Post by maggie on Dec 20, 2006 14:20:21 GMT 10
i'm reposting this as requested, but i don't have any updates, sorry. just here as an archive.
The Dance We Do: a Maggie and Abby saga
Milwaukee, 1986
Age 17
God, I look awful. I should have covered it better. I touch the bruise gingerly with two fingers. It’s black and blue now. Tomorrow it will be a yellowish brown. I know how bruises go. I’m an expert. This one is particularly ugly. Right on my cheekbone, where I can’t cover it with my hair. Perfect. I could always use another inquiring look, another sideways glance. But I’m practically immune to the stares now. To the whispers. It’s always something. Shit. I jump as I hear footsteps. I’ve been leering at myself in the mirror for too long. I have to be in class. I have to actually be a decent student so I can escape this hell. I have a pile of applications at home, waiting to be filled out. I just have to find the time, but that’s just it. I don’t have any. I head back to class and slide into my seat, ignoring the teacher’s glare. I know that look. He thinks I’m slacking. That I’m not working hard enough. That I show up late because I like to sleep in, that my assignments are crumpled because I’m disorganized, that my papers are late because I’m too busy partying to do my work. He has no idea. He is oblivious. He’s on the outside of the disease.
I take the public bus home. I don’t want to ride the school bus with the freshman. It’s pathetic and mortifying to be the sole senior without a car. And yet it’s my life. I get off two stops from home so that I can stop at the grocery store. Christmas carols are playing over the loudspeaker. It’s only October. I reach into my bag for my purse and pull out my wallet. I count the bills to be sure. Eleven dollars. A pack of cigarettes, a box of macaroni for dinner, a gallon of milk, and a package of oreos. Eric loves oreos. I take the brown paper bag from the counter and head outside. I light up one of the cigarettes. The bitter smoke fills my mouth and I release it in a long, curling stream into the air. My escape. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t care. Everyone has their flaws. I trudge home, balancing the grocery bag in one arm, my bag slung over my shoulder, cigarette dangling from my index and middle fingers. My legwarmers aren’t keeping me warm. For once, Maggie was right about something. They are useless. But they do look good, and god knows I need the help. Bruised isn’t in this year.
I bang on the screen next door and stamp my cigarette out with my foot. “Mrs. Kaufman?” She’s half deaf, but she can at least keep tabs on my little brother until I get home. It’s only a half hour, except on those days when I get detention. My teachers seem to get a thrill out of screwing me over. I don’t know why they have it in for me. Mrs. Kaufman comes to the door in her housecoat. She must weigh three hundred pounds. “Is Eric here?”
“Your mother came to get him, dear.” She gives me a glance, as if she disapproves already. I don’t know what it is.
Shit. Maggie picked him up? “When?”
She consults her watch as if I’m inconveniencing her. “About ten minutes ago.”
“Thanks.” I push the door open to our apartment. It’s open, so at least I know they’ve been here. “Maggie? Eric?” I’m pretty sure she’s off her medication. The pills have stayed in the little bottle all week.
“In here, honey! Come join us!” Her voice floats out from the bathroom.
I drop my things and head toward the bathroom, not sure what to expect. There are never expectations with Maggie. “Mom, what are you doing?” Shit. She has this awful mess in her hair, and it’s on the walls a bit. Eric is standing there grinning, painting the gunk into her hair as she sits backwards on the toilet.
“We’re dying my hair!” Maggie flashes me a grin. “I thought, ‘Wouldn’t it be fabulous to be a blonde?’ And so I picked up a bottle of dye!”
“Mom, aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
She waves me off. “Oh, that, I got tired of it. I told them to shove it and I left. I’ll find something new.” She smiles at Eric in the mirror. “Right, Eric? Blondes have more fun!”
Eric nods and smiles. He’s only eleven. “Right!” His soft brown curls bob as he nods his head emphatically.
“Fine. Whatever you say, Mom.” I turn away.
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Abby!” Maggie is obviously manic.
“Fine. I’m thrilled for you, Mom.” I sigh and head to the kitchen. “I got macaroni and cheese to make for dinner.”
“Oh, we had that the other night. Let’s go out!” Maggie be crazy. We have no money.
I walk back and stand in the doorway of the bathroom. “We can’t afford to go out.” I cross my arms. She’s like a child.
She shrugs. “So we’ll go to Burger King. We can tell them it’s Eric’s birthday and we’ll all wear those crowns!” She looks pleased with her idea.
