All Is Not Forgotten by Wendy Walker Read Free Book Online

night—fights that would leave her father in tears and her mother sounding “disgusted” and calling him “weak.” She felt that all of this was her doing, from her inability to exorcise the monster and go shopping for dresses. She felt destroyed inside. And she felt she was destroying her family. Jenny had not noticed the fault lines that were there all along. Children never do.
    She answered her mother. Sure, Mom. That sounds good. Maybe we can get lunch first. She forced another bite of food into her mouth.
    Charlotte smiled. Great! Then she looked at Tom with smug satisfaction that things were all better.
    When Jenny had eaten enough to convince them, she excused herself from the table. She took her plate to the sink and made a comment about needing to get online to chat with her friends.
    She went to her room.
    I think I’ve described Jenny in some detail. What have I left out so you can picture her? Long blond hair. Blue eyes. Slender and athletic. Her face was somewhere between youth and maturity—the cheekbones had started to protrude more visibly; her nose was becoming more angular. She had freckles and one small dimple on the right side of her mouth. She spoke eloquently, without the usual “um’s” and “uh’s” that teenagers use. And she was very natural in her use of eye contact, which is a skill that must be learned. Some people look too long before breaking away to look elsewhere. Others don’t look long enough. She had it just right, which is something we grown-ups take for granted, as we have all—most of us, anyway—mastered this social acclimation.
    Although she had lost her innocence (for lack of a better expression), she was still quite lovely and sweet. She described her thoughts like this. Her tone was flat and she was surprisingly unemotional.
    I sat on the edge of my bed and started looking around. There were all these familiar things, things I had picked out or helped decorate. I have rose-colored walls. They’re not pink, because they have too much red in them. That’s what the lady at the decorating store said. I can’t remember the name of the paint color, but it’s basically a blush rose. The bookshelves are bright white and I have all these books on them, though I don’t really like to read much anymore, and not just because of what happened. I stopped reading a lot when I was twelve. I think it’s because I have so much required reading now, being in high school. And they used to have reading contests, which they don’t have in my grade. So most of the books are either for school or they’re really babyish.
    I also have a collection of stuffed animals. I still pick one up from every new place I go to. Well, I guess that’s not really true anymore. I didn’t get one in Block Island. I can’t explain why. I know why, but I don’t know how to explain it. If I had to explain it, I would say that I felt like doing things that I used to do felt like a lie, like I was trying to pretend I was someone I wasn’t anymore. Like wearing something blue because you used to like blue and you think you still should like it, but you just don’t now. Does that make sense? I didn’t like doing anything I used to do. I just did them, you know, went through the motions, because I felt like if I didn’t, then everything would just fall apart. Sitting on my bed with all these things I used to love but not loving them anymore, I just wanted to set them all on fire. That’s when I knew I was never going to be all right again.
    She went on to explain her decision. It’s shocking to me that people ever make this choice. But I am not a religious person, so for me, the only hope lies with living. Of course, the words “teenager” and “choice” should not be in the same dictionary.
    This is where I grow frustrated with the general lack of knowledge about the teenage brain.