Day Eight

Day Eight

"You have a job, you had a boyfriend, you took care of your grandmother and then she died," Tracy says during our session.

I pick at my nails and then stop, because she notices if I do it, and that makes me nervous. It hasn't escaped me that for a person who doesn't really like to be noticed, I have landed in a place where it is all about being noticed and observed.

"Wow, you must have interviewed my parents for hours to have all this information on me."

"Something like that," she says. "I just needed to piece you together. Tell me about it."

I think quickly about what to parse out to her.

We're having this session on two boulders outside. In the distance, I can see the goat pen and hear them fussing around among the chickens. Tracy has brought two coffees, because I can finally have coffee now. It feels good and warm in my mouth. She brought creamer and I added a lot.

"I bus tables at a diner. Well, I should say I used to, because I'm pretty sure I lost that job after what happened. I was supposed to work and, well, I ended up in the hospital. And now here." I shrug, like What are you gonna do? Oops.

"Maybe you haven't lost it. Sometimes people can be pretty forgiving. You'd be surprised how many people are willing to give second and even third chances."

"Maybe. I really only had it because I was saving money to go on a trip after graduation with my friend."

"That's a good goal."

"Mmm," I say, rubbing the toes of my sneakers together. "I guess. It was really Amber's thing. She keeps maps of where we'll go and stuff. I mostly was going just to be with her and to get away and do something. It doesn't matter, though. We probably aren't friends anymore, after this."

It hurts to say that, so I take a big gulp of my coffee.

It feels really good to be able to drink coffee again. I can feel it perking me up for the first time in a long time.

"Were you worried about how you'd be able to drink on the trip?"

I practically spit out my latest sip of coffee. "Wow, you really just go for the jugular, don't you?"

"I like to get to the point," she says.

"I don't know," I answer. "I don't think I ever thought about it, really. I was more worried about saving my part of the money, which I lost some of because I had to buy a new laptop after breaking my old one."

Tracy is writing something down.

In the back of my mind, though, I realize I did think about that. Like, if it was just me and Amber, and we weren't with Kristen and Cherie, would she get pissed with me if I wanted to drink or something? And how would I do that anyway, on the road? Away from Laurel's house? What, was I going to shoulder-tap in some small town in the middle of nowhere while Amber watched television in a motel room?

Probably.

"Your mother said you were inebriated when you broke the laptop and that was the first time she realized things were going on with you, but she didn't realize the extent at the time."

Extent. What an odd word. Ex- tent.

I sigh, long and hard. "There was a dumb party and I saw my ex-boyfriend there with his new girlfriend and I went too far and I freaked out and when I went home, I broke my laptop for…reasons. It's kind of a long story, but yeah, she could obviously see I was wrecked."

"She says she didn't know about the boyfriend at the time. How long were you lying to her?"

"I'm sorry? I didn't lie. I just didn't tell her. She would not have been into me seeing someone. She says fifteen is too young."

"You lied by omission. You didn't tell her about the boyfriend, you didn't tell her about your drinking. You drank at your grandmother's house with your grandmother and then later, when she passed, correct—"

"?‘Passed' makes it sound like she walked by me on the street and kept going. She died. "

There's a crack in my voice on died.

"If you prefer that term, that's what I can use." Tracy's voice is neutral.

The boulder I'm on is suddenly very uncomfortable. I stand up with my coffee cup, a little ways away from Tracy.

"I don't want to talk about my grandmother right now, okay? Is this over yet? I don't want to be late for whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing next. I'll get a demerit. I'll get in trouble."

"No, it's not over, and you won't get in trouble. I think you worry about getting in trouble, or troubling people, a lot."

I blink. "Of course. I'm a teenager. There are rules to follow. Adults give them to you: Grow up. Take this test. Get a good grade. Brush your hair. Don't wear so much makeup. Be happy. Be grateful. You have your whole life ahead of you. On and on and on and on."

"Was your grandmother not like that?" Tracy asks. "You had a special relationship?"

"It wasn't creepy, if that's what you're getting at," I say, my voice edged. "She was my grandmother, but she was also my friend. I could talk to her. About things."

"Do you think it was wrong that she gave you alcohol, Bella? I'm curious."

