“Good, same old thing. Listen, I have something I need to talk to you about.” I took a deep breath and sat down on the ottoman in front of them. “So I got this job offer, and I would really like to take it.”
“A job offer? I didn’t know you were looking for a job. If you had told me I would have found you something to do in my office.” Yeah, that would be awesome, Dad. Like I don’t have to put up with enough of your shit at home.
“I wasn’t really. It just fell into my lap. It seems like a pretty good gig, and it will help a lot with school expenses this fall.”
“Oh, are you actually going to college?” The disdain in Dad’s voice went right through me. It took all my willpower to keep from wilting or bitch slapping him.
“Yes, Dad, I’m going to college.”
“Really? Because it doesn’t seem like you’ve done much on that front. I wasn’t sure you were even going to graduate.” Throughout my childhood I saw Dad tear Mom apart with little digs here and there—almost a Chinese water torture of insults that kept her constantly thinking she wasn’t quite complete. A wife with no confidence was a wife easily controlled. So was a daughter.
I remember once, when I was seven or so, my mom was having a particularly good night. She had even made dinner—a real dinner with side dishes and everything. Dad missed it because of a “late meeting”. We were sitting at the dining room table giggling and laughing when he came in. Mom asked where he had been.
“Not shoveling food in my mouth, that’s for sure. You know, you can’t blame all that weight on having a baby when she’s almost a teenager.” I don’t remember Mom eating even a full meal from that day on.
Every once in a while Dad would turn his attacks on me. When he felt I was maybe getting too strong, too outspoken, or maybe inching away from his control, I would be the recipient of those jabs. Afterward, when I was sullen, or God forbid he caught me crying, he would gasp incredulously. Often it was followed with a shocked, “What’s wrong with you? I was just teasing a little.”
I wasn’t going to fall for it this time—I couldn’t. He wasn’t going to tell me I was nothing, unacceptable, ever again. My shoulders stiffened. “I’m going to the University of Oklahoma. In Norman. I got my acceptance letter a few weeks ago.”
“And how exactly do you plan to pay for that? I’m not footing the bill for out-of-state tuition. Hope you applied at Missouri State because that’s the only place you’re going. You can live at home and go to college. Save me some money, and your mom won’t get lonely. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to go pack. I’m leaving for a trip tomorrow.”
Dad pushed himself off the couch and patted me on the head as he walked by. A small reminder that I would stay in my place, he was still in control.
“Honey, you’ll have fun at… I mean, maybe you can go to Oklahoma in a year or so… You can always…” Her voice trailed off, her brain grasping for the next word through her vodka haze. There was nothing there. There never was.
“Forget it, Mom. It’s no big deal.”
“We should go shopping this weekend.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’m going to my room.”
“Okay, sweetie.” She went back to staring at her empty glass.
On the way down the stairs, I realized I hadn’t gotten around to telling them about the job with Ken. Not that it mattered. There was no way out—I was never going to escape. It was going to be Mom, Dad and me in this house forever. Drinking, cutting, abusing, and hating each other every single day.
Downstairs, I stood in the hallway between the bedroom and the piano room. Which one tonight? Playing or cutting? Music or blood? If the hall was narrower I could have grabbed both doorknobs at the same time. As it was, my fingertips barely brushed them. I stayed there, my arms extended, grasping for one option or the other, willing my body to lean towards a decision. I don’t care which, just pick one dammit.
I heard something hit the floor directly above me—Dad must have dropped something. The sound caused me to jump slightly and lose my balance enough to fall towards my bedroom door. It was fate, God, whatever. The decision was made for me. Tonight it would be metal.
It was robotic. Push play on the stereo, take the razors out of the drawer, turn on the small lamp instead of the harsh overhead light, grab the bandages from under the bed—and that’s when I saw my duffel bag lying on the closet floor, dirty clothes from the last time I stayed at Maggie’s spilling out.