“Yeah!” Eric looks thrilled. Great. Just great, Maggie, make me look like the bad guy.
I sigh. “Fine. Whatever. I have homework to do.” I leave them to their fantasy. It’s not worth fighting.
Milwaukee, Spring 1987
Age 18
I pace back and forth across my room. It’s not really big enough for pacing, but I’m too worked up to care. I’m alone, finally, and time is running out. I have to do this, I have to find the nerve. This is what it all comes down to, the past eighteen years. I’ve put it off until the last one came. The last envelope. The one that matters. I applied to twelve schools, and twelve envelopes sit on my desk, looming, taunting. I’ve sorted them countless times in countless ways. Alphabetically. In order of arrival. By size. By weight. Geographically. Every way I could think of, but now I’ve reverted to alphabetically. It gives them the most random order. Mixing the beautiful, thick, manilla envelopes with the terrible, thin, white ones. I glance at the clock. Maggie and Eric went to run errands, and I figure I have another forty minutes of solitude. It’s now or never. I sigh and set the pile on my bed. My hands shake as I pick up the first envelope. Augustana. It’s in Illinois. All if the colleges I applied to are within three hours. I can’t leave Eric with her, not unless I’m close by. Augustana has sent me an official looking white envelope. One of the thin ones. I tear it open and scan the page. I’m surprised. They’ve put me on the waitlist. Augustana is a pretty good school, too.
I spent the past eighteen months trying to get myself into a good school. It didn’t begin with applications. I’ve known for years that college was my ticket out, my sanctuary from Maggie. My grades have always been lower than they should be. I spend all my time caught up in Maggie’s drama and trying to shield my brother from it. I don’t have time to study. I’m smart, that I know. A lot smarter than I let on. I’ve known since freshman year that my only hope were the SAT’s. I borrowed study guides for the test from the library and I’ve dogeared every page over the past months. I knew I only had one shot of impressing these schools. I have my heart set on pre-med, and I know that my schoolwork won’t get me in. I spent so many sleepless nights hiding in my room with those books. I’m a closet nerd. I must have done every practice test made since the tests were created. And it paid off. I scored a 1420 out of 1600. It’s the sort of score honor society students get. I cried when I found out. Maggie doesn’t know. I don’t tell her anything.
I glance at the second envelope in the pile. Blackburn. Illinois. Rejected. The next envelope is set aside for later. That one waits. That one is different. The fourth is from Concordia. In Minnesota. It’s thick. I tear it open and leaf through. They’ve accepted me, and they offered me a decent scholarship. Not academic, need based. That’s almost a given. I move onto Hamline. Minnesota again. Accepted. Iowa State. Rejected. I sigh. That one is a little disappointing. It was a hard school, though, and I knew when I applied that they tended to overlook SAT scores. I move on to Marquette. It’s in Milwaukee. I’m encouraged by the thin envelope. I don’t want to go there. It’s a Jesuit university, which is not exactly my style. They’ve waitlisted me. I put it in the reject pile to throw away. The next is Minnesota State. My safety school. I’m in. They’ve offered me a full ride. No surprise there. Onto Morningside in Iowa. Rejected. The next one is from Northwestern, in Chicago. I’m really hoping for this one. This is the application I re-wrote four times until I was satisfied. My heart pounds as I open the envelope and I let out a little cry of excitement without even realizing it as I read the first line: “Congratulations, Abigail Wyczinski.” That makes my day. They’ve offered a little financial aid, which is good. It’s not going to be easy convincing Maggie, though. I’ll have to take out loans to go there. A lot of loans. I set it delicately aside and rip open the next, not really concerned about what it says. It’s from Ripon, in Wisconsin. Rejected. I don’t care. University of Wisconsin. Accepted. I know Maggie will want me to go there more than Northwestern. It’s less expensive. I hide it among the rejections. I realize that’s all of them. Except for that last one. That one I’ve been to nervous to even think about. I’m shaking again as I run my finger over the official seal on the envelope. My dream school. I don’t know if I want to look. I can’t go there either way, It’s too far away from Eric. I debated even applying, but...I had to know. I had to try.
Columbia University sent me one of the thick ones. I’m afraid to find out, but I can’t not. I slide my finger along the seal and open it. I pull out the first sheet of paper and my heart drops when I see it.
“Dear Ms. Wyczinski.
Congratulations. After reviewing your application for admission, we would like to offer you admission to Columbia University as a member of the class of 1991.”