I sigh. "Probably? I don't know. But parents give their kids alcohol all the time. Sips of wine and stuff. They buy it for you for parties. It's everywhere. You can't get away from it. It's legal. Amber is really the only person I know who doesn't drink. Or do something. "

But even as I say that, I'm not sure that's true. Amber, Cherie, and Kristen are just the only people I hang around, is all.

Tracy puts her notepad on the ground and picks up a dry leaf, crackles it into dust and watches the dust fall to the ground. She looks up at me.

"It is legal. But not for you. And many people can drink responsibly. Even teenagers. One or two drinks at a time and call it a night. I don't think you can."

I try to take another swig of coffee, but my cup is empty. "Well, maybe I can later in life. I'll just have to be very strict about it."

"I think the amount of work you put in to hide your drinking for so long points to high-functioning alcoholism. You were managing and maintaining several lies at once. Until youweren't."

I stomp my foot and immediately feel embarrassed. I'm not five. "I'm not an alcoholic. I thought we agreed on self-medicating? Now you're changing the rules, just like I said adults do! I drink a little too much, that's all."

Suddenly being outside, which had been nice, what with hummingbirds at the feeders in the mesquite tree above us and a good cup of coffee, is not so pleasant anymore. I can feel agitation burbling in me. I look around anxiously. I need…something to make this go away.

"You're upset. I can tell," Tracy says. "If you had something to drink right now, would you?"

"Yes," I spit. "I would. I would. To shut you off in my head."

"Well, you don't have a drink, so what are you going to do about it?"

My lips are shaking. I miss Laurel so much. Why did she have to bring her up, anyway? Bricks are piling up in me. One, two, three. I need to smash them. I need to calm down. There are no wrens or sparrows here. I need to not flip—

I turn and throw my coffee cup as hard as I can. It smashes into pieces against the side of a shed by the goat pen. The goats look at me, perturbed.

Gideon, Josh, and Nick run out of the shed, look at the broken pieces of mug, then at me.

Josh's eyes crinkle with concern.

"Damn," Nick says slowly. "You flipped out. I didn't think you had it in you."

There's a weird shine in Gideon's eyes, like she's almost…pleased?

Oh god. Was that a psycho thing to do, like Charlotte says Gideon did?

Maybe Gideon isn't really my friend after all, if this is funny to her.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to do that. Please don't give me a demerit. Please."

I run over to the shed, the earthy smell of the goat pen enveloping me. The chickens are rooting around the legs of the goats. I drop to my knees and start gathering the pieces of the cup, my hands shaking.

Tracy kneels next to me. She puts her hand on my shoulder.

"Stop," she says gently. "Breathe. I don't want you to cut yourself."

I'm trying to breathe, but something is sitting in my throat, blocking it. I'm choking a little. The bricks inside me weren't smashed. They're rising up.

Wren, sparrow, roadrunner, quail.

Is that the right order? Does it matter?

I close my eyes, even as my shaking hands are pawing around, feeling for the sharp pieces of broken mug.

"Bella," Tracy says. "Let me help you clean this up. You don't have to do it alone."

—

What I do have to do, apparently, is go for another run with Chuck so that I don't get a demerit for behavior.

"Let's make this one count," he said when we started. "Let's rip it up."

Neither of those are things I particularly wanted to do, but I followed him anyway.

Now we're running up a hill, and even though it's cold outside, we're sweating like dogs in the middle of the summer. Or, I am, anyway. Chuck seems unbothered.

At least he didn't totally leave me behind. He's only a little bit in front of me, occasionally tossing out things like "I don't know why people live in cities, all cooped up. You miss all this, the air and the majesty" and "How you doing, Bella?"

I can only grunt in response.

Because this hill is hard. I think it might actually be more of a mountain than a hill, and I'm tripping-running my way up it, hoping I don't slip and slide back down.

And suddenly, my chest aching and my throat dry, and whatever muscles are in my calves burning in pain, I get really mad at my mother and father.

Like, I am busting my ass on this hill, getting cactus spines in my hands, sweating through my sweatshirt, my stupid swollen face probably getting sunburned, because my mother and father were fuckups who fucked us up.

