day eight: save me

i sit waiting for troy, grabbing my crate of records and carrying it over to my bed, dumping them all out. the disarray feels suddenly freeing, holding hands and making out in the backseat with my crazed state of mind. i open the window and light a cigarette, not that it matters tonight, my mother and that man she claims to be engaged to are out, and nicky shipped off to my grandmother's again. i wish i'd gone with him. i wish i was still that little girl who could get lost in those long hallways, who still loved the stacks of books and old board games that cluttered the den, and that i could embrace the bible hymns and strung up christmas lights, again. her house always smelled of cookies baking, and he is the one that soaks that into him now, not me. i'm supposed to be outgrown of all that.

i look at all the faces staring back at me. inhale, exhale, the sweet lightheaded swirl hits me, turning everything into a slight blur. i shift my position so i'm not leaning on my wrist, the only pain i can still feel. everything else swells in that honey thick numbness that is taking over. all these faces, all these voices. it would be so much easier to live within their skin, their souls. i could switch places with michael steele, talk the girls into changing their names back to the bangs. i feel like "going down to liverpool to do nothing all the days of my life" right about now. or, maybe i could disguise myself as one of the guys, slip into roger taylor's skin, or tony hadley's. i look at the cover of 'colour by numbers', rembering that night in robert's room, how we tried to re-create the cover. troy's sister elise was in from college, and she'd tagged along for the night. elise did troy's make-up and tied multi-shades of yarn into his hair, to be boy george. robert was jon moss, sam and i the other two. i wonder if elise ever sent those picturs to troy. she said they were for a project, for something connected to her plans to work for a music magazine, in london i think, or new york. i remember that sam worshipped her, we all did. troy wanted to leave with her, to escape. i wonder if i could look her up, if she'd remember me, if she'd tell troy where i was if i came.

i was keeping the room silent in order to hear the door, waiting, the knot starting to twist in my stomach. i didn't want to see troy, not now, not this reality of troy and i. i missed the days when we traded our quiet words over the phone, the stories, and our secrets. but, it wasn't who we were anymore. i couldn't shake the way he'd said it, with that tone of disgust. the lies snapped the cord between any connection we'd once forged together. i knew he'd come, though. he would use me as an excuse to pass the razor and straw back to himself. any reason worked for him, and i needed that more than i needed my dignity right now. maybe they are all right about me, maybe they see what's inside, the ugly and dirty bits of me that i try to hide. those things the shadow man sees. he takes the blood off my skin that i give him, sewing it into his plaid flesh, leaving with more of me each time. maybe the lies are all truth.

the door, i can hear troy at the door, finally. i can’t do this anymore tonight, this weaving in and out of all this gory emotional crap. i need to light myself up, send myself off. i need to listen to music and write nonsense, rewrite all the lies until they shine pretty and new. maybe I’ll write a goodbye to them all, finally go and see elise, or some other place. i can’t do this anymore. i walk to the door, my legs heavy and tingling from sitting to long on my feet with my knees bent. i feel like the floor is pulling me under. the door is closer now and i can hear him outside. i can almost taste the drip down the back of my throat, the surge of no more fear pulse through my veins, and pound through my chest., the familiar burn. i open the door, blink three times and wipe my eyes to take in what i see.

“robert? is troy with you?” i stand there, stammering, and confused. did i call Robert on accident? wasn’t it troy i spoke to? who said, in his mouse voice, that he’d be right over?

robert reaches for my hand as he lets himself in, he walks right by me, heading towards my room with me following behind, still confused.

"do you have a suitcase, janie?" he asks, his voice strong.

"why do i need a suitcase? why are you here? what's going on? robert?" i was still trailing behind him, in step, and in understanding. my head was starting to throb, right by my eyes. i stand at the doorway, impatient, and wanting answers.

"you're coming with me. this ends now." he is determined, almost fierce, but his eyes are soft. i know not to argue, though, and not to question any further.

i swing my closet door open and pull out the tapestry bag my grandmother gave me for my thirteenth birthday, the one i never use. sam and i laughed when i got it, she squeeled "it's a mary poppins bag!" i gave it to robert and slide to the floor, pull my knees to my body, and hide my face in my hands; i peek through my fingers to watch. robert empties my drawers out onto the floor, picks through them, and fills the bag. i watch him grab my sweatshirt and the purple case with all my mixed tapes. he holds his hand out to me and lifts me to him, leads me out the door to his waiting car. i can see sam and troy in the backseat, the sight makes me hesitate and pull back. he pulls me closer to him, though, his arm around me tight.