My tears blur our the rest. I’ve done it. I’ve gotten into my dream school. I conjure an image of myself, standing on risers in a long black gown and cap four years from now, the backdrop of New York city behind me, making my address as Columbia University’s valedictorian. And then the image shatters, and I sob into my pillow. My damned mother always ruins it. She’s the reason I can’t be happy. The reason I’ll never really leave the midwest. The reason I’m crying over an acceptance, when I should be celebrating.
My mother has a way of turning everything she touches to shit.
Northwestern University, Chicago, Illinois 1988
Age 19
“I think I’m going to try out for the softball team.” I’m handing upside down off the edge of my bed, a licorice rope hanging out of my mouth. I bite the end off and point the licorice at my roommate, Lisa. “Think I can pull of the sporty look?”
Lisa is sitting in my spinning desk chair, her feet propped on my desk. She’s painting her toenails blue. “You’d look hot in a softball uniform.” She reaches her hand out and I hand her a licorice rope. She chews on it thoughtfully. “Have you played before?”
I nod. “I played Freshman and Sophomore years in high school.”
“What position?” Lisa screws the cap back on the blue polish. Tissues are woven through her toes to separate them.
“Shortstop.” I scoot back onto the bed and pull my knees to my chest, back against the wall. “I wasn’t bad. I made Varsity my sophomore year.”
“Why’d you quit, then?” Lisa begins twisting a strand of hair around her finger.
I haven’t told her about Maggie. It’s too complicated, to melodramatic, and honestly, it embarrasses me. “We moved, and my new school didn’t have a team,” I lie.
“That’s too bad.” Lisa reaches across and takes another licorice rope. My phone rings suddenly, and I reach for it.
“Hello?”
“Abby?” His voice comes through crackly and soft. I can tell something isn’t right.
“Eric? What’s wrong?” Lisa looks at me, confused, and I hold up my hand. She shouldn’t ask.
“Abby, can you come get me?” He sniffs. Oh, no. He’s been crying. What did she do now?
I cradle the phone on my shoulder and start pulling on my jeans. “Where are you, Eric?”
“She’s gone, Abby. I came home, and she was just...gone. She left.”
“Are you at home, Eric?” I pull on a sweatshirt and slide on my sneakers.
“Yeah.”
“Stay right there, Eric. Lock the doors, close the windows, and turn on the lights. Turn on the TV, too. Loud. And don’t answer the door for anyone.”
“What if it’s the police?” He’s only twelve and he’s already had to deal with the police at our door three or four times.
“Then you ask to see their badges through the window.” I grab my keys. “Eric, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Anytime, buddy.” I hang up and turn to Lisa. “I have to go get my brother.”
She doesn’t ask. She can tell it’s not the right time. “Are you bringing him back here?”
I nod. “I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry, Lisa, it’ll just be for a few days.”
“Don’t worry about it. Really.” She comes over and gives me a squeeze. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I might stay the night, anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow at the latest.”
“Okay.” She gives me an encouraging smile and grabs something off her desk. She hands me a cassette tape. “Duran Duran. For the road.”
I take it and hug her quickly. “Thanks.” I take my purse and jog to the parking lot. I managed to buy a used car, knowing something like this would eventually happen. It always does.
******
I stand outside the door to our apartment. It’s past two in the morning. I knock lightly and call out. “Eric?”
Shuffling comes from inside, and I can tell he’s looking through the peephole. The bolt slides, then the chain, then the door swings open. I throw my arms around my baby brother and hold him tightly. He’s almost as tall as I am, but to me, he’ll always be my baby brother. We walk inside and I hold him at arms length to inspect him.
“Are you okay, Eric?”
He shrugs and nods. “Yeah. It’s not the first time, Abby.”
I sigh and pull him close again. “I know. She’ll be back, sooner or later.” I hate that the poor kid suffers like this. He’s such a good kid, he shouldn’t have to go through this. “I have to go back to school, Eric. I have classes, and I can’t miss them. I’ll leave my number and a note on the table, and you’ll come back to Chicago with me.” I brush his curly hair from his face.
“Okay. Are we going tonight?”
I shake my head. “It’s too late tonight. I don’t want to drive.” I force a smile. “We can have a slumber party. We’ll watch a movie, make popcorn, just like we used to. Okay?”
He looks a little more relaxed, and he gives me a little smile. “Okay. I got ‘Star Wars’.”
“Well then, you get the movie and some blankets, and I’ll make popcorn.” I give him a grin. I have to. There’s nothing else I can do, nothing I can say, but to pretend everything is fine. He needs me to. I wish I could believe it myself.
