“Iced Glasses,” Collaboration with Bianca Gutman, Part 6/8
(See Bianca Gutman, Image 6)
Setting: Thea and her mom, Renee, are sitting at their kitchen table, drinking beer (continued from Part 5/8).
There was one last video posted that night. My phone ran just as I was getting home from school, but this time, seeing the email, my mouth just fell open and I started nodding at my palm: No, no, no, no more. Please, I can’t take anymore of this. And then, I don’t know, you can’t fight it, right, so I went to my room, sat down in my chair, and turned on my computer.
I just looked at the attachment, sitting back in my chair, crossing my arms, thinking, I don’t want any more videos to remind me. Not now. No more. So I replied; I sent an email right back, and I told him. I said, Please, no more videos. That’s enough, Thea. Sure enough, my email gets returned a minute later. Still, I just sit there, nodding my head at my computer screen, thinking, I know you heard me. So don’t even . . ..
Finally, I just hit play, figuring what the hell, let’s get this over with. What’s different about this video, which was clearly taken the same night of the other videos from the party, is that I’m in the back seat of one of the cars we took to Shecky’s, but that’s not where we’re parked. I’m not sure where we’re parked, where everyone is, and I’m just sitting there, staring out the window at the trees. I don’t know how far things went with Brandon, but my clothes are a mess, and my face is a mess. I’ve got coon eyes and clown lips, and I don’t blink. I just sit there, staring at the trees, and it must be full moon, too, because it’s so bright out, you can see so many of the stars and the sky through the trees.
I heard my mom walk through the front door, and then she called my name. She has something on her mind, I can tell by the tone of her voice, and I don’t know what. At that moment, all I know is I don’t want to fight. Whatever she says, whatever she asks me to do, I’ll do it as well as I can, but I need her. I just need someone on my side, I need—I need my mom.
Then she knocks, and I say, Come in, trying to sound positive, you know, wanting to talk to her. I really did want to talk to her.
Hey, she said, still holding the doorknob, standing in my door way.
Hey, I say, seeing she didn’t even take off her coat.
Can I sit down? she says, looking at my bed, and I nodded yes. So she came in and unfastens the belt of her coat, before she sits down, and I see her work clothes for the first time that day. We don’t always see each other in the morning, we just say goodbye and leave, you know. I forget sometimes that she always looks so much older in her work clothes. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to see her in the morning, because it’s as hard to look at her, heading off to that job, as it is to think about facing another day at school. It’s too hard, because she always looks so much unhappier when she’s in her work clothes, and I just can’t start my days off thinking about it. Which is terrible, I know, but it just makes me so sad, what can I do?
All right, she says, lightly slapping both hands on her thighs. So I’m just going to come out with it, she says, smacking her hands together and clasping them. Clearly she’s been thinking about this talk all day: Principal Cheswick called me this afternoon and told me about there are videos of the party from last year, she said, and then she held up her hand, seeing my mouth fall open. She said, I just wish you’d told me, Thea. That’s the only thing I really want to say to you, that I wish you’d told me what was going on. And that I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you more last y ear. We just never talked, and with everything else going on, she said, clearly referring to my hospitalization, I just didn’t know what to believe, what was true. I’m sorry for that, Thea, she said, and she really did look so remorseful. I mean, she was smiling, but I could see how bad she felt about it. Cheswick would like to meet with us tomorrow to talk about it, she said, and I didn’t like that idea at all.
I did talk about it, I said, because I didn’t like that idea at all. Many times. And I said it wasn’t me. I didn’t do any drugs that night—.
I know, Thea. I know. You’re right, and it seems there’s proof now, and that’s what we need to discuss now. There are a lot of things I want to talk to you about tonight, before we have that meeting, she said.
What, like the party? I really don’t want to talk about the party anymore, I said, throwing my head back because I was just so tired of talking about it. I mean, I talked to death no one listens, everyone suddenly listening, and I’m tired of talking about it, sorry.
