CRASHING
IN THE MORNING I put on a pot of coffee for Aaron. I eat a whole bowl of cereal and sit there at the kitchen table, feeling okay about the silence. I’m planning out my talking points for the conversation we’re going to have. We’ll both be more rational in the daylight. We’ll figure it out. We’ll make a new plan.
But then all of a sudden my eyes fix on something. A sheet of lined paper folded in half like a tent. It’s been sitting there right in front of me this whole time; my name is scrawled out across the front.
I unfold it, but the words don’t make sense at first.
Brooke,
I’m sorry. I swear I tried my best. I’m sorry I couldn’t say all of this to your face. If I had, I wouldn’t be able to leave. I’m taking that job with Mark. It’s out of town. I wasn’t going to go with him, but I realized tonight that I have to. I can’t be here anymore. Neither can you. We all need to leave this place. You and Callie need to go to Jackie’s. Jackie and Ray are good people and they want to help. Let them.
This is not forever, I promise. I just need some space to get my head together. Forgive me someday?
—Aaron
The paper slips between my fingers. It hits the table with a hollow tap and then flutters to the floor, shifting something in the air around me. I march into the hallway and throw open the door of my parents’ room. The bed is made perfectly. The closet empty. The bathroom clean.
I walk back out and look around. Everything is different. New. Raw.
All my worry, my fear, it all turns, like some kind of previously contained fire inside of me, suddenly raging out of control in all directions. I sweep both of my arms across the kitchen table, throwing everything to the floor: dishes, apples and oranges, the full cup of now-cold coffee I poured for Aaron. I knock the chair over too. It feels good. I don’t care if it breaks. I don’t care if I break. I don’t care about anything, anyone.
In my ears I hear something—something loud and terrible. I cover them with my hands. And then I realize that loud, terrible noise is me. I’m yelling, screaming, crying. I’m throwing things. I’m pacing. I want to punch a wall—so bad. The inside of my chest feels like it’s freezing and burning at the same time.
“Why?” I’m yelling. “Why?” I’m shouting. “Why?” I’m sobbing until I can’t tell anymore if I’m even saying it out loud. I’ve slowed down, like someone struggling against quicksand. I’m suddenly taken down; I’m lying on the floor, part of the debris.
Someone’s knocking on the door. I cover my ears again, but I can still hear it.
Knock-knock-knock. Louder, louder, louder.
“Hello? Helloo-ooo?” It’s Mrs. Allister. “It’s Mrs. Allister. From downstairs. I heard some commotion.” Knock-knock-knock. “Just making sure everyone’s okay.”
“Go away,” I whisper.
“Hell-ooo?” Knock-knock-knock.
“Go away,” my voice squeaks.
I’ve hit the ground—literally, metaphorically, and everything in between. I’ve finally stopped falling. I take a good look around me. At the mess I’ve made. It looks so much like the aftermath of my dad on some psychotic rampage. I feel my heart start pounding inside my chest, banging, thumping wildly. Then, abruptly, it slows, slows too quickly, so quickly I’m afraid it’s going to stop. I close my eyes. And then I’m gone.
“Hoooh-leeee shit.” I open my eyes. Callie’s standing over me, wearing her coat and gloves and scarf, her overnight bag slung over one shoulder. I’m flat on my back on the living room floor.
“What the ef happened in here?” she asks, almost laughing, but not quite.
“Callie?” I say, uncertain of my voice, my body, my anything. Because it feels like I’m waking up, not from sleep, but from my whole life.
“What happened?”
“I—I fell,” I whisper, pushing myself up to sitting.
“Fell?” she repeats, raising her eyebrows. “Are you hurt?”
My head feels like it has cracked open once and for all. I hold it between my hands, trying to put the pieces back together. “No.” I clear my throat. “When did you get here?”
“Just now. Jackie dropped me off. Where was everyone last night? Why didn’t anyone call me? I was worried. Where’s Aaron?” she asks, looking around suspiciously.
I stand, shaky on my new feet, on my new ground, testing it like ice with each step, not sure if it’s solid or if I’ll fall through again.
She stands in front of me, crossing her arms, and we’re nearly at the same eye level. When did she get so tall? “Are you having a breakdown?” she finally asks, surveying the damage.
“No, of course not.” But she looks at me like she’s not convinced.
“Dr. Greenberg says people don’t break down, they’re really breaking open. So. It’s not that bad, if you are.” She reaches for the chair to turn it upright.
“No offense, but I don’t think I should be taking mental health advice from a twelve-year-old.”
“It’s not my advice. And I’ll be thirteen next month, anyway.”
“Fine,” I relent, beginning to gather the miscellaneous pieces of broken things at my feet. “But I’m not breaking down, or breaking open, just so you know.”
She scowls and shrugs. “Fine.”
“Look, Callie. I need to tell you, Aaron left town this morning, but—”
“What?” she interrupts, her face draining of all color.
“Remember his friend Mark?” She nods, then sits down in the chair she just turned over. “Well, they’re doing a job together and he’ll only be gone a few days—it was a last-minute thing,” I lie.
“When will he be back?”
“I don’t know. Soon. A few days. A week, tops.” Or at least, that’s how long I figure he might need to cool off and realize he can’t just leave us like this.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure about what?”
“Are you sure that he’s really coming back?”
“Yeah, of course.”
She opens her mouth but then shuts it. Then she stands without a word, walks to her room, and closes the door behind her.