a chance to open the front door because they marched right out as soon as I came up to the house.
It was like something out of a television show, the way they started firing questions at me. “Are you okay?” “Why did you miss school?” “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes.” “I don’t know.” “No.”
“Where were you?” “What were you thinking?”
“Nowhere special. And I just…I don’t know.”
“Nowhere special? And you don’t know what you were thinking when you skipped school? Nothing comes to mind at all?” That was Dad, his voice rising with every word.
“Amy, these aren’t answers.” That was Mom. She was holding Dad’s hand. I could see their fingers laced white tight against each other.
I didn’t want to talk about Corn Syrup. My parents would think it meant Caro and I were going to be friends, and I wasn’t up for explaining how high school really worked. You know how it is…but then you aren’t here.
“Look,” I told them. “I just wandered around. I needed to think.”
My mother started to say something else and then stopped, looking lost and upset. Dad ran a hand through his thinning hair, which is a paler shade of my own. He looked angry and lost too.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” he finally said, his voice cracking, and he and Mom just stood there, looking at me.
It was so…it was amazing, seeing them like that, wild-eyed and upset over me (me!) but at the same time it made me think of you and your mother. It made me think of that night, of standing in the hospital staringat the police officers talking to me. Their faces came at me in pieces. Forehead, nose, chin, voices. Their voices sounded so far away.
Then I heard your mother. All she said was your name but it sounded torn out of her. JuliaJuliaJulia. Julia!
I wanted a drink again. I wanted to forget today, the past few months, who I am now. I didn’t want this, all of us standing around outside acting out scenes from a play none of us knew the lines to.
I told them all of that, J. Every single word. The play bit was the best. Mom actually flinched. I liked that. I liked that they were upset. Now I know why you said things that would make your mom’s voice rise furiously and her face turn red. I know why you did it with a little smile on your face.
You owned her when she was like that. You were all she could see.
I pushed past them like they weren’t there, like all those years where they looked past me to see each other, and went inside. They followed me, and when I glanced back over my shoulder I saw them looking at me. I watched them search my face like it held answers to everything.
Finally, I had what I wanted from them. Finally, they were really looking at me. But what it took to get that…I turned away and went upstairs.
The thing is—and you know this—is that my parents were never cut out to be parents. I mean, they’re not the kind of parents you think of when someone says something like that, people who specialize in dark closets and hard slaps, creating children who know the only way they’d be safe is if they were never born.
My parents just didn’t plan on having kids. I know that’s not that big a deal. So they didn’t want kids. I’m not the first mistake ever born.
And look, I know I’m lucky. I live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood. I live with two parents who are still married to each other. Who still love each other. I’ve never been spanked, never been called names or insulted. They’ve never even yelled at me.
And that’s just it. I was never even worth the effort of a raised voice. I know it’s sick, bitching because my parents never yelled at me. Oh poor me, being able to do whatever I wanted. You always said I had it made, that my parents were cool. You liked them. You liked the way they always said, “Oh, hello, Julia,” when you came over and never asked where we were going or when we would be back. You said it was a lot better than your
It was like something out of a television show, the way they started firing questions at me. “Are you okay?” “Why did you miss school?” “Have you been drinking?”
“Yes.” “I don’t know.” “No.”
“Where were you?” “What were you thinking?”
“Nowhere special. And I just…I don’t know.”
“Nowhere special? And you don’t know what you were thinking when you skipped school? Nothing comes to mind at all?” That was Dad, his voice rising with every word.
“Amy, these aren’t answers.” That was Mom. She was holding Dad’s hand. I could see their fingers laced white tight against each other.
I didn’t want to talk about Corn Syrup. My parents would think it meant Caro and I were going to be friends, and I wasn’t up for explaining how high school really worked. You know how it is…but then you aren’t here.
“Look,” I told them. “I just wandered around. I needed to think.”
My mother started to say something else and then stopped, looking lost and upset. Dad ran a hand through his thinning hair, which is a paler shade of my own. He looked angry and lost too.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” he finally said, his voice cracking, and he and Mom just stood there, looking at me.
It was so…it was amazing, seeing them like that, wild-eyed and upset over me (me!) but at the same time it made me think of you and your mother. It made me think of that night, of standing in the hospital staringat the police officers talking to me. Their faces came at me in pieces. Forehead, nose, chin, voices. Their voices sounded so far away.
Then I heard your mother. All she said was your name but it sounded torn out of her. JuliaJuliaJulia. Julia!
I wanted a drink again. I wanted to forget today, the past few months, who I am now. I didn’t want this, all of us standing around outside acting out scenes from a play none of us knew the lines to.
I told them all of that, J. Every single word. The play bit was the best. Mom actually flinched. I liked that. I liked that they were upset. Now I know why you said things that would make your mom’s voice rise furiously and her face turn red. I know why you did it with a little smile on your face.
You owned her when she was like that. You were all she could see.
I pushed past them like they weren’t there, like all those years where they looked past me to see each other, and went inside. They followed me, and when I glanced back over my shoulder I saw them looking at me. I watched them search my face like it held answers to everything.
Finally, I had what I wanted from them. Finally, they were really looking at me. But what it took to get that…I turned away and went upstairs.
The thing is—and you know this—is that my parents were never cut out to be parents. I mean, they’re not the kind of parents you think of when someone says something like that, people who specialize in dark closets and hard slaps, creating children who know the only way they’d be safe is if they were never born.
My parents just didn’t plan on having kids. I know that’s not that big a deal. So they didn’t want kids. I’m not the first mistake ever born.
And look, I know I’m lucky. I live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood. I live with two parents who are still married to each other. Who still love each other. I’ve never been spanked, never been called names or insulted. They’ve never even yelled at me.
And that’s just it. I was never even worth the effort of a raised voice. I know it’s sick, bitching because my parents never yelled at me. Oh poor me, being able to do whatever I wanted. You always said I had it made, that my parents were cool. You liked them. You liked the way they always said, “Oh, hello, Julia,” when you came over and never asked where we were going or when we would be back. You said it was a lot better than your
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