16.
once
We stood with our hands behind our heads, fingers threaded together, trying to catch our breath. The sun slanted green-gold through the trees around the high school, and the air was muggy and cooler than usual from the rain the night before. The green bushes that lined the parking lot dripped with water, and I could smell the earth, lush and ripe.
“Nice run,” Coach Warren said.
“Thanks,” Syd said. I was still catching my breath.
“I’ve got some good news for you two,” Coach said. “The other girls voted you as team captains for the year.”
“Aw,” Syd said. “That’s so sweet.” She seemed pleased, and not surprised.
I was, though. “Wow,” I said. “That’s awesome.”
But who else did I think it would be?
17.
now
I lock all the doors.
What is going on?
The date on the marquee.
The words in my journal.
How did it get there?
And when?
And who wrote in it?
I race up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom, lock that door, too. I drag the comforter and a pillow off their bed and go into their bathroom. I lockthatdoor and then crawl into the space underneath the built-in vanity. The tile is hard and cold and gray. I close my eyes.
18.
once
This is my earliest concrete memory.
We are driving late at night. It is me and my mom and dad and Jack who is three years old. I am five.
It is late and I am so tired. I am crying.
The night’s dark.
Something is scaring me.
I don’t know what it is.
It’s bigger than a monster, wider than an ocean.
It’s everywhere.
Outside me.
