Page 49 of The Glass Girl

Two

I tried to scream

But my head was underwater

—Billie Eilish, “Everything I Wanted”

Stop.

I am underwater and I am drowning and it hurts.

My whole body hurts. The waves hurt.

Stop. Stop that now.

I’m pulling and pulling. Tangled in the seaweed. Have to get out. Need air. Getting strangled.

You’ll hurt yourself, Isabella. Isabella, can you look at me? Isabella, can you hear me?

No one calls me Isabella anymore. Little, when I was little, my dad called me Izzy. I wish he still did that, but he doesn’t anymore. I cleaned up the toys. Did my math. But he never called me that again. Better when Grandma moved out to us. I had somewhere to go.

“Sweet girl,” she would say to me.

Some voice, some lady’s face, blurry above the water. Blurred by the water? I don’t know what’s happening and why doesn’t she help.

Isabella, you need to keep that in. That’s an IV. Stop pulling.

IV. Ivy. That’s it. Like seaweed. That’s what’s tangling me, drowning me. She should untangle me, pull me out. Adults are supposed to help you, but they don’t. They tell you to suck it up. They take points off. They say things will get better and they don’t. I’m so cold in this water. I don’t like cold water. I like warm water. This is too cold.

The water is inside me, angry and bubbling, hot and sick. Have to get this water out of me. Once I am empty, I’ll float to the surface. There’s too much water inside me.

Hold on, Isabella. Let me get a tub. Can you hold on?

—

Another voice. New blurry face.Can you roll on your side, Isabella?

Roll her. Watch for choking.

I’ve swallowed too much water and it’s coming up up up up up up up up up.

—

Vomit. There is vomit everywhere. On me. Everywhere. Burning my throat. My body hurtles and heaves, a dying bird in the rushes. Feel like I read that line in a poem somewhere but I can’t remember.

—

Isabella, we need to get you into a gown, okay? Isabella, we need to take your clothes off. Can you sit up? Can you help?

Please don’t touch me.

I’m dirty.

Please don’t look at me.

Mom, can you help Isabella, please? Isabella, your mom is here and she’s going to help you out of your clothes, but you need to sit up. We’ll have to cut them off if you don’t sit up.

MomMomMom. Why is she here? What is happening. The lights are too bright and even though she is making me sit up, I still feel like I am underwater, my body is so, so heavy. And why is she crying? My face feels wrong, somehow. Is something wrong with my face? I reach to touch it; someone pushes my hand away.

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