The Dance We Do: a Maggie and Abby saga
Milwaukee, 1986
Age 17
God, I look awful. I should have covered it better. I touch the bruise gingerly with two fingers. It’s black and blue now. Tomorrow it will be a yellowish brown. I know how bruises go. I’m an expert. This one is particularly ugly. Right on my cheekbone, where I can’t cover it with my hair. Perfect. I could always use another inquiring look, another sideways glance. But I’m practically immune to the stares now. To the whispers. It’s always something. Shit. I jump as I hear footsteps. I’ve been leering at myself in the mirror for too long. I have to be in class. I have to actually be a decent student so I can escape this hell. I have a pile of applications at home, waiting to be filled out. I just have to find the time, but that’s just it. I don’t have any. I head back to class and slide into my seat, ignoring the teacher’s glare. I know that look. He thinks I’m slacking. That I’m not working hard enough. That I show up late because I like to sleep in, that my assignments are crumpled because I’m disorganized, that my papers are late because I’m too busy partying to do my work. He has no idea. He is oblivious. He’s on the outside of the disease.
I take the public bus home. I don’t want to ride the school bus with the freshman. It’s pathetic and mortifying to be the sole senior without a car. And yet it’s my life. I get off two stops from home so that I can stop at the grocery store. Christmas carols are playing over the loudspeaker. It’s only October. I reach into my bag for my purse and pull out my wallet. I count the bills to be sure. Eleven dollars. A pack of cigarettes, a box of macaroni for dinner, a gallon of milk, and a package of oreos. Eric loves oreos. I take the brown paper bag from the counter and head outside. I light up one of the cigarettes. The bitter smoke fills my mouth and I release it in a long, curling stream into the air. My escape. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t care. Everyone has their flaws. I trudge home, balancing the grocery bag in one arm, my bag slung over my shoulder, cigarette dangling from my index and middle fingers. My legwarmers aren’t keeping me warm. For once, Maggie was right about something. They are useless. But they do look good, and god knows I need the help. Bruised isn’t in this year.
I bang on the screen next door and stamp my cigarette out with my foot. “Mrs. Kaufman?” She’s half deaf, but she can at least keep tabs on my little brother until I get home. It’s only a half hour, except on those days when I get detention. My teachers seem to get a thrill out of screwing me over. I don’t know why they have it in for me. Mrs. Kaufman comes to the door in her housecoat. She must weigh three hundred pounds. “Is Eric here?”
“Your mother came to get him, dear.” She gives me a glance, as if she disapproves already. I don’t know what it is.
Shit. Maggie picked him up? “When?”
She consults her watch as if I’m inconveniencing her. “About ten minutes ago.”
“Thanks.” I push the door open to our apartment. It’s open, so at least I know they’ve been here. “Maggie? Eric?” I’m pretty sure she’s off her medication. The pills have stayed in the little bottle all week.
“In here, honey! Come join us!” Her voice floats out from the bathroom.
I drop my things and head toward the bathroom, not sure what to expect. There are never expectations with Maggie. “Mom, what are you doing?” Shit. She has this awful mess in her hair, and it’s on the walls a bit. Eric is standing there grinning, painting the gunk into her hair as she sits backwards on the toilet.
“We’re dying my hair!” Maggie flashes me a grin. “I thought, ‘Wouldn’t it be fabulous to be a blonde?’ And so I picked up a bottle of dye!”
“Mom, aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
She waves me off. “Oh, that, I got tired of it. I told them to shove it and I left. I’ll find something new.” She smiles at Eric in the mirror. “Right, Eric? Blondes have more fun!”
Eric nods and smiles. He’s only eleven. “Right!” His soft brown curls bob as he nods his head emphatically.
“Fine. Whatever you say, Mom.” I turn away.
“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Abby!” Maggie is obviously manic.
“Fine. I’m thrilled for you, Mom.” I sigh and head to the kitchen. “I got macaroni and cheese to make for dinner.”
“Oh, we had that the other night. Let’s go out!” Maggie be crazy. We have no money.
I walk back and stand in the doorway of the bathroom. “We can’t afford to go out.” I cross my arms. She’s like a child.
She shrugs. “So we’ll go to Burger King. We can tell them it’s Eric’s birthday and we’ll all wear those crowns!” She looks pleased with her idea.
“Yeah!” Eric looks thrilled. Great. Just great, Maggie, make me look like the bad guy.