What was keeping me from throwing clothes in there and walking out the door? What could he possibly do to stop me? Lock me in my room? Ground me? Cut me off? Cut me off from what? Him? My mom? Money? I didn’t need or want any of it. I grabbed the bag out of the closet.
It held more than just clothing. It held promises. Promises of uninterrupted sleep, someone to care about me, a future. The razor only held promises of more pain. But that pain was my life—it was all I knew. Could I really be something other than a collection of scars and terrors? Something beyond prey? I curled up on my bed, the bag in one hand and the razor in the other.
Sleep and I weren’t great friends that night, not that we ever were. By the time the sun started turning the sky a dusky gray, my hands were cramped from holding onto both. I heard the shower start upstairs and knew Dad was getting ready for work. Getting ready to leave. For several days. The only question remaining was what was I going to do about it?
My fist unclenched and the razor rolled out of my hand. It was time to let go.
13.
I shoved handfuls of t-shirts and underwear into my bag, grabbed sheet music without even looking to see what it was, and gathered the cords for my laptop. As I stuffed my phone charger into the side pocket I realized I was really doing it. When I left for school, I had no intention of coming back. Ever.
Mom was stirring upstairs. If I didn’t get moving I would have to find a way to sneak my stuff out to the car without her seeing. And I would be late for school. I just needed to hear the front door slam—the sound that meant Dad was gone.
The seconds ticked by. I could hear him in the kitchen. Then walking back to his bedroom. In the living room. What the hell was he doing? If I didn’t leave in ten minutes I would need a written excuse to get into class. Shit. Was that the door?
I slung the bag over my shoulder. Where was my backpack? Was it still in my car? I desperately tried to remember if I had carried it in the day before. Had I gone into the piano room last night? Was it in there? It had to be in my car. I had to leave. I had to get out.
I raced up the stairs, my bag banging against the stairwell. God, please don’t let her come out because of the noise. Shit, where were my keys? In my pocket. They were in my pocket. I could feel them digging into my thigh with each step. My head was sprinting in a thousand different directions.
My hand was on the front door, the finish line was right there—sunlight, freedom, escape.
“Persephone, what are you doing?” Shit. I didn’t turn around.
“Going to school, Mom. I’m running late.” Please let me go. No more questions. Just let me go.
“What’s in the bag? It looks like you’re running a- oh. I see.” Breathe. All you have to do is breathe. Then open the front door and walk away. You can do this.
I leaned my head against the door. “Mom, I—”
“No, you need to go. You’ll be late for school—you should go. Please take care of yourself.”
“I will, Mom.” I walked out the door.
The rest of the day was a blur. I’m pretty sure I went to the right classes at the proper times. Not that it mattered. Finals started on Monday, and graduation was the only thing the seniors were interested in talking about.
All I could think about was Mom. I’d abandoned her, left her alone with his wrath. There would be no buffer for her now, no one to distract him from her. What kind of daughter did that make me? Selfish? Hateful? Cruel? Would she ever forgive me for leaving her?
When the last bell rang, I wasn’t sure if I coul
d move. Everyone else raced out the doors, pre-summer break energy surging through their veins. I was exhausted. If I could only stay at my desk, I wouldn’t have to face any of the decisions waiting for me out there. Should I clean out my locker now or wait until next week? Did I need a date for prom? Would I even go? Where was I going to sleep tonight? Did my mom still love me?
“Persephone, you know class is over, right?” Mrs Hall was smiling at me from the front of the classroom.
“Oh yeah, sorry.”
“Are you okay? You seemed, um, preoccupied in class today.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Fight with my boyfriend.”
She cocked her head to one side and put on what I’m sure she thought was an inviting, sympathetic smile. “Would you like to talk about it? I remember my first big break-up in high school. It’s not easy. But believe me, it’s not the end of the world. You have your whole future ahead of you. You will find someone better.”
