Fourteen Years Ago
“I don’t know,” Caleb says tensely, fixing his hold on my hair as he moves to tuck his phone against his shoulder. “She wouldn’t tell me what happened. She was crying, and she asked me to drive her to this party, and—” He’s interrupted by the sound of me puking into the toilet. “She drank…a lot.”
“Who are you talking to?” I ask, dropping my clammy cheek against my forearm as tears well in my eyes. My voice doesn’t sound right, all slurred and wet. Nothing feels right. This was not supposed to happen. My mother was never meant to be sick. Cecelia was never supposed to hate me. And I was never, ever going to throw up in the basement of some jock’s lame high school party. I gag again, but don’t bother to move and aim for the bowl. I don’t think there could possibly be anything left inside of me to puke up.
“She won’t leave.” Caleb seethes. “She just keeps saying that she wants you and, well, honestly, she’s been kind of mean.”
I do have a vague memory of telling him to put on sandals and kick rocks when he suggested I switch to water at some point. So, he may have an argument there.
Adults always say that drinking is dangerous because if you drink too much, you’ll black out and forget everything. Turns out, they lied. I want to forget so badly…
“I can try that, but I don’t think she’ll listen.” The room tilts lopsided in my vision, and I shut my eyes tight. I want my mom. I think maybe I said it out loud that time because Caleb rubs my back and says, “I know,” quietly, just for me to hear. “Okay, yeah,” he speaks into the phone. “191 Lambro, near the…Yeah, exactly. Thank you. See you soon, Marcie.” Then Caleb drops his phone to the floor.
Those are the most sobering words I’ve ever heard. “My mom?” I sit up, though the room continues to spin, hideous yellow tile and awful fluorescent lighting dance around my head. “Did you seriously call my fucking mom?” My eyelids are hooded as I fight back the dizziness. “She’ll kill me!”
“You haven’t stopped asking for her all night, Sarah.”
“I’m drunk, you idiot. People say stupid things when they drink.”
“Yeah, and I’m really fucking unsure why you’re acting like this. Why are we here, Sar? What happened? Why won’t you just talk to me?”
I feel rage bubble up inside of me, and I’m ready to unleash it all on someone I know doesn’t deserve it, as that same person pulls me into his lap and wraps me tightly in his arms.
“Tomorrow,” Caleb whispers into my hair, “when you’re nice again, you’ll thank me for calling her. Then, you can tell me whatever Cecelia did or said to make you this upset. And, after that, you can apologize for calling me a douche in front of half of our grade…and an idiot just now.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke out, crying into his shoulder. Tears stream down my face, blotting into the soft material of his sweater. “Everything is so fucked up. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
He shushes me, rocking me back and forth as I continue to sob against him. “Don’t cry, baby.” He’s never called me that before. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
At some point, I’m ushered into a car by Aunt June who silently drives me home as I lie down across her backseat, a puke bag in hand. I don’t remember getting in bed or my mother lying down next to me, but I can feel her weight on the mattress behind my back, and smell her familiar perfume.
I roll over to face her, my blanket pulled up to my nose, and watch as she nervously assesses me.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi.” She sighs, her demeanor shifting from concern to exasperation.
I start crying almost immediately. “I’m so sorry, Mommy.”
“Darling,” she coos, wiping a tear from my cheek. “What on earth happened today? This isn’t like you….”
“She hated me,” I say through a wet sob. “Cecelia hated me.”
Mom blinks rapidly, her head beginning to shake. “There’s no way.”
“She called my writing shallow…a-and,” I stutter, struggling to catch my breath. “Sh-she—”
“Breathe.” Mom rubs her hand over my shoulder. “Breathe, Sarah.”
“I’m sorry,” I burst out. Mom moves to hold me as I sit up and cry against her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—” Mom shushes me, over and over, as I shake against her, apologizing a hundred times for everything that’s happened in the last week, for not having good news amid this shitstorm. For failing her when she needed me to succeed the most. It keeps coming out in those same two words. I’m sorry.
I don’t remember falling asleep, or what Mom did to get me to calm me down, but when I wake up in the dead of night in a cold sweat, she pulls me into her chest and cradles me back to sleep without a word.