I sigh. “Fine. Whatever. I have homework to do.” I leave them to their fantasy. It’s not worth fighting.
Milwaukee, Spring 1987
Age 18
I pace back and forth across my room. It’s not really big enough for pacing, but I’m too worked up to care. I’m alone, finally, and time is running out. I have to do this, I have to find the nerve. This is what it all comes down to, the past eighteen years. I’ve put it off until the last one came. The last envelope. The one that matters. I applied to twelve schools, and twelve envelopes sit on my desk, looming, taunting. I’ve sorted them countless times in countless ways. Alphabetically. In order of arrival. By size. By weight. Geographically. Every way I could think of, but now I’ve reverted to alphabetically. It gives them the most random order. Mixing the beautiful, thick, manilla envelopes with the terrible, thin, white ones. I glance at the clock. Maggie and Eric went to run errands, and I figure I have another forty minutes of solitude. It’s now or never. I sigh and set the pile on my bed. My hands shake as I pick up the first envelope. Augustana. It’s in Illinois. All if the colleges I applied to are within three hours. I can’t leave Eric with her, not unless I’m close by. Augustana has sent me an official looking white envelope. One of the thin ones. I tear it open and scan the page. I’m surprised. They’ve put me on the waitlist. Augustana is a pretty good school, too.
I spent the past eighteen months trying to get myself into a good school. It didn’t begin with applications. I’ve known for years that college was my ticket out, my sanctuary from Maggie. My grades have always been lower than they should be. I spend all my time caught up in Maggie’s drama and trying to shield my brother from it. I don’t have time to study. I’m smart, that I know. A lot smarter than I let on. I’ve known since freshman year that my only hope were the SAT’s. I borrowed study guides for the test from the library and I’ve dogeared every page over the past months. I knew I only had one shot of impressing these schools. I have my heart set on pre-med, and I know that my schoolwork won’t get me in. I spent so many sleepless nights hiding in my room with those books. I’m a closet nerd. I must have done every practice test made since the tests were created. And it paid off. I scored a 1420 out of 1600. It’s the sort of score honor society students get. I cried when I found out. Maggie doesn’t know. I don’t tell her anything.
I glance at the second envelope in the pile. Blackburn. Illinois. Rejected. The next envelope is set aside for later. That one waits. That one is different. The fourth is from Concordia. In Minnesota. It’s thick. I tear it open and leaf through. They’ve accepted me, and they offered me a decent scholarship. Not academic, need based. That’s almost a given. I move onto Hamline. Minnesota again. Accepted. Iowa State. Rejected. I sigh. That one is a little disappointing. It was a hard school, though, and I knew when I applied that they tended to overlook SAT scores. I move on to Marquette. It’s in Milwaukee. I’m encouraged by the thin envelope. I don’t want to go there. It’s a Jesuit university, which is not exactly my style. They’ve waitlisted me. I put it in the reject pile to throw away. The next is Minnesota State. My safety school. I’m in. They’ve offered me a full ride. No surprise there. Onto Morningside in Iowa. Rejected. The next one is from Northwestern, in Chicago. I’m really hoping for this one. This is the application I re-wrote four times until I was satisfied. My heart pounds as I open the envelope and I let out a little cry of excitement without even realizing it as I read the first line: “Congratulations, Abigail Wyczinski.” That makes my day. They’ve offered a little financial aid, which is good. It’s not going to be easy convincing Maggie, though. I’ll have to take out loans to go there. A lot of loans. I set it delicately aside and rip open the next, not really concerned about what it says. It’s from Ripon, in Wisconsin. Rejected. I don’t care. University of Wisconsin. Accepted. I know Maggie will want me to go there more than Northwestern. It’s less expensive. I hide it among the rejections. I realize that’s all of them. Except for that last one. That one I’ve been to nervous to even think about. I’m shaking again as I run my finger over the official seal on the envelope. My dream school. I don’t know if I want to look. I can’t go there either way, It’s too far away from Eric. I debated even applying, but...I had to know. I had to try.
Columbia University sent me one of the thick ones. I’m afraid to find out, but I can’t not. I slide my finger along the seal and open it. I pull out the first sheet of paper and my heart drops when I see it.
“Dear Ms. Wyczinski.
Congratulations. After reviewing your application for admission, we would like to offer you admission to Columbia University as a member of the class of 1991.”