Why is it when adults ask if you want to talk about something they really mean, ‘Would you like to sit there while I talk at you? Could you please validate me as a real grown-up, tell me how hip and relatable I am? Could you just stroke my ego a little and let me feel like I’ve helped you without really having to do anything?’
“Uh huh. I know. He was a douche bag anyway.” I could feel it back there, bubbling in my throat, wanting so desperately to come out. You see, Mrs. Hall, he wanted me to help him start dealing. I guess the cops are on to him, so he needs me to make his regular deliveries. He said they wouldn’t suspect someone as sweet-looking as me. I told him I wasn’t sure if I could do that. He punched me a few times, but not where the bruises show. He’s smart like that.
I didn’t say any of those things. Maybe I’d finally reached my capacity for lying. Maybe that was the last one I had in me, at least for today anyway. I couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.
She giggled, with the I’m the cool teacher who will let some bad language slide because we’re just two buddies talking now giggle. “Fair enough. Well, if you need anything just let me know. I’m more than a teacher, you know. I really care about my students outside the classroom.” Seriously? What Saved by the Bell episode did you steal that from? If you have to tell your students that then it’s not really true.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Guess I should get going.”
“See you Monday, Persephone.”
“Yeah.” I gathered my backpack and went into the hallway. It was pretty much empty now. One way led to the front door and my car, where I would have to decide where to go when I exited the parking lot. The other way led to my locker. Prolonging the inevitable, but still inviting.
Taking a step in either direction was too much to handle. I sank back against the wall, staring at my hands. Peeking out from under my sleeves were the tips of almost healed cuts. They were a few weeks old, barely more than scratches now. By the time graduation rolled around in a week, they would fade into the scar tissue already crisscrossing my skin. If I didn’t reopen them. My locker could wait. I headed for my car.
Sitting on the hood, smoking a cigarette with all the defiance of an almost-graduated senior, was Maggie. “Dumbass, if they catch you they can suspend you!”
“Yeah, and? I’ll miss prom? Not get to walk across the stage with the rest of the idiots at graduation? Do I still get my diploma?”
I shrugged. She had a point. “Um, yeah, I guess. Hell, give me one.”
“They’re in my bag. I’m not moving.”
“Where’s your lighter?” Maggie flicked it at me, almost hitting me in the head. “Hey! Watch it! What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a very large insect has recently burrowed into your anal cavity.”
“Fuck you,” Maggie replied.
“Whoa there, skippy pants. What did I do to you?”
“Oh, I can’t imagine. Maybe not returning a single damn text or phone call in almost two weeks? Completely disappearing? What kind of fucking friend are you anyway?”
I stood there in the flood of Maggie’s anger and expletives, taken completely off-guard. “What the hell are you talking—”
“Please spare me the innocent who-me-look, Persephone.” I fumbled to get my phone out of my pocket. “And don’t pull the whole ‘my phone’s not working, it died, it doesn’t show any missed calls’ bullshit. I’ve seen you do it to a thousand other people. Delete their calls and then pretend you never got them. Give me more consideration than that, okay? I deserve at least that much.”
“No, I wasn’t going to—”
“You know, I’m always here when you need me. Phone calls at three in the morning. Canceling dates because you need a place to stay. Convincing my mom you’re not a complete freaking loser so she’ll let me be friends with you. I’m done, Persephone. We graduate next week. At the end of the summer, I’m leaving for college. You know—college? Are you even going? Forget it, I don’t care if you are or not. But I’m not going to be here to watch you wallow anymore. We all have problems—get over yourself, okay? Do yourself a favor and get on with your life, but leave me the hell out of it!”
During her enraged speech I went from contrite to sad to plain old-fashioned pissed off. Who the hell did she think she was? So maybe I had been incommunicado for a week or so. Big deal. It wasn’t the end of the world. A few days over the course of a six year friendship? If she was so petty she could walk away over one or two unreturned texts then to hell with her. I didn’t need her anyway.