Lots of things, Thea. Not just you, she said, reading the look on my face. Not that I was hiding my annoyance at all, but still. And the way she said that, I just knew something happened: What happened? I said.
Let me take my coat off, change my clothes, she said. You might want to do the same, she said, looking at me as she stood from my bed. And only then did I realize I’d been sitting there, in my coat, too, that whole time. And then I had the worst thought: It’s not cancer is it? I said, raising my voice so she could hear in her bedroom.
is it what? she said, laughing at my paranoia. No, it’s not cancer, don’t worry. Two minutes, she said. And then she reappeared in jeans and a tee shirt and a pair of boots she’d had resolved like ten times, and I coveted. And she’d wiped off most her face, too. She looked a hundred percent better. Most days,
Let’s sit down at the table, she said, and I followed her into the kitchen and sat down. She got a beer out of the fridge, then looked at me: You want one? she said, holding the bottle up. So something pretty bad happened, I knew. And then, just for a second, I’m sorry, but I flashed on Raymond moving across country or breaking his leg and being in a body cast, in full traction at the hospital for two months, not even able to speak. I mean, there was some strangely hopeful tone in Mom’s voice, and that’s what came to my mind, at least.
Looking at her, pouring her beer in a iced glass, the one thing she still did that we’d done when my dad was around. She always had good beer glasses, and she always kept a few in the freezer, even though now, our freezer was so small, she had to turn the glasses on their side, like ice trays, almost.
Anyhow, looking at her, I thought, You’re so pretty. Despite everything’s that gone down, you are still so pretty, Mom. I didn’t notice it much anymore, but she was so pretty. I though about telling her that, too, and then she took a sip of beer and said, They’re cutting back at work.
You lost your job? I said, and I gasped, I did. It was so awful, my mouth fell open and my eyes were bulging.
Not exactly, she said. Right now, they’re going to cut back hours and we’ll have to pay more for health insurance.
Cutting back how much on your hours?
I’ll be working part-time now, she said. Which is better than nothing.
Sure, it’s better than nothing, but we barely get by now, I said, and then I realized I was thinking out loud, shouldn’t have said that at all.
I know, she said, perfectly calm.
I’m so sorry, Mom, I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. My mind just started reeling, trying to figure out what we’d do, where we’d go, what I could do? I’ll try to get a job, I said, and I knew it sounded dumb, because if there were any jobs, my mom could get one, too. And maybe she could, who knows? I mean, something, I said. Or maybe we can find something online, work at night, here?
Thanks, babe, she said, smiling, but not wanting to talk about that yet. Nodding, meaning that was not the option she was open to right now, leave it be for now.
I just felt so bad, looking at her. I spent so much time keeping her out fo my life, keeping away from her in every possible way, and I forgot how much I needed her. But the thing is, it’s like I was almost afraid of how much I needed her since she just wasn’t strong anymore. And I had my doubts whether or not she could even be there anymore. So in some ways, it was just easier for us if I didn’t hope for that from her, you know what I mean?
What else? I asked, sensing she hadn’t told me everything, and she dropped her head side to side, shoulder to shoulder, a few times.
You’ve gotten lots of offers, Thea, and we need to talk about them so you can—know. So you can know what’s going on, she said.
They pay? These offers, I said. And then I knew, seeing the look in her eye. She didn’t even need to say the word, yes. Yes, they paid. And then it all came together: she basically lost her job, and we needed money, and people wanted to pay me to talk about it. To tell my story, right.
I just sat there, covering my mouth. I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t angry, I wasn’t shocked—well, yeah, I was definitely shocked. But this was too much. It was all just too much sometimes. And without Cam there, who could I talk to? I mean, Melody, of course. She’d be the first person I’d tell, but I didn’t have to talk about her. I’d have to talk about Cam, and lots of things. And how could I do that? But on the other hand, look at our house. Look at where we are. How can I say no, knowing how badly we need money?
So, I said, there, almost laughing, almost crying, just covering my mouth: What do I do?