“I don’t know …” I try to think about being twelve again. Imagine myself walking around the place. “I don’t really remember being sad. I was more worried about my mom. The place itself wasn’t awful. It’s only later, when I got older, that I put negative feelings into the memories. It’s like at the time, it just was. There were always people around, you know? And nothing was ours—not the sheets or the pillows or even the soap. But it wasn’t that bad. It was more the idea that no one wanted to be there that made it depressing. I guess if it was a place people wanted to go, it would have been fine. But since it was a shelter and no one wants to be in a shelter, it was like reality turned everything a certain grey and you couldn’t see the colour.” My lips stop moving and it’s as if I’ve just returned to the room after being far away in my mind. “Oh,” I remark, “I’ve been talking a lot.”
“It’s okay. That’s what we’re here for.”
“My mouth is tired.”
Eric laughs. “Then let’s give it a rest, shall we?”
Twenty-Five
I try to pretend to myself that I’ve stopped thinking about Michael. I pretend to everyone that things are fine, but inside I’m really dying. Each morning I wake with the hope that maybe today he will call. And each night I go to bed, sad that he didn’t. When I can’t sleep, I lie in the dark and go over every single second we ever spent together, from beginning to end. I play it like a movie in my head, so I even see myself in the scenes. Then sometimes I imagine him calling me.
“Hi.”
“Michael?”
“Yeah. Hi.”
“Hi.”
“I know you’re mad, but I’m coming back for you.”
“You are?”
“Yeah. Not now. In two years. I love you, Melissa. I want to be with you forever. Wait for me. When you’re eighteen, I’ll be there.”
“Eighteen? That’s so long. Why eighteen? It’s just a number. I can’t wait. I might be dead by then.”
“You won’t be dead. You’re too strong, baby. We’re going to be together. I know it.”
“But if you love me, how can you be away from me?”
“I need to get my shit together. You need to get older. If we’re together now, we won’t last.”
“Yeah, maybe it’s true. But I can’t be alone so long. You have to come back.”
“I will.”
“I don’t think I can wait so long.”
“Wait, baby. Wait. I will wait for you …”
And it goes on and on like that. But I wonder how long I can go on like this—waking with hope, falling asleep in tears. It feels endless, but I suppose it’s bound to stop. One day I’m bound to wake without the thought of Michael beside me in my bed. Aren’t I?
Twenty-Six
The minute I swear off men, I meet someone remotely interesting. His name is Fortune, he’s nineteen, and he’s so incredibly gorgeous it’s almost impossible not to want to jump him. He’s got a baby face, beautiful brown skin, short dreads, and the most amazing body. “It’s as if he puts sexy into every movement,” Jess says. Hot, hot, hot! He’ll be standing in front of you then suddenly reach up over his head to stretch, revealing his six-pack stomach. Or he’ll lean one arm up on the fridge door at a party, deciding for the longest time on what beer to take, while all the girls in the room stare at his fine ass.
I’ve seen him around before. I always thought he was cute, but it was obvious he was a player, so I didn’t consider him. He’s the kind of guy who makes girls fall in love with him, gets what he can out of them, and moves on. Any girl—Chinese, black, Hispanic, brown, anything. Even the guys are drawn to him. He always has a permanent posse of wannabes hanging around.
But on Saturday night, at Jasmyn’s friend’s friend’s friend’s place, here Fortune is, beside me on the couch, treating me like I’m the only girl in the room. His thigh pressed against mine. His sexy voice up close in my ear, so close I feel his cheek against mine. I’m so fucked up on some stuff Jasmyn gave me to snort that I decide to tolerate him. He is telling me I’m different than the other girls. He is telling me he’s been watching me a long time.