“Fine. What the hell ever. Get your fat ass off my car so I can leave.”
Maggie shook her head, looking defeated. “Okay.” She slid off and picked up her bag. “It didn’t have to be like this, Persephone.” She gave me what seemed to be a look of pity. I wanted to punch her.
“Go to hell.”
“You know if you would just—”
“I thought you were leaving?” And she did. She walked away.
I needed to drive. I needed to go fast and play loud music. I needed to smoke and yell and feel the rush of knowing one small mistake and my car would run off the road, be smashed to bits, me inside.
A few miles from the school were country roads leading to towns even smaller than mine. I headed in that direction without even thinking. My phone was plugged in, iTunes blaring.
I wasn’t even sure what playlist it was on. I didn’t care, as long as the music continued to sound loud and angry.
I threw curse words out my window like litter, destroying the peaceful landscape with my filth and waste. My fist pounded my steering wheel and the car filled with haze from one cigarette after the other, even though the window was down.
How dare she? I was there for her. We were together all the time on the weekends. I drove her drunk ass home from more parties than I could remember. And what the hell did she mean about canceling dates? She hadn’t dated any more than I had! I couldn’t remember the last time she even went out with a guy more than a few times.
Well, there was the one guy at the beginning of the year. Mitch, Mike, Marvin? How the hell was I supposed to remember? He was from another school, and I only met him one time. It was a night Mom was drunk when I got home from school, and Dad was supposed to be home from a trip anytime. I texted Maggie two blocks from her house and told her I was staying over.
They were watching a movie when I walked in. I guess she hadn’t gotten my text—or didn’t read it. Either way, she looked surprised to see me standing in her living room. She untangled herself from him and jumped up. There were awkward introductions. After grunting some sort of response I made a beeline for Maggie’s room. I had no desire to be charming for a complete stranger, and Maggie knew that. Twenty minutes later he left, and we didn’t mention him again that night.
A few weeks later I asked about him, and she said they weren’t seeing each other anymore. She actually looked upset about it. I told her not to worry, he looked like kind of a loser anyway.
Had I told her he couldn’t have a ride to the parties we
went to over those few weeks? Part of me remembered something like that. And I think I told her I would prefer he not meet us there either. But in all fairness, I knew if Maggie had someone there and I didn’t, I would be abandoned. I mean, it’s not like she was with me every single night. She had five other nights out of the week to see him, right? Well, at least three nights out of the week. And weren’t friends supposed to take precedence over boyfriends? What was the girl equivalent of bros before hos?
She knew when she signed up for the job being my friend wasn’t easy. Maggie was the first person who saw my scars for what they were. No amount of lying would deter her. So when she asked why, I didn’t even try to cover it up. I spilled everything (well, almost everything), verbally vomiting all over her. Maggie’s mom was out that night, hooking up with some new guy, leaving two twelve year old girls to fend for themselves. Something Maggie said was a regular occurrence, like it was no big deal, even though her body language said something entirely different. And for the first time, I saw the reflection of my own screwed up home life in someone else’s eyes. We both finally felt some safety in a relationship.
How many nights after that did I text her after midnight, distraught, needing some words of comfort? Not too many. She had been asleep, I knew that. We had a test in science the next day, and I kept her up until two or three in the morning talking. I couldn’t remember if either one of us passed, but I didn’t think so. It was just one test, after all.
The memories of nights, weekends, skipped classes, and missed parties started piling up in my brain. Yeah, I could keep telling myself Maggie knew what she was getting into, that I gave as much as she did, but was it true? I suddenly didn’t think it was.
“Well, shit.” I flipped a cigarette butt out the window and looked for a driveway to turn around in. I hated facing the music. I wasn’t good at it. “See? This is why I don’t like people! This is what happens!” The car didn’t answer. “I tried, okay? I tried to be a good friend!” More silence. “Oh shut up!”
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