispered.
âI mean, I knew I wasnât going to be running around when I was ninety. I always knew that. Diabetes ⦠itâs a chronic condition with a reduced life expectancy. Prospects are getting better, but thatâs whatit is, and you know my blood sugar control was a problem for a long time. Partly my own fault. Whether you have complications ⦠glucose control counts for a lot, and then some of itâs just luck. And Iâm not very lucky. It happens to be my eyes.â
He watched her hands, on the table near his own, and noticed for the first time that she bit her nails; they were short and uneven and ragged. There was a scar across the back of her right hand, a soft puckering of the skin, and he thought he remembered it from the days at
Dissonance
, her fingers resting on the keyboard of the old type-setting machine. She wanted to take his hand right now, he knew that, wanted to hold his hand in hers or put her arms around him, because that was what people did. People who had known each other, a long time ago.
âI canât talk about it, Susie. Iâm sorry, but I just canât talk about it.â
âNo. Itâs all right.â
Tell me a story
, he thought.
âSo this thing about teenage girls. You know, when I was a teenage girl I wanted to be a prophet,â she said slowly, almost as if sheâd heard him. âWhich is pretty funny, because I wasnât any more religious then than I am now. But I really wanted to, I wanted to be seeing lights on the road to Damascus and getting the word straight from God.â
âWhat was God going to say to you?â
âWell, I donât know, do I? I never did get the word. Basically I just wanted everybody to stand around and marvel at me.â
âOh, they probably did anyway.â
âSure. Whatever.â She shifted in her chair. âYou want another beer?â
He paused and then nodded. Susie came back into his life, and instantly he started taking chances with his blood sugar. He couldnât let this go much further. But one more beer was not a big risk.
âEvelynâs got the word from God, you know,â said Susie, when she came back to the table with the glasses.
âThis we always knew.â
âDid Adrian tell you what sheâs doing? Sheâs a priest now, isnât that something?â
âCan women do that?â
âWith the Anglicans they can.â
âAnd do the people marvel at her?â
âHonestly? I donât see how they couldnât.â
These are some things that girls do.
In this city and in other cities, there are girls who cut their arms with the blades of razors. In the moment before they strike, all the anger and confusion in the world crumples up into their hands, sweat beading on their foreheads, and the blade slides into the skin with a sharp and accurate pain. The thick line of blood pours out like peace.
There are girls who starve, their hearts thin and pure, dreaming of the day when they can walk invisibly through the leaves in a trance of harmlessness. To do no damage, to touch no thing.
In Kosovo, girls fall down in their classrooms with headaches and dizziness and problems drawing breath, gasping words like
gas
and
poison
. Lines of cars stream towards the hospitals, filled with half-conscious girls with racing hearts, driven in by their terrified families, and doctors hand them sedatives and vitamins because they can think of nothing else to do. On the west coast of
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