"come on, janie. trust me." robert looks into my eyes, a very slight smile lifting the corners of his lips. i can't possibly fight him on this, or anything, really. he knows i trust him. always.

day seven: cut and run

for weeks and weeks i stuck to sam like glue. i think she secretly reveled in my newfound need of her. she guided me through the halls, to classes, arranged rides home for us everyday. she created this cushioned wall around me, that no one could get past or inside, to me, without passing her first. she barely let me out of her sight. and, if i wasn't at her house, she camped out at mine, waiting for any word that might fall out of my mouth, or any change in how i acted. i felt like a science experiment, like i was being observed, day in and day out. and, i admit, at first it was comforting. being alone seemed to only make my heart race, my throat to close, and my hands to shake. feeling her near me, even when my eyes were closed, soothed me. it allowed me to take deep breaths, and occasionally even, to sleep.

but, it was starting to become claustrophobic, the way she was everywhere with me. and, how she was starting to make decisions for me, especially when it came to robert and troy. she vehemently blamed them for what happened, and kept them from me in anyway thatt she could. she tried to turm my attention to anyplace besides their direction. no matter what i said, or how i pleaded, she had made up her mind; and mine, by default.

if had stuck with her and not become so wrapped up in their dysfunction love thing i would have been fine, and it would never have happened. she believed this with every fiber of her being, and kept reiterating it to me anytime she thought she saw me waver.

"but, sam, robert took care of me. he helped me. he cares about me." i persisted, after she once again had answered my phone and told robert that i was out.

"he doesn't care about you, janie. can't you see it? you are just a cover for him, his cover girlfriend, so that he and troy can fuck each other without anyone bothering them about it. you see how they are to troy, what they say about him. you stopped that for robert, and for troy." her eyes are blazing, her hands flailing all aroud her.

i want to say something, want to stop her, correct her, get away from her. i want to see robert. she doesn't understand.

"you wouldn't be in this shape if it wasn't for them, you wouldn't have been mistaked for one of them. fuck, janie, i'm trying to help you." she is pacing now, in circles, her voice sharp and laced with bitterness.

"robert didn't hurt me, samantha. he didn't hurt me. that man did, not robert," the tears are coming, just on the verge of falling, i can feel them hanging onto my bottom lashes, ready to take a slide and fall ride down my cheeks. "you don't understand how it is between us. troy isn't part of it, not really. he's just robert's friend."

"you just can't see it, can you? you are blind when it comes to him. i hope i never fall in love like that. love that makes you this fucking stupid. jane, open your fucking eyes!" she is angry now, steaming angry, and so am i. we know the signs, the use of our proper names, her raised voice, and my tears.


“they are open, samantha!” my anger was awake now, and i was swallowing back the tears. the rage was part of my feelings for him, my defenses in overdrive, and all the pain from the last few weeks personified, and let loose. as if i was a pent up lion in a zoo cage and someone came by to taunt me, and accidentally hit the latch, letting me loose.

“why do i even bother? why? you are a disaster. i should run for cover while i can, before i end up being fucked like a gay boy in the back of some goddamn van myself.” i saw her mouth widen, and heard the quick intake of breath right after the words came out. i saw the regret paint across her face, but, it was too late. my recognition of her mistake, and guilt, came after my hand had already met her face, a hard slap, enough to leave a mark. i have never hit anyone in my life.

“get out of my fucking house. now.” my voice was full of ice and steel, anger pushing past and turning into something cold and final. i have never heard my voice sound quite like that.

sam's arms reach out towards me, as she tries to grab my arm, my shoulders, my waist, anything. but, i pull back. Si step away from her with my hands shielding my body.

“i’m sorry, janie. i didn’t mean it. god, janie. i’m sorry. please…” tears were choking her. i hadn’t seen her cry since she was a child, not since her brother. but, i don't care. i can't care. I can’t keep doing this. these walls have to be my own, and he hurt is too raw to relent, or forgive.

