A Closed Door
Itâs not over.
All my feelings
rush up inside me,
a thick, burning river.
A hand holds my hair
and I see thereâs a mess on the carpet.
âBathroom,â I manage.
âSheâs going to hurl again!â someone shrieks.
They step back
as if Iâm a bomb
about to explode.
Someone helps me
up the stairs.
I throw open the first door I find,
stumble into the darkness,
turn on the light.
Instead of a toilet
I see the boy from New Orleans
pressed up against the wall
and the lips of Mary Mosley.
She steps back,
annoyed at the interruption,
their mouths pink
from stolen kisses.
Matthew stares at me,
his hair ruffled and adorable.
Suddenly I need to throw up
for a completely different reason.
I turn and run.
âFain, wait!â he says.
Thereâs an angry exclamation from Mary,
the sound of Matthewâs pursuit.
I rush past Anna,
realize sheâs the one
who held my hair
and helped me up the stairs.
I move too fast
to stop or speak.
Even without a destination
or escape plan,
only one thought,
steady as a drum,
beats through me:
away.
I wonder how anyone
ever thought the
world was flat;
I feel it spin beneath me
as I totter off balance.
Stumble into the kitchen,
reach for the doorknob
that leads to the backyard.
A hand catches hold of my arm,
stops me.
âFain, wait!â Matthew says again.
I slowly turn to face him,
a joke with my puke-covered shirt
and throbbing heart.
âSorry you had to see that . . . Mary gets intense sometimes . . .â
Clumsily
he weaves together
an explanation.
âIntense?â
I am a parrot or a canyon,
only capable of echoes.
Something in my face
must make Matthew realize.
âYou thought . . .â
His words stop short,
too hard for him to say,
harder still for me to hear.
He swallows,
eyes dimming
before they dart away.
âWeâre friends, Fain,â he says.
But no.
He is not my friend.
My friends arrive with the stars.
I walk away,
and for the first time
I donât turn around
when he calls my name.
Arms
I wake on the grass,
my skin made of ice,
everything else numb.
I have a vague memory
of holding a phone in my hand.
Now something is happening all around,
voices and shadows arguing.
Tyler is here,
his words sharper
than all the knives in Momâs cupboard.
Arms wrap around me
help me
guide me.
I tell the blurry faces
how much I wish I had their arms
before all this.
They put me in the car,
whisper soothingly,
bring me home.
They tuck me into bed,
put a bowl by my head,
say theyâll see me in the morning,
retreat until only one shadow is left.
A distant part of me
recognizes my sister,
as though Iâm standing on an opposite shore
peering through the fog.
âWhat happened?â she whispers,
draping a blanket over me.
âNothing.â
âYou can tell me the truth,â she says.
But the truth
has been trapped inside me
so long
that to let it out
would be like vomiting again.
So instead I say,
âI hate how loud you snore.â
Dana blinks in surprise,
and before she can respond
I turn over,
succumb to the dark.
The Morning After
The sun is my enemy.
I focus on the pain
in my head
so that nothing else
can make its way in.
No memories of yesterday,
no thoughts of today,
no worries of tomorrow.
I sense that I am not alone,
roll onto my side.
Dana gazes at me
from across the room,
without a trace of
disappointment or judgment
in her eyes.
She looks at me differently,
as if sheâs really seeing me
for the first time.
After a minute she says, âIâll get some nasal strips.â
Itâs so unexpected,
it takes me a while to respond.
âThat would be good,â I finally say.
Without another word,
Dana gets up
and shuts the curtains
to block out the morning light.
The Hole
There is a hole
in my chest
where my heart
has
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley