077. I am perfectly fine and utterly a mess.


I ran. I stopped a friend in the hallway to cover for me, ninth period. There’s a sub. It’s an art class. Pretty easy. Eighth period was already covered for- he checks to see if I was there earlier, and never sees me. Opened the door, behind the parked cafeteria-transport vans. Walked. Walked and walked and tried not to think. Thinking hurts.

I called my mom from a parking lot. Told her I couldn’t take the people anymore, so many people, so many thoughts and emotions and loves and hates and life whirling around me and I couldn’t take it, I’m here, pick me up? There is no such thing as anonymously skipping in a small town, and walking by the road with my backpack (as I would have had to) would have led to trouble. She comes.

I talk to her. Bad report card, unexpected defense on my behalf by a teacher. The upcoming SATs. A conversation about the hormonal wackiness I’ve been going through.

I see the letters. Letters from her sisters, birthday cards. I glance up. I had sort-of-kind-of forgotten Mom’s birthday was soon. Mom’s saw what I was looking at and sighed. “They’re trying to figure out how to deal with my birthday without dealing with my sister’s death.”

Oh. Right. Aunt Bobby would be forty-eight, the same day my mommy turns fifty-three.

I broke down again.

You forget your relatives exist sometimes. See them for holidays, share good memories, laugh and bicker and love.

She isn’t here to do that anymore.

I remembered that she existed. I am so incredibly happy she existed. It hurts that she doesn’t materially exist anymore, that I can’t hug her and get advice and share stories. Selfish hurts. Painful hurts.

I can’t stop crying.

I hate being an emotional wreck. I want to be held, I want to be alone, at the same time. I want to cry and cry and I want to stop crying.

Two phone calls. One, the friend that I asked to cover for me. She was worried and so kind. I controlled my voice and said I was safe, hadn’t collapsed or anything. Good. Bye. I’ll be online later. Two, my voice shakes and trembles and stammers, and all I can manage to get out is how old she’d be.

I didn’t even remember this when I chose to leave school, but now it’s all I can think about.

My head aches from crying and being hit in the face with a matball. I’ll be fine, later, but now is not later.


2 Responses to “077. I am perfectly fine and utterly a mess.”

  1. 1 Lindsey Mulholland

    Matball is a blood sport. The moment I heard Rachel bring up matball, I knew something was gonna be bad.

    When I called you, I thought you had said “my mom is going to be 48 in three days”, and I thought you were just fearing the whole getting older thing, which I understand. But then I remembered that your mom is over 50, so that wasn’t right. So I assumed, then, that you had said “I have the SATs in 3 days”. Now I understand what you meant.

    If I had been there, I totally would have skipped with you. I know what it’s like to be an emotional mess, believe me. I’m glad you’re feeling better.

  2. 2 katling

    This is an IOU for a hug and tea. You can pick the decimated leaf juice.

    I’m not always good for much, but I can at least try to help, even if it’s only hugs and listening.

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