losing
her.
“Jess, whatever, he was being a total creep, that’s why I walked away. Okay? Markus doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
And that is enough.
For her, for now.
“Besides, Jess, weren’t we talking about how cool I am?” I ask.
Glowing outwardly
freezing inwardly.
I pick up my gyro
thankful to be distracted
by food
as I think about
the things Jess
just said.
84.
The knock on my bedroom door
wakes me up, I look at the clock.
Fuck.
I’m totally late.
Monday morning came fast
after last night with Jess
at the mall, the dinner and movie that followed.
“Louisa, got to get a move on,” Ms. F says. “You need to leave in about thirty minutes. Margot can drive you to school on her way back to her house.”
Brush teeth.
Dress fast.
Bagel in hand.
I jump in Margot’s car
thankful the heat’s
cranked up
as we pull out of the
frosty driveway.
“So, Louisa, one more week till Christmas break, right?” Margot asks, through her yawn, as she pulls into a coffee stand.
Two extra-hot
extra-whip-extra-shot
caramel lattes.
God, how is she so perfect?
“Yep,” I say, taking the coffee from her. “Thanks for the latte.”
“Oh, of course. But, so, I wanted to ask you, with Christmas break coming up and all, do you want a job?”
I don’t know what to say
so I do what I do best:
nothing at all.
“It would be a job at the record store. We need some extra people to work with the holiday rush and there was this girl who just flaked out, and anyways, I just thought you might like it?”
I bite my lip
self-consciously
aware of
saying yes too fast
or too slow.
“I already talked to my sister, and she thinks it would be great for you. What do you say?”
“You think I can do it? I mean, I’ve never had a job before.”
I want to confess
that I’m terrified
I’ll make a mess
of it.
But that I want to
try.
“You have to start somewhere. And this is better than working at a pretzel stand in the mall.”
I laugh.
“And the dress code at the record store is the best part. Come as you are.”
Come as you are.
I can do that.
God knows
I can’t do much
else.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay, yes?” she asks.
“Okay, yes.”
She drops me off at school
and I can’t
help but
think maybe I woke
up late
and got a ride from her
today
for a reason.
I just hope
I don’t
fuck
it
up.
85.
The clock is moving so slowly
I want to scream
at Terry.
I have been thinking
it over the past few days.
Yes, she brought the journals to me.
Yes, she woke up forgotten memories.
Yes, she says she is trying to help,
but I have a bunch of questions now
And I want to
Call
Her
Out
On A Few Of Them.
“Louisa, you look like a ball of nerves right now. Do you want to talk about bringing your journals home? Did you get a chance to look at them?”
Terry’s been asking me some variation
of the same
question
for the past forty minutes
and I wonder what she thinks is going to
happen?
If she asks me one more time I just
might give her what she wants:
Truth.
“Louisa, I know you weren’t exactly happy when I gave them to you, do you want to talk about why?” she asks.
Again.
“Stop it. Okay? Just stop asking me. Okay?”
I speak louder than I have in..
Ever?
“You want to know how I felt when you gave them to me? I felt scared. Scared that you might have read them. Scared of where they’ve been hiding for two years.”
I’m screaming now,
the voice no longer mine.
It’s another girl.
A girl who is temporarily
speaking on my behalf
because I know I would never be
strong enough to
talk about the
aftermath
of getting those old books.
“I was scared of what I would remember. Scared that the pages will make the monster that is my dad come back to life and haunt in ways I can’t
her.
“Jess, whatever, he was being a total creep, that’s why I walked away. Okay? Markus doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
And that is enough.
For her, for now.
“Besides, Jess, weren’t we talking about how cool I am?” I ask.
Glowing outwardly
freezing inwardly.
I pick up my gyro
thankful to be distracted
by food
as I think about
the things Jess
just said.
84.
The knock on my bedroom door
wakes me up, I look at the clock.
Fuck.
I’m totally late.
Monday morning came fast
after last night with Jess
at the mall, the dinner and movie that followed.
“Louisa, got to get a move on,” Ms. F says. “You need to leave in about thirty minutes. Margot can drive you to school on her way back to her house.”
Brush teeth.
Dress fast.
Bagel in hand.
I jump in Margot’s car
thankful the heat’s
cranked up
as we pull out of the
frosty driveway.
“So, Louisa, one more week till Christmas break, right?” Margot asks, through her yawn, as she pulls into a coffee stand.
Two extra-hot
extra-whip-extra-shot
caramel lattes.
God, how is she so perfect?
“Yep,” I say, taking the coffee from her. “Thanks for the latte.”
“Oh, of course. But, so, I wanted to ask you, with Christmas break coming up and all, do you want a job?”
I don’t know what to say
so I do what I do best:
nothing at all.
“It would be a job at the record store. We need some extra people to work with the holiday rush and there was this girl who just flaked out, and anyways, I just thought you might like it?”
I bite my lip
self-consciously
aware of
saying yes too fast
or too slow.
“I already talked to my sister, and she thinks it would be great for you. What do you say?”
“You think I can do it? I mean, I’ve never had a job before.”
I want to confess
that I’m terrified
I’ll make a mess
of it.
But that I want to
try.
“You have to start somewhere. And this is better than working at a pretzel stand in the mall.”
I laugh.
“And the dress code at the record store is the best part. Come as you are.”
Come as you are.
I can do that.
God knows
I can’t do much
else.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay, yes?” she asks.
“Okay, yes.”
She drops me off at school
and I can’t
help but
think maybe I woke
up late
and got a ride from her
today
for a reason.
I just hope
I don’t
fuck
it
up.
85.
The clock is moving so slowly
I want to scream
at Terry.
I have been thinking
it over the past few days.
Yes, she brought the journals to me.
Yes, she woke up forgotten memories.
Yes, she says she is trying to help,
but I have a bunch of questions now
And I want to
Call
Her
Out
On A Few Of Them.
“Louisa, you look like a ball of nerves right now. Do you want to talk about bringing your journals home? Did you get a chance to look at them?”
Terry’s been asking me some variation
of the same
question
for the past forty minutes
and I wonder what she thinks is going to
happen?
If she asks me one more time I just
might give her what she wants:
Truth.
“Louisa, I know you weren’t exactly happy when I gave them to you, do you want to talk about why?” she asks.
Again.
“Stop it. Okay? Just stop asking me. Okay?”
I speak louder than I have in..
Ever?
“You want to know how I felt when you gave them to me? I felt scared. Scared that you might have read them. Scared of where they’ve been hiding for two years.”
I’m screaming now,
the voice no longer mine.
It’s another girl.
A girl who is temporarily
speaking on my behalf
because I know I would never be
strong enough to
talk about the
aftermath
of getting those old books.
“I was scared of what I would remember. Scared that the pages will make the monster that is my dad come back to life and haunt in ways I can’t
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