no control

• one •

gladys

Tiny red lights glowed under the burning pile of logs. They kinda looked like small stars exploding in slow motion. Maybe that was the bud talking.

I blinked as someone jostled my shoulder.

"Here."

Sighing, I turned my head to see Bernice holding out a brown glass bottle to me. I accepted it with a small smile.

I'd never been allowed to smoke or drink before. I understood why people enjoyed them both. While they didn't completely numb the pain, they numbed some of the unbearable ache.

"Hanging in there?" she asked.

"Mhmm." I nodded and brought the bottle to my lips.

Dipping my head back, the cold wheat-flavored liquid slid over my tongue and down my throat. My empty stomach burned in protest, yet the sensation somehow soothed the raw, gaping hole through my heart.

Bernice dropped onto the Adirondack beside me and propped her bare feet up on the stone pit. I leaned back and mimicked her.

The glossy black heels on my feet gleamed in the flickering firelight. I glared at them, fighting a fresh wave of tears.

I never willingly wore such torture contraptions. When I was a child, I would wear little heels to Sunday school. My mom always made sure I was clean, my hair was dressed well, and that I wore something cute.

I couldn't remember a time since their passing that I had worn anything elevated.

The reminder of what I'd been through today cast a chilled feeling over me. I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed the stray tear off my cheek. The heels dropped back to the ground with a click.

When I tried to swallow, it felt like a rock was lodged in my esophagus. I felt more tears fall from my eyes and drip onto my hands.

"Have any good memories of him?" Bernice asked.

I thought about for a few moments before a sad chuckle escaped me. "No, not really," I murmured. "Isn't that fucked up?"

Her lips pursed as her eyes flickered to the dancing flames.

"I remember the first time I met ole Uncle Larry," she said a bit tartly. "He shook my hand and his palm was all wet and slimy, like a fish. And he wore those Chester Molester glasses. I thought he was a total creep."

We both laughed a little because it was true. But the noise that escaped me sounded shallow and raspy.

"Old bastard," Bernice muttered, smiling.

Rubbing the beer bottle between my hands, I blew out a breath and sat up. The motion irritated the raw edges of my gaping heart like wind blowing through a bullet hole.

I felt more exposed and vulnerable than ever. My eyes were burning again as I thought about everything that had happened in the last few weeks.

Watching someone get sick and slowly die was a horrible thing.

"Hey, Gladdie?"