“leave.” i open my bedroom door, hold it open, glared at her until she finally walks out. she hesitates at first, staring at me in disbelief, and shaking; and then she runs out.

i shut the door then, behind her, walk to my desk drawer and lift up the papers and stationary set aunt connie had sent me on my thirteenth birthday, just under the jane eyre and lucky. i find a tiny baggie and open it, take out the razor, holding it with one hand, then i reach for the phone with my other. i sit down on the desk chair, dial, and while i listen to it ring i lift my skirt up past my knees, open my legs, and trace the fading bruises with careful cuts. the ritual starts, and i do not know where any of this is coming from, i feel outside of my skin. i hold my breath, cut, breathe; hold my breath, slice, breathe again. i stop when the ringing stops, and i hear the familiar voice.

"troy, i need something. can you help me?" it was the first time i'd spoken to him since that day under the bleachers. my voice was breaking, but my hands are steady now, at least. i watch the blood trickle down my leg, transfixed. it is like watching someone else's body, like in a movie, a character wearing my skin.

"i'll be right over." troy answers, but i barely hear it because part of me is already gone.

day six: hey jane

leonard cohen on my stereo, i need this kind of musical envelopment of self right now. his voice singing me a bedtime story as i lie here by the window, trying to breathe the night into my veins. maybe the mysteries in the starless sky will distract me from this internal push and pull going on, with me, and within me. it is unseasonably warm for october, even for california. I can feel the trickle of sweat creep down the back of my neck. I need to do so many things, but, right now all i want to do was lose myself in the music, and lie here on the floor.

I have been avoiding so much lately, even the smallest things, like buying new shampoo or cereal, i put off. i am slowly going through every possible thing my cupboards can present to me. trial size soaps and shampoo and conditioner combinations, from that trip to santa barbara, the weekend that changed everything. it was the weekend of jake's birthday, conceive a baby weekend. i remember jake laughing when i stashed these in my bags, calling me his little thief; he had no idea.

top ramen noodles and tomato soup cans are sustaining me, tuna and fancy crackers, those ones from a party robert had over new year's. these are the crackers we forgot in the car. i remember the fight we had on the way, so vividly, the same fight that took it's jab at us, over and over. robert and i, how jake couldn't understand it. he told me that it was more than jealousy, that there was simply no competing, not when robert entered the picture. i protested, again and again, until my mouth went dry, my body, too. i yelled at jake that day, in the car, right outside of robert and troy's house, in the driveway, my face red with fury.

"i just want us all to be friends. can't you understand, jake? i just want us to be friends. it's important to me." i pleaded, trying to regain some modicom of composure.

jake laughed at me, shook his head.

"look at you, jane. nothing gets you worked up like this. if i could only have a half of that passion. but, no, only robert gets that," he cocked his head, his voice incredulous, almost mocking. "you silly girl, we will never be friends. you know that just as well as i know it." he shook his head, laughing as he hopped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. we forgot these crackers in the backseat.

one of these days i’ll have to go to the store. one of these days i’ll have to call robert. one of these days i’ll have to go back to work. but, today is not that day. today i need more music. today i need to forget how to remember.

i change the album, dig out joni mitchell's blue; the one i stole from mom's garage, that and half of her beatles' collection. i feel it again, this movement inside me, kick and a roll; it just took my breath. this living thing inside of me, this baby girl, it is so hard to really believe that it's real. even when i stand naked, just out of the shower, my belly growing exponentially ever week, even my breasts are growing. and, now this rolling and kicking inside, too. and yet i still find it so hard to believe.

the panic is setting in again, maybe if i turn up the music and try to sing along it will help. concentrate everything on the lyrics, remembering the lyrics, my mother's voice in my head. she used to sing tome, these songs. i am so lost in the music that i do not even hear the knock at the door. knocking, more knocking, eventually the knocing becomes pounding and that is what catches my ear. i turn to look, as if the door will tell me who is on the other side; or, maybe, the door can tell whoever it is that i am not home, that i've moved away, disappeard. but, it would be impossible to believe, or hide, with all this music and singing going on, seeping out of the walls and into the hallway.

i turn the volume down, and walk slowly to the door, half hoping whoever is on the other side will give up and walk away. i open the door cautiously, holding my breath in slightly, hoping to see nothing but empty air.

i wish i could have seen the look on my own face when it registered just who was on the other side of the door.

