Echoes Between Us - McGarry, Katie Page 0,66
my vision focuses, I watch as my father races down the stairs. His face is as hard as steel, and he’s barreling toward me like a freight train. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for the past half hour. You said when I called from the road earlier that you’d would be home by one. I bust my ass to get home and I roll in and find the house empty! Do you know how worried I’ve been? Do you—”
It’s my dad, and he’s angry, and he’s still yelling and that should bother me, but the pure relief of seeing him causes me to finally let go of the sob I’ve been shoving down since walking away from Leo. I force my feet forward, and Dad stops yelling as I stumble into him and bury my head into his chest.
“I’ve lost him,” I sob. “I’ve lost my best friend.”
The migraine becomes overwhelming and I cry, shoulders shaking and tears soaking his T-shirt.
SAWYER
Thursday March 21: Cured almost all day. Weight 121 ½ lb.
One more beautiful day. Oh, I do hope this weather lasts, tho I’m afraid it won’t.
I was examined by Dr. Ryan today. Some encouragement, I got. I’m still positive and he doesn’t know if I can go home in September or not. Oh Diary, sometimes I don’t believe the game is worth the candle. I’m not improving in lung condition, so I can’t see what good it does me here.
Don’t believe the game is worth the candle—I had no idea what that meant and looked it up. It means whatever the situation is, it’s not worth the work put into it. Evelyn felt that way about staying at the TB hospital. That’s how I feel about taking care of Mom on the weekends, and I especially feel that way about our current conversation.
“Sylvia doesn’t have a date to the homecoming dance yet,” Mom says. “Hannah and I think you two should go together—as friends, of course. It’s time you two get over whatever silly little feud you have going on.”
“Homecoming’s still over a month away. I’m not her type and she’ll find a date.” I tuck Evelyn’s diary into a notebook and return to the sink. Because this place doesn’t have a dishwasher, I’m elbow-deep in suds. I got creative tonight and made lasagna with Lucy. It was good, she had fun, but I won’t do it again. Too many damn pots to clean.
“That’s not the point.” Mom’s at the kitchen table. Frustrated with me, she rubs her temples as if I’m giving her a headache, but she woke up with it and it’s made her a witch. “You haven’t joined us at Hannah’s in forever, and it’s noticeable you’re avoiding Sylvia. You’re breaking her heart and that’s not acceptable. I’m still shocked that you chose that Veronica girl over her. You need to get over yourself and apologize. I raised you better than this.”
“Sylvia’s not an angel in any of this.” Like how she talked about Veronica with her friends in English last week. Loud enough that Veronica had to hear.
The gossip isn’t just reserved to that one moment in English or limited to Sylvia. It’s everywhere, incessant, and I hear my name being discussed in hushed conversations. The latest gossip I’ve been waiting for Mom to jump all over me about—I must be hanging with Veronica because I’m using drugs.
“But you probably said worse things and I bet you deserved whatever she said to you. I’m not asking. I’m telling. Make up with Sylvia.”
My response is the sound of me dropping more dishes into the sink. They clank together and Mom winces with the sound.
It’s Sunday evening, Lucy’s two doors down with a friend from school and Mom’s at the kitchen table taking a break from working to check my grades online. Since elementary school, this has been my least favorite day of the week.
“How is it possible for you to have a D in photography? Are you even bothering to take photos and turn them in?”
“I’m taking photos and I’m turning them in.”
“Then why do you have a D?” Mom pushes.
“Because my teacher doesn’t like my pictures.” Irritation leaks into my veins. I take a hundred pictures a week, pore through them and find three that I think she’ll like. Each time she sighs heavily like I’m a toddler that missed the toilet bowl when taking a piss. They aren’t capturing emotion. Translation—she doesn’t like me and we’re both screwed because it’s too late