Page 166 of The Glass Girl

Okay.

Bye

Bye

I put my phone down.

I get up and walk to my suitcase, half open on the floor. I still haven’t completely emptied it from when I came back from Sonoran. I dig through it until I get to one of my T-shirts.

Wrapped inside is the candy cane Josh gave me.

I cradle it in my hand and then get up and lean it against the lamp on my desk.

I sit back down, pulling clothes from the suitcase. It’s probably time to empty it and wash these clothes. I’m rooting through the contents when I find an unfamiliar paper bag.

I unwrap it.

It’s a Polaroid camera and a pack of film. There’s a note taped to the box of film.

I unfold it.

Bella—

A little gift for you.

—Tracy

I pull the film cartridge from the box and snap it in the camera. Find the flash function.

Aim it toward myself and click.

Dear Dad,

I know Mom already talked to you. I hope you two didn’t fight. I hate it when you two fight. I feel like you’ve been fighting for a really long time. I’d like you to leave me out of that sort of stuff.

I’m sorry that I just left the other night, but I’m also not sorry. I had to go because looking at those bottles of beer, I could kind of taste them, and that was scary to me. When I had that relapse in rehab, it felt like something was pushing me that I couldn’t control. Something inside me took over. I’m trying hard not to let that happen again.

I can’t come back unless you make some changes. I know it’s your life, but you’re supposed to take care of me. I don’t want to wake up in the hospital again. I just got home and I’m confused about everything, too, and everything is not fine, but I’m trying to make it work. I don’t really know what else to say, except that I hope I can come stay with you again someday.

—bella

Was There a Routine You Liked at Sonoran? Try It at Home.

I get up. The sunis just rising outside my window.

I look under my bed for my running sneakers, my sweatpants and hoodie, my dark knit cap to keep my head warm, my mittens.

I’m almost out the door when Bart appears in the living room, looking up at me hopefully, tail wagging. I sigh, find his leash, and snap it onto his collar.

He is not a good running partner. He stops at odd times to sniff patches of grass growing out of the sidewalk, jerking me backward. I jog in place as he lazily makes his way down the rows of weeds at the base of curbs. He barks lustily at a cat in someone’s front yard, and I have to pull him away when the light snaps on in the house. Once, he even just…stops and lies down on the side of the street, rolling over and flashing his belly. I have to rub it five times before he’s satisfied and gets back up. Finally, he gets into a groove and we’re at a good clip. Sweat is prickling on my face and the back of my neck. My lungs hurt, but in a good way. I’m glad not to be running on Chuck’s crazy made-up trails with him yelling at us for being addicts and drunks and losers and leaving us high and dry as he runs merrily away, but I’m also glad to just be running, because it’s making my body feel good, and I’m out so early not many people are up, so I don’t have to worry about anyone staring at me. I mean, I don’t feel great emotionally, but at least I’m not sitting in goat shit.

I have not had a drink in thirty-nine days.

People Will Drift Back to You.

My mother is puttingRicci to bed. I’m cleaning up in the kitchen. I made us quesadillas and steamed carrots for dinner, on my own, because I kind of miss making food like we did at Sonoran Sunrise. I’m also bored. If things were the way they used to be, I’d be a little buzzed by now, probably, and doing things in anticipation of being able to get more drunk, quietly, in my room, or at Laurel’s.

It’s hard dealing with the boredom.

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