All I know is that things seemed okay until Ricci was born, and after that everything shifted. My mother was solely mine and then she wasn't, because she had this little thing in a BabyBj?rn on her chest all the time. A thing that screamed and cried and did not like to sleep. And she was so tired. So I did bits and pieces to help her. Put the dishes in the dishwasher. Made sure all my Legos were put away. Kept the television down very low in the rare instances she could get Ricci to sleep and take a nap herself. Got myself dressed in the morning and fixed my own cereal.

Because my dad changed. Or had he always been that way, but it got worse? Because it became…something. It was like a before and an after. Before Ricci he worked, he came home, then he went out and my mother was always there to be with me. Except sometimes, when she had her classes at night. Those nights, he'd read to me and then sing. After Ricci, he didn't do that so much, even though my mother had her hands full with a baby.

And there I was, suddenly. Something…he didn't want to take care of. Or didn't know how to. At least, that's how I felt.

"What's going on back there, Leahey?" Chuck calls over his shoulder. "We're almost up to the peak."

"I…" I grunt, slipping on a rock and nearly cracking my head on another one. I swear.

Chuck has reached the top. He's grinning down at me.

I'm still scrambling to reach him, my thoughts tumbling in my head. Only, instead of guilty or anxious about all of them rushing around at once, I feel…good. It feels good to think these things.

Nothing I did was right. I didn't clean up my toys quick enough. I wanted an extra story at night. I didn't like seeing my dad's face that way. Annoyed. I didn't like seeing my mother so tired and sad. So I stopped being a bother and became better. I built a better Me.

Or so I thought.

And oh, how they fought.

I'm really doing it now, scrabbling up this mountain. I think I can make it, even though there are pinpricks of blood on the palms of my hands because I have so much…

…anger right now.

And just as I think I'm getting there, I stop short, sliding a little ways back.

I'm not going to make it. I'm not going to make it because I'm not a whole person. I'm just random flaps of flesh stapled together to resemble a person on the outside.

Chuck is clapping his hands. "Do it, Leahey. Fight. You can make it. Don't give up now. You're almost here. Almost here. " He takes a deep breath and looks around. "And it's beautiful up here. You don't want to miss that, do you?"

I claw into the ground, get a good grip, dig the toes of my sneakers into the earth, and will myself to move up, move forward. Not backward.

When I'm close enough to touch the fabric of Chuck's sneaker, he reaches down and pulls me to my feet. I fall against him, then steady myself.

Chuck is right. It is beautiful up here. The vista is golden with tinges of green, cocoa, and burnt yellow, everything below us studded with stately saguaros and organ pipes and prickly pears. In the distance, I can see the adobe and brick buildings of Sonoran Sunrise, the faint shapes of kids moving around outside. The prettiness makes me ache a little inside.

And it also makes me sad, all of a sudden.

If I was at home and none of this had ever happened, I'd be figuring out ways to drink myself to sleep right now. I'd be checking the level in my Sprodka bottle. Looking to see if there was NyQuil under the bathroom sink. Wondering if I could have just a little more or if that would be too much because I'd have to get up for school in a few hours. Thinking about going to Laurel's to sit by myself and look at our last Scrabble game on the kitchen table and sip my lonely and my sad away. Checking my phone endlessly to see what great and enormous lives everyone else was living while I was making mine smaller, and fainter, by the day.

I would not know this existed.

"When I was coming up this hill, I hated my parents," I tell Chuck. "Now I hate myself."

"Yeah," he says, gazing at the vista. "But plenty of people hate their parents and themselves and don't try to drink themselves to death because of it. What's your excuse?"

"You're an asshole," I answer.

I turn away from him and begin to run back down the hill, slipping and sliding in the sand, pebbles, and rock, skirting lizards and grazing saguaros with my arms.

I run all the way back to our dorm, where I start stripping off my socks and shoes the instant I get into the bathroom. I shove myself into one of the shower stalls and yank the curtain closed, turn on the water as hot as I think I can stand it and strip off the rest of my clothes and sit inside on the hot tile, the water pouring over me, making sounds I didn't think could come out of me, biting my shoulder to make them not so loud.

I wonder what I might have been like if my parents could have gotten their shit together sooner and ditched each other.

I wonder what I'd be like if I'd never been a sweet girl and taken that first drink.