by L. A. Bowen
the thought that counts
All of my teachers send cards signed by all of my classmates. Get well soon! Thinking of you! Speedy recovery! In our prayers! Some of my family and closest friends send flowers. I wait for a text or a call from Morgan. Radio silence.
my journal
Mom brings my journal from home. In case you want to write, she says. But I tell her, I don’t want to.
outside my window
a visitor
I’m sorry, Kate says. I’m so sorry. I know, I say. I know. Kate is grounded for the rest of the year. And so am I once I get out of here. It’s nothing in light of everything. How’s Abby? I ask. I haven’t seen her. She stopped coming to school. Doesn’t answer my texts... I’m sorry. I know. We talk about other things instead.
the drive home
When it’s time to leave the hospital I’m afraid to get in the car. Dad drives and Mom sits up front. I grip the door handle waiting to crash. My stomach lurches with every stop and go. The world outside the window is fast and loud. Inside the car nobody makes a sound.
home
Back in my own familiar pink room. With my own soft bedsheets and blankets. Far from the harsh buzz of hospital sounds. No beeping machines. No crying strangers. No shuffling feet. But there are still hushed voices from Mom and Dad in the rooms below. Even Logan keeps quiet, shuffling around is his socks. Spying on me from the hallway. Curious but keeping his distance.
ruin
I spend whole days just lying in bed. Thinking. And crying. I feel sick. I feel like a fool. My family, my teachers, my friends, and classmates and even their parents— I don’t want to see any of them now. How will I show my face in public ever again? How can I go back to school?
THE FUNERAL
In the dark at night with my eyes closed, I spin. When I sit up I can see from the window of a car. Three long holes in the earth. My family in tears. Everyone I know dressed in black. Three dark caskets balanced on ropes going down and down and down and down.
THE TRUTH
Mom stands in the doorway of my bedroom. How do you feel? Are you okay? she asks me for the millionth time. She’s careful. Afraid to stir me from this silence that is the only opposite of crying. No, I admit. Because I am so sick of telling lies.
A SPARK
The next morning I wake up feeling rested for the first time in months. Sharper. Things come into focus. I reach for my journal and a pen. And I write. Mom checks in on me. Sees me with my nose in my notebook. And returns a little later with chocolate chip pancakes. I write all day, getting up a few times to do chores. Vacuuming the stairs. Helping with dinner. But afterwards I write some more. And when I finally look up from my journal the sky outside is dark. Mom stands in my open doorway but knocks anyway. Don’t stay up too late. You need your rest. Still she smiles seeing me work.
DOUBTS
I hear a voice inside telling me, You have nothing important to say. But I hear another voice telling me, Keep writing anyway.
bookworm
I have to miss a couple more weeks of class to stay home and rest. Doctor’s orders. But my schoolwork is sent home. I spend hours staring blankly at math and chemistry worksheets. Unable to focus. Unwilling to focus. But I catch up on all the reading for history and English class. I’d forgotten how much I love to read. By the end of the second week I’m feeling bored and restless. I think I’m finally ready to get back to my classes.
back to school
Dad drops me off in front of school. The walk to my locker through the crowded halls feels like it takes forever. Everything looks different. The ceilings are lower. The hallways are longer. Was it always this loud? By the time I get there I find that I cannot remember my locker combination. The secretary in the office is confused by my request. But the school year’s halfway through, she says, shaking her head.
best friends
I’m excused from gym class for a few weeks. Until my cast comes off and everything. So I don’t see Kate until lunch. I find her at our usual table. Picking at her salad with a fork. We wonder where Abby is. As always. Then we sit in silence. Unsure of what to talk about. But sometimes that’s okay.
warm welcome
The day feels so much l o n g e r. By last period I’m dead tired. Mr. Bates smiles when he sees me. Welcome back, Paige! From the class, a few nods, and a wave. Mostly just blank stares and whispers. Kate blushes and puts her face in a book. Mr. Bates dives right into the lesson, and I’m thankful.
old me or new me?
Writing Club members! Don’t forget to bring a piece to share tomorrow! Mr. Bates reminds the class as we file out. Maybe we’ll see you there, Paige? Yeah, I mumble. Maybe. But as I cross the room I feel sure of it. Yes, I say. Definitely. A little surprised with myself. Because this time I’m not even lying.
word search
I stay up late flipping through my journal. Trying to choose a piece of writing to share. It’s hard to pick just one after all I’ve written this month. I type it up neatly on my computer and print it out. I read it over again and again. Am I really doing this? I read it again. And again and again and again.
restless
Can’t seem to fall asleep tonight. My mind is everywhere.
sweet dreams
another Tuesday
I can’t wait for this school day to be over! But for once I’m not complaining. I’m just really excited for writing club today! (And a little nervous, too.)
@ paige the poet
Hey, Paige! Oh no. It’s Alex. Coming toward my locker. I’ve been avoiding him since the accident. Because I know he probably hates me now. How are you feeling? he asks. I’m doing okay... Thanks for the card! I’d almost forgotten that he sent me one at the hospital. What are you up to today? Alex asks. I’ve got writing club after school, I tell him. That’s awesome. I didn’t know you were a writer! Alex says. Yeah, I say. Mostly a poet, I add. Paige the Poet, he says. And my burger buddy. And I actually laugh out loud. I’m going to have to yell at Kate later, for starting that terrible nickname. Though I have to admit I don’t mind it as much coming from Alex.
last period ends
Kate winks and gives me a thumbs-up. Good luck! she whispers. Stay! I plead. But she’s already running out the door.
what am i doing here?
This was a really bad idea. What was I even thinking? My poem probably stinks. Maybe I should just go home. I’m about to get up to leave. But Mr. Bates chimes in, Paige! I’m so glad you decided to stay!
in too deep
We have a new member! announces Mr. Bates. Paige is joining us today! The club is in full swing. There’s no escaping now. A few familiar faces. And a few unfamiliar. I’m not sure which ones I’m more nervous about. Ms. Smith talks next, but I’m too distracted to listen. Then, one at a time students start taking turns reading out loud a short story or a poem. Some of them seem even more nervous than I am!
deep breaths
I’m really impressed with the amount of talent in this room. And a little scared, too. When it’s my turn to read, my hands shake. I stare at my paper even though I have it memorized. Mr. Bates crosses his arms and nods his head while he listens. This is powerful stuff. Powerful stuff, he says when I’m done. He says this to everyone. (But I think only because it’s true.)
one too many lies
by Paige Miller All of the fibs and little white lies. Like a flurry of snowflakes in front of our eyes. We lied to each other, our family, and friends. We took it too far ...all the way to the end. The more that we told them the thicker they grew. Until there was a blizzard clouding our view. Even lied to myself and I know you have, too. We spun works of fiction until nothing was true. Lies blind like sunbeams. They cut like a knife. So take care with your words. They could mean your life.
