Read Online Reasons to Be Happy by Katrina Kittle - Free Book Online

door, but not so you could hear it downstairs. From the cupboard under the sink I pulled out the box of tampons. I unwrapped one and put the pink wrapper on top of the pile of Kleenex in the wastebasket, shoving the unused tampon in my pocket. Mom and Dad had thought the toilet at home was clogged because I flushed tampons, so after that, I tried to always leave them as an excuse. I lifted the toilet lid, then the seat. It smelled, just faintly, of bleach.
    I leaned over. I slipped my right two fingers into my mouth to touch the back of my throat.
    The surge happened fast, but it happened long. I dreaded those seconds of suspension, those seconds where I couldn’t breathe. But those horrible, eyes-bugged-out-throat-burning seconds had to happen to get to the release.
    The release was this great rush, like when you’re really scared of something, but then you find out it’s okay, and that zippy feeling tingles in your fingers and ears, behind your knees, on top of your skull, and you feel alive and happy like you might laugh for a long time.
    I gasped in breath and put a hand on the wall so I didn’t fall down. No blue in the toilet. I didn’t think so. Not this early. I couldn’t flush yet. I only got so many flushes before people got suspicious. I’d never done this with Dad sober and with company in the house.
    The tingles tickled my neck and scalp. Once I’d caught my breath, I bent over and tapped the back of my throat again. I kept my eyes open as I vomited. I needed to see the colors.
    After round two, I leaned against the wall. Still no blue. I closed my eyes. The zippy feeling was good, but left me wobbly.
    I counted to twenty, whispering the numbers, moving my tingling lips and thick tongue, then stood and vomited again. There it was—traces of bright blue floating in the slosh.
    A fourth time—only hints of blue—and then I flushed.
    When I stood, sparkling lights danced all over the bathroom walls. I blinked hard to bring the toilet back into focus. The water rose high, scaring me, then went down, fast and strong.
    I kept blinking, but the room blurred wavy, the walls and floor melting together. I knelt, not sure I could keep standing, and leaned my forehead against the toilet seat.
    I closed my eyes and savored the tingling, the shivers like giggles, reminding me of the runner’s high I used to get. But worrying kept me from really flying.
    I’d eaten all my secret stash. Dad would never let me out of his sight in a grocery store again. I’d already been written up for arriving to my after-lunch class flushed and watery-eyed. If they thought I was on drugs it wouldn’t be too long before they’d start checking on me in the bathroom. I couldn’t find where Dad was hiding his cash anymore. He was shipping me off to Aunt Izzy who was not clueless and knew my entire bag of tricks. What would I do?
    My nose ran. I sniffed, but it didn’t stop. When I opened my eyes, I watched dark beads of blood slide down the white porcelain bowl, leaving tainted trails behind.

I had no reasons to be happy.
    Dad and I hardly spoke to each other. After six in the evening, he wouldn’t remember if we’d had a conversation anyway, so there didn’t seem much point. He didn’t act drunk; it’s not like he fell down or slurred his speech, but he’d just sit and stare, tears in his eyes.
    I spent a lot of time going through my mom’s closet, taking the things that smelled the most like her lemon meringue lotion—a pink cashmere hoodie, a thin white nightgown, her pillowcase. I slept with these items. Sometimes, when I felt the SR tugging on me, I could talk myself out of it by inhaling her lemon scent.
    Sometimes.
    On nights I couldn’t sleep, I’d shut off our alarm system and stand among my cities in the moonlight. I hadn’t finished the last city for my mother. I hadn’t gotten thin so she could see me beautiful just once before she died.
    Aunt Izzy had reminded us of Mom’s favorite saying when she gave the