Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [56]
When she lifted her eyes to look at me, guilt and mourning tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Sometimes I done other stuff when I needed money. That's why my husband ain’t coming to no family sessions.” She clenched the magazine. “And my kids won’t be, neither.”
Sadness settled in my body and searched for familiar space. Only now, there’d be no floating along the river of alcohol to give it passage out. No way to drown itself in pools of forget-fulness. It crawled through the tender gaps in my heart and dragged wagons of memory behind.
“This is why I drank. To make life go away,” I whispered to the pain that linked us. “What do people do with this? Where is it supposed to go?”
Theresa exhaled. “Guess if I knew I wouldn’t be here.”
I coaxed the door of my room closed so I wouldn’t wake Theresa. She’d fallen asleep sometime after I’d lost the battle trying to blow dry my curls into submission, but before I slathered on lip gloss. I envied her temporary reprieve from untangling emotional knots, especially since I was on my way to a possible hanging with my own.
Some family members were already in the waiting room. Miss Designer Drugs held court with a tallish, smoky-grey haired man, attractive in your friend's father kind of way, and a freshly squeezed out of an Abercrombie catalog young couple. I walked by them feeling like a squatty tomato on legs.
Cathryn sat on the couch talking to Doug and a woman whose hand rested on his thigh. I’d expected Mrs. Doug to be a female replica of her husband, not an older version of Jan Brady wearing Birkenstocks.
I leaned against the wall facing the elevator doors, twisted my watch around my wrist, and waited.
Three twists, no Carl.
Four. Maybe he changed his mind.
Five. He would’ve called.
Six. Hadn’t I wished he wouldn’t come?
Seven. Maybe I changed my mind.
Eight. Cathryn announced group would start in five minutes.
Nine. The elevator shuddered its way up.
Ten. Trey trotted out of the elevator.
Alone.
Just like me.
Journal 10
The summer before college. Driving along the lakefront in Nina's new Cutlass convertible. Janie in the front seat. Me in the back. Humidity dragged its moist blanket through the night, the white leather seats of the car sweating underneath my bare thighs.
Somewhere along the serpentine road was Todd, Nina's almost fiancé, his fraternity brothers, and several kegs. On Friday nights, the park-like strip bordering the seawall that contained the smashing waves rippled with hives of bathing-suited bodies swarming around beer barrels.
Finding one worker bee even with the queen bee in control of the flight pattern was challenging. No Todd sightings. Nina's impatience escalated. Janie suggested one more swing around to Inspiration Park. The Cutlass coasted into the one vacant parking spot.
“I’m walking out to the pier. Maybe they’re hanging out there. No way we’d see ’em from here,” Nina said.
Janie opened her door. “I’m going with you. You coming?” she asked me.
“Nah, I’ll wait here. You can come get me if you find him.” The shroud of self-consciousness wove itself around me at the thought of walking up to a herd of frat boys. Let Janie and Nina part the sea of strangers with their lean bodies and long hair. I’d stay here, listen to the waves slosh against the walls, close my eyes, and imagine myself thin and cute.
I heard shouting and saw, in the distance, Nina and Janie running toward the car. At first I thought they were yelling for me. Too late, I realized they were yelling at me. “Start the car. Start the car, now!”
I started to fling myself over the front seat, but the back door opened, and hands slapped against my calves as they grabbed onto me and yanked my body