My grades, shockingly, have gone to hell. It's not just my lack of attendance; it's my lack of presence. That's probably why everything's going to hell, actually.
I wouldn't have even noticed how bad they'd gotten if my mom hadn't called about me being on academic probation next semester if I don't get them up. I think she thinks if she gives me a concrete goal, it might help me focus on something besides Clair. There was no accusation in her voice, anyway. I know she hates feeling helpless to reach me, but I have my concrete goal. Admittedly, it completely revolves around Clair, but we all pay for our sins someday.
At the end of our (short) conversation, Mom startled me. I didn't think anything could anymore.
"Do you want to come home?"
My silence overwhelmed the line. She wasn't asking about just for the weekend, or a small visit. Home. I could transfer back there and choke down food there and watch my parents watch me there.
That would be worse. They would be in contact with their ghost daughter, powerless to reach out and touch her.
No.
I'm not strong enough for that. I can't let them see me break against myself.
"No, Mama."
I can't even remember the last time I called her that. It reminds me of her helping me with a lemonade stand or giving me a coloring book those times she brought me to work with her. It reminds me of Sunday mornings and sunny days on the porch. Of her making lime Kool-aid for all the neighbor kids when we'd play kickball all day in the summer. Of her frightening away the monsters. Of the little girl I was and the mess I am now.
No, Mama. I can't do that to you and me.
When I got off the phone, I couldn't decide if I was sickly pleased that she'd held out her hand to me, or just sick that I couldn't take it. I can't have her see me break, so I've got to build up these walls. If she burrows in, she'll see how bad it is, and I can only live with it, be strong with it, as long as they don't know. The crumbling façade would crush us all.
I can't save Clair. I can't; it's too late. But I can save them. I can. I can.
I'm crying like a fucking baby right now. Will it ever end?
YOU ARE READING
Minnesota Goodbyes
Teen FictionM., a college sophomore, is haunted by the events of a year ago that ended another girl's life. In an attempt to clear her conscience, she writes her confession down in a battered notebook addressed to a stranger. This search for redemption is far m...