My tears blur our the rest. I’ve done it. I’ve gotten into my dream school. I conjure an image of myself, standing on risers in a long black gown and cap four years from now, the backdrop of New York city behind me, making my address as Columbia University’s valedictorian. And then the image shatters, and I sob into my pillow. My damned mother always ruins it. She’s the reason I can’t be happy. The reason I’ll never really leave the midwest. The reason I’m crying over an acceptance, when I should be celebrating.
My mother has a way of turning everything she touches to shit.
Northwestern University, Chicago, Illinois 1988
Age 19
“I think I’m going to try out for the softball team.” I’m handing upside down off the edge of my bed, a licorice rope hanging out of my mouth. I bite the end off and point the licorice at my roommate, Lisa. “Think I can pull of the sporty look?”
Lisa is sitting in my spinning desk chair, her feet propped on my desk. She’s painting her toenails blue. “You’d look hot in a softball uniform.” She reaches her hand out and I hand her a licorice rope. She chews on it thoughtfully. “Have you played before?”
I nod. “I played Freshman and Sophomore years in high school.”
“What position?” Lisa screws the cap back on the blue polish. Tissues are woven through her toes to separate them.
“Shortstop.” I scoot back onto the bed and pull my knees to my chest, back against the wall. “I wasn’t bad. I made Varsity my sophomore year.”
“Why’d you quit, then?” Lisa begins twisting a strand of hair around her finger.
I haven’t told her about Maggie. It’s too complicated, to melodramatic, and honestly, it embarrasses me. “We moved, and my new school didn’t have a team,” I lie.
“That’s too bad.” Lisa reaches across and takes another licorice rope. My phone rings suddenly, and I reach for it.
“Hello?”
“Abby?” His voice comes through crackly and soft. I can tell something isn’t right.
“Eric? What’s wrong?” Lisa looks at me, confused, and I hold up my hand. She shouldn’t ask.
“Abby, can you come get me?” He sniffs. Oh, no. He’s been crying. What did she do now?
I cradle the phone on my shoulder and start pulling on my jeans. “Where are you, Eric?”
“She’s gone, Abby. I came home, and she was just...gone. She left.”
“Are you at home, Eric?” I pull on a sweatshirt and slide on my sneakers.
“Yeah.”
“Stay right there, Eric. Lock the doors, close the windows, and turn on the lights. Turn on the TV, too. Loud. And don’t answer the door for anyone.”
“What if it’s the police?” He’s only twelve and he’s already had to deal with the police at our door three or four times.
“Then you ask to see their badges through the window.” I grab my keys. “Eric, I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Anytime, buddy.” I hang up and turn to Lisa. “I have to go get my brother.”
She doesn’t ask. She can tell it’s not the right time. “Are you bringing him back here?”
I nod. “I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry, Lisa, it’ll just be for a few days.”
“Don’t worry about it. Really.” She comes over and gives me a squeeze. “Do you want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I might stay the night, anyway. I’ll be back tomorrow at the latest.”
“Okay.” She gives me an encouraging smile and grabs something off her desk. She hands me a cassette tape. “Duran Duran. For the road.”
I take it and hug her quickly. “Thanks.” I take my purse and jog to the parking lot. I managed to buy a used car, knowing something like this would eventually happen. It always does.
******
I stand outside the door to our apartment. It’s past two in the morning. I knock lightly and call out. “Eric?”
Shuffling comes from inside, and I can tell he’s looking through the peephole. The bolt slides, then the chain, then the door swings open. I throw my arms around my baby brother and hold him tightly. He’s almost as tall as I am, but to me, he’ll always be my baby brother. We walk inside and I hold him at arms length to inspect him.
“Are you okay, Eric?”
He shrugs and nods. “Yeah. It’s not the first time, Abby.”
I sigh and pull him close again. “I know. She’ll be back, sooner or later.” I hate that the poor kid suffers like this. He’s such a good kid, he shouldn’t have to go through this. “I have to go back to school, Eric. I have classes, and I can’t miss them. I’ll leave my number and a note on the table, and you’ll come back to Chicago with me.” I brush his curly hair from his face.
“Okay. Are we going tonight?”
I shake my head. “It’s too late tonight. I don’t want to drive.” I force a smile. “We can have a slumber party. We’ll watch a movie, make popcorn, just like we used to. Okay?”
He looks a little more relaxed, and he gives me a little smile. “Okay. I got ‘Star Wars’.”
“Well then, you get the movie and some blankets, and I’ll make popcorn.” I give him a grin. I have to. There’s nothing else I can do, nothing I can say, but to pretend everything is fine. He needs me to. I wish I could believe it myself.
A M A Z I N G 