"surprise!" three voices chime in, singing, arms in the air; and then reaching for me.

day five: trouble me

i softened. i couldn’t help it. i wanted to be cold and determined, resolved. i wanted to walk out and never look back. but, robert had my heart, he'd had it since i was sixteen years old, when he first gave me that ride home in his jeep. he had it before then, really. back when i daydreamed about him, and made mixed tapes for him that i thought i'd never give him, watched him walk through the world and wonder. then later, when we shared conversations and shared spaces, when he shared his walls with me. i loved him more still when he gave me sleep, safety, and helped glue me back together.

so, yes, i softened. i walked over to him and let him collapse into my arms like i had so many times before.

"please stay with me, janie. i'll make this work. i will. just give me some time. please don't leave." he was pleading with me, with his eyes and his voice, and his tears. i was the one holding him up now, leading him back to his bed, letting him curl up into me, his head resting on my chest. it was my voice saying words of comfort, this time.

i stayed.

day five: cannonball

i couldn’t say anything. i couldn’t think of what to say. my skin was turning cold, clammy, robert's room feeling suddenly smaller, older. what was i thinking? didn’t i learn this already? love and sex, never the two shall meet, not by both parties, not by both hands and hearts and breath. what was i thinking? but everything had seemed so, so, so, i don’t even know what it seemed. not this, just not this. i move slowly to the edge of the bed, untangling myself from him, letting go.

“janie? where are you going?” he sound so surprised, like what he said would just blow over me, or drip off me, like honey, or syrup. as if not telling troy wasn’t significant in just about every way.

“i’m going home, robert. i don’t know why i came.” I grab my clothes, not looking at him, trying to dress without him seeing any part of me. i am suddenly so exasperatingly shy.

"janie? why would you say that? what did i do?” he is standing up now, too. i don’t look at him, but i can hear the telltale bed sounds, the shift in his weight coming off of it. he is walking towards me, i can feel it, i can feel him. it stops me, even though i want to move. i still look away, at my clothes, the wall, the door..

"look at me, janie. why won’t you look at me?” his voice changes. i can hear the slight brush stroke of panic paint over him. and i can't help it, i turn towards him, look right at him adn that is when the tears fall.

"why can't we tell troy, robert? why? what do you this this is?" my voice sounds sixteen again. i feel sixteen again; confused, conflicted, blurred with emotion.

he's the one to look away now. he turns back towards the bed, past it, grabs his pants, putting them slowly. everthing feels lengthened, like those hallways that just grow longer as the heroine in danger moves in slow motion, in all those predictable horror films. every moment seems to drag, and i stand there stuck. robert walks to the window and still says nothing. the silence is wrapping around us now, fogging over us like a haze heavy in the room, thickening the air. i try to move but i can't, my feet feel glued to this spot on his carpet. all i can do is cry, tears streaming down my face. i don't even lift a hand to wipe them away, just taste the salt on my lips.

robert finally turns around towards me. he looks pale, torn up, hesitation is written across every inch of his skin. i can feel the trip in his voice, how he is holding back, how it is breaking him into tiny little pieces.

"i can't tell troy...because...because he is my boyfriend now, janie. we are...we are together." the words stagger out, forced, pained.

he turns away again, and i feel the sting hit me. every part of my body responds to it, my insides are screaming. i had thought of countless other reasons. that he didn't want this to be more than tonight, that he wasn't ready to change these years of friendship, that he wanted to keep it a secret. i'd had that kind of thing before, guys who wanted to meet you out back somewhere, or in their car, in a van that doesn't belong to them. they didn't want to exchange names or numbers, or lives. that maybe this is a mistake, well it was a mistake, it is a mistake. but not this, not in this way. how is this possible? how is it possible? how di di not know? i feel the shift in me then, from shock to anger, and it lights me up from the inside. i feel flames racing through my veins, in my blood, and my thoughts turn into sharp objects.

"then what the fuck was this, robert? what the fuck was this?” i wasn’t much for cussing. i did it, but not often, and never to Robert. he knows it, knows that only a certain level of pain brings ou tthis kind of cold anger, and this delivery of language. he almost falls backwards, grabs onto the windowsill and holds it tightly. he is cowering in the corner. i've never seen him like this. he starts crying, fast, hard. cryign that turns into sobs, ugly sobs, with snot and tears all mixed up and running all out of you kind of crying. it takes everything in me not to run to him, to cover him in anything he needs. but, i hold my breath and just stand there. i try to hold on to something close to self-respect.

"you don't understand. you don't understand. janie, he doesn't have anyone else. he needs me. i can't leave him alone." the words come out between mor sobbing, in a mess of breath and water. he sounds like he is underwater, like he is drowning.

