Page 44 of The Glass Girl

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I miss u. Hope u r ok,she types.

I’m good,I type.Fine

Talk 2 u later

I send her an emoji of a turkey and Kristen looks and laughs so hard tears come out of her eyes.

—

Lemon’s friend drives us to eegee’s. He and Lemon scrounge around for money in the console. Kristen gives them some crumpled bills. They get Skinny Berries and grinders and we park in the lot and they pour the rum in the slushies and I listen to them all eat and slurp and giggle and I’m high and drunk at the same time, I think. Everything is simultaneously amplified and dulled. My phone buzzes and it’s my momHi Agnes says helloand I typetell her hello backand my mother typesAre you having a nice dayand I typeyes very good I miss youbecause I do miss her and she typesCan I talk to Ricciand I don’t even feel nervous or anything I just text backShe fell asleep early from all that food and we took her to the parkbecause my mom will never call my dad to ask to talk to Ricci, he hates it when she does that, so she goes through me and just like I thought, my mom is allOh that’s good she probably needs sleepand I typeYeahand she typesWhat are you up toand I text backOh just watching a movieand she typesOkay sounds goodand I typehow is the farmand I see the little dots appear and disappear and then she’s allHard. Lonelyand I know she’s talking about my grandmother and a sudden wave of longing and missing swells up inside me and I press the letters on my phone but I can’t find the right combination of words to typeI’m sorry I couldn’t save herbecause that’s not something we ever talked about, how I found her on the brick walkway on the set of particular bricks that I do not walk on anymore, andmy heart hurts so much right now and my eyes are getting full. Kristen saysGirl, what’s going onand I manage to typeOkay byebefore Lemon’s friend suddenly throws his grinder wrapper out his window and starts the car and presses the gas so quickly I lurch forward and my phone slips from my hands and smacks the back of Lemon’s seat in front of me and we’re off again.

—

Driving, driving. Up over Pantano Wash. Farther than I’ve been in a long time. Windows down. Cold air. Hard and angry music. How can Lemon and his friend even hear each other talk? But they do. They’re talking about something. Lemon’s friend keeps looking back at me in the rearview mirror. The streets are quiet, barely any cars, because everyone is inside somewhere, eating or watching football or arguing or drinking like we are and the only other people out are the ones who have nowhere to go, trudging along with their tarped-up shopping carts or sleeping in doorways, mounds of blankets piled on, panting dogs by their sides. Everyone is so lonely.

“True that,” Lemon’s friend says, meeting my eyes in the rearview.

Did I say that out loud? I guess I said that out loud. I feel like a roller coaster inside. Up and down. Up and down. Twist and turn.

“It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there,” Lemon shouts.

Kristen says, “Woof,” and laughs and laughs.

My inside roller coaster takes a sharp turn and things get dim, like when clouds suddenly block the sun.

—

Kristen is pushing me and says, “Killian’s. Wake up,” and I didn’t realize I fell asleep. It’s dark now. We crunch across a gravel driveway to a brick house pulsing with music. Older kids, maybe college? Some kids from school. Kristen takes my hand and hers is very warm. She seems nervous. Should I be nervous, too? There are a lot of bodies here. Everyone bumping into each other. Keg in the corner. Red cups. The overhead kitchen light is very bright. Feel dizzy from that sleep. Need to wake up. Cold beer. That will wake me up. Nice in my throat. Kristen lets go of my hand and she bounces up and down, up and down, red matte lipstick glowing, red-bowed ponytails flying up, down, up, down. She’s not nervous anymore, her red cup in her hand. She has a passion for life.

—

Lemon’s friend has a gray tooth. How do you get a gray tooth? I wish he’d stop smiling at me, because all I can focus on is that gray tooth. I think he is much older than us, now that I’m so close to him. Like, not in high school at all. He’s sweaty. Hot in here. He grabs my cup, pours something brown in it. It tastes sweet and sickly at the same time, like over-sugared Coke, but down, down, down it goes because you can’t drown unless you let go. Lemon’s friend’s hand creeps around the small of my back. He smiles at me, that gray tooth like a stone in his mouth.

I angle away from him.

—

Drinking is good because you can be someone else. Not lonely. Not quiet. Not on the edges of things. Someone saysI love your eyesand I sayThank youand they keep talking and I keepanswering and see I can be normal. Just a girl at a party. Normal. Drinking gives you a voice and a person to be. Adds color to what was just plain and ugly.

—

Whose house is this and where are we? Why are there so many kids here on Thanksgiving? Maybe their parents don’t love them, either. Maybe their parents are too busy all the time. Maybe their parents are drunk, too, right now. All those talks they give you in school. In one ear and out the other.You matter. You belong.It’s a lie. If we mattered or belonged we would not be here right now, smoking and drinking and getting high. Right?

—

I try to find the bathroom, but I open the wrong door and there are just kids on a floor in a room in the dark, sitting against the wall, staring at the ceiling. I’m not sure what’s so interesting up there but they seem fixated. I ease around them and open another door in the room and flick on the light, hurting my eyes. The door doesn’t lock and there’s toilet paper stuck to the seat and something pulpy and greenish in the sink. I almost fall trying to sit on the toilet and catch myself against the tank at the last minute. I take deep breaths. It smells in here. I’m having problems with the zipper on my jeans and when I finally sit down I’ve forgotten about the toilet paper stuck to the seat but all I can think about is peeing. There’s no more toilet paper when I reach for some and I sigh. I stand up, peeling the paper from my ass and flicking it into the toilet. I get my jeans done and wash my hands, the greenish sink stinking. Is it vomit? I gag a little. I wipe my hands on my jeans. I feel very heavy. I think I should go home.

—

I’m getting hot, face red from jumping up and down with all the other kids jumping up and down to the music. What time is it? It must be late now. I wanted to go home but I can’t find Kristen and someone gave me another red cup full of something. I’m starting to see double, maybe. I stop jumping and squint a bit. Something is tickling my leg. I swat. Oh. My phone. I squeeze my eyes together. Dad.

I’m sorry,he typed.

I can’t really see. Must be careful. Not too many words. No misspelling.

Me 2

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