Michael, there’s almost no point in seeing him, except that I have to. It’s like I’m not even present in the room. I just let Echo blah blah blah …
But this time I do have a reason for coming. It takes me almost the whole hour to gather the courage to ask.“You know that group home you told me about a long time ago?”
“Yeah,” Eric responds.
“I’m not saying I want to go, but I’d see it. Take a tour or something.”
“Sure. Any time. All you have to do is call. I have the number here, if you want to do it now.”
A panicked feeling rises in my chest, even though I’m the one who brought it up. I’ve been thinking about moving out for a while now. I don’t have money for rent, and since Michael’s gone, maybe a group home is my only choice. Still, when it seems like it could actually happen, I start to second-guess myself. Living with ten other messed-up girls? Having staff around all the time, enforcing rules and giving you “community time” like it’s a reward? Having to share a room? “I didn’t mean now,” I retract. “I can’t do it now. Maybe soon.”
“Okay. It’s just a call, though. Doesn’t mean you actually go. You just ask when you can drop by.” As he’s talking, he opens his book to find the number. “I’ll call for you. No pressure at all. Just so you know when their times are.”
He dials and talks to someone he knows. Says he has a client interested in checking out the house. He’s all casual, like it’s no big deal. Then he hangs up the phone and turns to me. “Every Wednesday afternoon, one o’clock. If you want, we can book a personal time.” He writes down some stuff on a piece of paper and passes it to me. Before I know it, I have the address and phone number of the group home in my hand.
“Thanks,” I say, wondering what the hell I just did.
“No problem. If you want me to go with you, I’m happy to do so.”
“Yeah. No. Thanks. I’m just thinking about it. You know?”
He leans forward a little. “You okay, Melissa?”
I lean back, reclaiming the safe gap between us. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay. Why?”
“You seem a little … distracted. Tired, maybe? Something happen?”
“Happen?” Echo shrugs her shoulders and pushes farther back into the chair. “Not really. Just thinking about a change.”
We sit there and Echo talks about nothing important for a while longer. Meanwhile, the words I really want to say rip up my insides like stabbing knives. I want to get the fuck out of my house. I want to get the fuck out of my life. I won’t let my mom bring me down again. I won’t take care of her and a kid. I hate everyone—my friends, my mother, Fortune. I even hate Michael. I hate my school. My city. My life. My clothes. My face. Everything. I want out. Out of this head. Out of this body. I want to get the fuck out of this skin.
Forty
I stay in bed for a few days. Sometimes I do this, when things get to be too much. Especially when the weather is crap. When things are grey and ugly and the trees have no leaves and it’s like the sky is an inevitable looming overcast of gloom. I feel like my head is a cement block that I’m dragging around. I am numb and there’s nothing inside. I don’t care about failing school, or pissing off my friends, or hurting my mother. I just don’t care.
My mom comes in every morning, yelling and trying to get me to go to school. Ms. Dally calls and threatens discharge from the program if I don’t get to class. But none of it matters to me. I just want to sleep all day. I just want to turn off and disappear into a shadow.
On Saturday afternoon, Ally calls me while I’m making Kraft Dinner. I complain about how miserable I am. Every second word is a swear word. She thinks that Fortune and I should get back together because it will make me happier. I tell her, “Not over my dead body.”
“So, where’s the cat?” she asks, seemingly changing the subject.
“I don’t see it ever. It lives under my bed.”
“Maybe it’s dead.”
“No. I leave food out and a litter box in my room, so I know it eats and shits.”