"then why me, robert? why this? why did this happen? i don't understand? yeah, you are right. i don't fucking understand." i am shaking so hard i can barely stand, i grab hold of the doorknob, hold myself up. i look at the door, and keep my escape open and ready. i know i am ready to run.

"because i love you, janie. i've always loved you. you are my home."

day four: crashing down

i only make it through first period before she sees me. her eyes were wild, on fire, pain and worry and questions and you better tell me woven in with cuss words and high octaves. i can hear all of it before she gets close enough to touch me. i am standing at my locker, leaning really, trying to remember my combination and turn the dial with shaking hands. i don't remember which class is next, where i need to go next. i've kept my head low, so far. kept to minimal conversations, if any.

robert suggested the car accident story to explain the shape i'm in, to give the bruises a reason. i stumbled over the story in the office and that clueless woman behind the counter came around and hugged me, asked me if i was alright. she had almost cried when she told me about a car accident that had happened when she was in high school, how she'd lost her best friend. at least there will be no call home, no notes to sign.

but, i failed on my head to the ground and no eye contact convictions, with sam. i felt her eyes on me before i had actual confirmation that she was near. she was running towards me now, grabbing the sleeve of my dress, with force. i wince as my wrist starts to throb from the pressure of her pulling. her voice sounds jagged and sharp.

"you are coming with me, jane. right now." there is no fighting her, not that i have any fight left in me.

even just coming along with her hurts. the slightest touch is near unbearable, with every hour that passes the pain registers more. some of it is just being touched, touch is so unbearable. but, i can't say it, i just swallow hard and keep walking. it was a car accident, just a car accident. a car accident. she leads me out of the building, through a side door we used to ditch classes. we would sneak out during pep rallies, or other such school spirit gag me activities. this was the side of the school the security seems to forget about, the side with the gap in the fence, just big enough for skinny girls to squeeze through and determined boys to climb over. the sleeve of my dress snags as i push on to the other side. the sound of fabric ripping makes me jump, hearing it startles me, it is too recently familiar. i feel the taste of vomit in the back of my throat, choking me into a deeper silence. but, i keep walking. i keep following sam.

finally we stop in the field behind the school where they are planning to build yet another housing track. it is deserted at the moment, all the workers are on the other side, on a break, or something. sam drops down to the ground, sits cross-legged, and stares at me with that look of determination; the kind that screams i have all day if it takes that long.

i sit down, too, wincing when i cross my legs, trying to mimic the ease she seems to have. i am trying so hard to look okay.

"tell me." she says firmly, looking at me head on. when i try to look away she crawls in that direction until she is face-to-face with me again. she scoots herself closer until we are touching distance, knee-to-knee, like when we were kids.

"tell you what?" my voice is cracking again, damnit. i want to sounds strong and fine.

"tell me what the fuck happened to you, janie? the two weeks you haven't been here, the bruises that you tried to cover-up with what looks like clown make-up, that look on your face. that long dress and my boots, in this heat. what the fuck, janie?" she was a mile a minute, her words flying out of her, yet she doesn't move. she keeps her knees to mine, her eyes to mine, unwavering.

"car accident. i was in a car accident." my voice is too quiet and my eyes shift away, i can't look at her and say this. i can't. i will lost it. keep it together, just fucking keep it together.

"seriously, jane. a car accident? really? whose care then? when was this? where? who else was with you? what street? what time?" her questions go on and on, firing at me. i know it is no use to lie to her further. the lies would weave into more lies, and into even more lies, and then into nothing. this is impossible. sam is impossible.

"i was in a car accident." i barely whisper it now, my voice just won't come out. it is sticking like carnival taffy, and tar, and quicksand; all of it mashed and mixed together in the back of my throat. i can't breathe. my eyes are stinging, dry and burning. she stammers for a second, sighing, seeming like she will just walk away and leave me there.

but then i think she sees me, really sees me, and she just stops. she stops the questions, she stops moving, she stops everything. she just grabs hold of me, gently, wrapping her arms around me. she lets me cry.

day four continued: forget to breathe

the sun is peaking in through the blinds. they are still bent from when we had that kitten, the small, grey one that liked to leap from the bed to the blinds, hang by them by two or three claws, meowing until jake would get up and rescue her. once down she would start puncturing the boxes still left unpacked. we never did give the kitten a name, just kept calling her rascal and cat, or kit cat, or "no kitty". we meant to name her before all this happened. that night when it all ended, we were distracted and we'd forgotten to close the door that night tightly. she ran off then. probably out to find a home that would give her a proper name.

