Reason to Breathe by Rebecca Donovan Page A

dry. Reluctantly, I made the
decision not to wash my hair the next day despite how atrocious I
knew it would look after sleeping on it. I wasn’t willing to go
through the pain again.
     
    “Does she know about this afternoon?” I heard
Carol ask George from the kitchen as I sat at my desk engrossed in
my Trigonometry homework.
    “Yeah, I told her yesterday,” he replied.
“She’s going to the library and will be back for dinner.”
    “And you believe she’s going to the library?”
she asked doubtingly.
    “Why wouldn’t she?” he questioned.
    I didn’t hear a response from Carol.
    “I’ll be back around one,” she finally said.
Then the back door opened and closed.
    “Want to go outside and play with Emma?”
George asked the kids.
    “Yeah,” they screamed in unison.
    “Emma,” George bellowed through the closed
door, “do you mind taking the kids outside?”
    “Be right there.” I grabbed my fleece jacket
and was greeted warmly by jumping, cheering kids.
    The rest of my day was actually fairly
pleasant. I kicked the soccer ball around in the postage stamp
backyard with Leyla and Jack. George and Carols’ house was modest,
puny compared to Sara’s. The section of town we lived in was
typical middle America, but compared to the Pleasantville of the
rest of Weslyn, it might as well have been the other side of the
tracks.
    I rode my bike to the library while George
and Carol took the kids to the movies. I spent the remainder of the
afternoon hidden in the stacks completing my assignments or in the
computer room typing my English paper. I avoided human interaction
at all cost, fearful of the reaction I’d receive at the sight of
me. I finished with a few minutes to spare before I had to start
home, so I called Sara on the pay phone.
    “Hi!” she exclaimed, a little too overzealous
for someone I had just seen the day before. “How are you calling
me?”
    “I’m at the library, on the pay phone.”
    “Oh! I’ll be right there.”
    “No,” I blurted before she could hang up the
phone. “I’m leaving in a minute, but I wanted to prepare you for
when you pick me up tomorrow.”
    “What happened?” Sara asked with concern,
almost panic.
    “I’m okay,” I calmly assured her, trying to
downplay her reaction. “I fell and hit my head, so I have a
bandage and a little bruise. It’s really no big deal.”
    “Emma! What did she do to you?!” Sara yelled
with a mix of fear and anger in her voice.
    “Nothing, Sara,” I corrected. “I fell .”
    “Sure you did,” she said quietly. “Are you
really okay?”
    “Yeah, I’m okay. I have to go, but I’ll see
you in the morning.”
    “Okay,” Sara replied reluctantly, before I
hung up the phone.
     
     
     
    8. Bad Luck
     
    I woke up
to the same routine as any other morning, until I looked in the
mirror – reminded that there was nothing routine about my
life. I took in my nightmare of a hairstyle and knew there was no
way I could get away with not washing and drying it. I was already
going to draw attention - I didn’t need to look like I’d slept on
the streets as well.
    My head still throbbed but the golf ball had
significantly reduced to being almost flush with my forehead. I was
able to tolerate showering and brushing my hair, and my eyes only
watered slightly when I dried it. Maybe I would be able to survive
today after all.
    Then I saw Sara’s dropped jaw when I slid
into the car. Sara didn’t say anything to me, and I couldn’t read
her expression with her oversized sunglasses covering most of her
face. She handed me a bottle of water and aspirin. Then again,
maybe today was going to be one of the longest days of my life.
    “Thank you,” I said as I dumped a couple
pills in my hand and swallowed them down with several large gulps
of water. I tried to act natural, despite the tension.
    She barely glanced at me. I flipped the visor
down to examine my cover-up in the mirror, trying to figure out
what was making her so withdrawn.