“Sure,” I reply slowly. “Could I leave soon? Like, in the next few days? Is that okay?”
“Of course. I’ll book your flight and rental car.”
As I’m about to go to my room to pack, she passes by me in the hall and touches my arm. “Callie?” But she doesn’t look at me. “You’renot the failure. I am.”
Before I can respond, she is down the hallway near her room.
Later, when the night sky takes hold, I am alone again. Alone in my room with my robe and my vodka and my suitcase. Well, multiple suitcases. I drink and pack. And I think about the numerous video tutorials regarding packing strategies because that’s the least painful thing on which I can concentrate. It’s important to pile shirts and pants and such and roll them into weird clothing cylinders to save space. The more I drink, the more I understand how right this method is. So, I layer and roll and pack and layer and roll until I have little left in my room that I care about.
I drunkenly GoogleMarie Kondo, but I clearly don’t have time to differentiate between what constitutes the shit that brings me joy and what doesn’t, but I do grab a box of trash bags and start rooting through my belongings. It’s not long before I’m careening around my room and sweeping armfuls of my belongings into piles to be tossed. Weird hairstyling devices and insanely high heels—both of which could likely lead to ER visits—stupid mirrored pillows, and needlessly high-end makeup that I never wear.
When I’m done, I have seven bags of items to donate and four huge suitcases to take with me. For the supposed short time that I’ll be gone.
I finish off my glass of vodka and stumble to the bathroom, where I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. My hair is still dead straight from my usual flat-ironing, the auburn-brown color landing in a sharp edge just below my shoulder blades, and I lean in to drunkenly stare at myself. My blue eyes are drooping tonight, my face gaunt and my collarbone prominent. Even in my vodka vision, I know I look horrible.
The following morning, my mother snags me an Uber and wraps me up in an embrace that I never would have expected. She is emotional and teary as she waves the car away.
I’m not expecting to have fun.
I’m only hoping I can find something more than what I have now.