i could use that kit cat right about now. this apartment feels too big, too quiet. i’ve been sleeping with the television on all night, just for the sounds, just like my mother. does it really happen that easily? the adoption of parental cringe habits? i need to get up, get out of bed, get out of this funk i’ve found myself in.

there are unanswered messages on my machine, a pad of paper and a half worth. troy is going to be in town next week. he’s working on some kind of documentary show for mtv, something about a group of people living in a house. he's here in town briefly before he's back in new york, where sam is, and where the show is meant to be. he told me about it last christmas, over drinks. i asked him where the music was? isn’t that what mtv is supposed to be? music? videos? he just laughed and told me i had no vision and that college was bleeding the cool out of me. as if i was ever cool. as if i even stayed in school. i should have. i still have all the books, a month and a half salary worth of books that i didn’t even get halfway through. jake hadn’t wanted me to go. he had wanted me to work on all of this. our new place, our new life. "how can we have any freedom with your hands tied to schedules and papers and tests all the time? where is the adventure in that?" he would ask, shaking his head.

but our life wasn’t any sort of adventure. a department store job for me, a coffee counter job for him, one that only paid in tips; tips that usually consisted of a few buttons, some loose change and iou slips written on the inside of cigarette packs. we were supposed to be bohemian, living the artist life. he had every detail plotted, every t crossed. i guess i let him take me over. sometimes you just get tired of fighting life. i don’t know what i had to offer besides selling overpriced dresses, anyhow. i had those dreams of being a writer, a journalist, a teacher. but, every girl has those notions that they can write. they spout off about being a poet or an author because they write in journals and black and white composition books, or because they have read keats and e.e. cummings. all they really do is smoke cigarettes and skip meals, get pregnant, proposed to, and then wind up alone. what an adventure.

i wish i hadn’t thrown that pack of cigarettes away. i wonder if i go down to the dumpster, maybe i can still find the pack, wade through the mountain of black plastic we had a party last night bags to find them. no, i promised myself i’d quit. i promised you, too, little girl. i need to come up with a name for you. i do. i don’t think you can be kit cat the kid.

i don’t want to see troy when he comes. i don’t want to hear his stories, or see that look in his eye when he sees my belly. my maternity clothes, this half empty apartment. he’ll just talk about robert. he will. even if i don’t ask him, he’ll get brought up. robert is our connection, our old family ties. and i’m just not up for it. i’m not that girl anymore.

i can’t tell robert either. i know he’s on that machine, too, lost in that maze of i’m hiding unreturned calls. he can always sense when something is happening to me. it's in the wind, he used to tell me. "your words are in the wind, janie." he never knew about jake, about me dropping out of school, or that the dreams came back. no one knows about the dreams. jake tried to get me to tell him, told me i wake up screaming and clawing at the air, when i slept. he said my voice would sound alien to him, feral and raw. i pretended not to know, acted suprised and shocked. i blamed it on the zombie fueled 'night of the living dead' marathon we'd had, and bad food. i didn't tlel him that they come to me when i'm awake, too. the memories, the sounds, or how i etched survival lines into the inside of my thighs, in the tender spots, the pain covering me with a soothing haze; helping me breathe. i guess i don't have to hide it away any longer. last night's criss-cross cuts on my arm are proof of that. my freedom in pink swollen flesh; anything to silence this fear.

how am i going to do this? i don't even think i can afford rent here anymore. i've missed so many days of work. carrie pretends not to notice because of the baby, because she knows jake left. she'd run into him getting coffee, and he told her he'd left for good. not just me, but the whole city, the entire state. that he cannot breathe the same air as me, anymore. she told me she asked about the baby, asked how he could do it. how he could be out of my breathing space and still have a daughter. he told her i'd made my decision, shut him out, that he had no baby now. maybe he can look up my father and live with him, they can compare notes on denying their children's existance.

and, in a quick moment or less, we become our parents. it happens. they don't warn you about it, but it does, it happens.

"carrie, i'm sorry. i can't come in today. yeah, i'm sick." and i am still sick. i think i'll go back to bed. maybe i need a matched set, maybe then i can breathe. don't worry jake, i'll try to keep my breath far from you.

i wish i'd let sam come. i didn't think i'd be this scared.