Page 122 of Better Than Gelato
I don’t get out of bed. I don’t go to classes. Maggie calls Manager Mike and tells him I can’t make my shift. She checks on me between her classes and brings me little plates of crackers that go untouched on the dresser.
Jake calls two more times, but I don’t answer. I block his number. The hours pass slowly and at the same time, unreasonably fast. I’m surprised when I roll over in bed and the sun has set. I hear voices outside my door.
“Maggie said don’t bother her,” Petey says.
“She’s been in there for hours,” Pirate says. “We need to make sure she’s alright.”
They’re debating if they should call Maggie for permission. I get up and open the door. The room sways a little, and I see black spots. I lean against the door frame. I should probably eat something. When the spots clear, I see Petey and Pirate staring at me. Their faces are filled with sympathy and horror. I’m guessing I don’t look so hot.
I don’t say anything but move past them to the bathroom to pee. When I come out, they’re by my door, hovering.
“He-ey,” Petey says, stretching the word into two syllables. Filling the last one with pity. Before I know it, my eyes have filled with tears again.I can’t do this. I shake my head mutely and walk past them into my room and close the door.
I grab one of the plates of crackers and bring it to bed with me. I catch a whiff of myself as I settle in. I do not smell good. I sniff my sheets. They do not smell good. It’s like my sadness has an odor that has oozed over everything. What I need is a shower, but the idea of showering is as nonsensical as the idea of flying. I can’t move. All I can do is lie here, sad and unloved.
Maggie comes in without me noticing. I must have fallen asleep again.
“How are you doing?'' she asks. Her voice is gentle. And it’s the gentleness that brings the tears again. Because I know I’ve become this fragile, wounded animal that must be treated gently.
I shrug my shoulders helplessly.
“Do you want some dinner?” she asks.
“I had some crackers,” I tell her. I know she’s trying her best to take care of me. I want her to know I’m trying too. But I can’t do dinner. I already feel sick.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?” Maggie asks like a nurse.
“I’d like some morphine, please,” I say.
She lets out a deep breath. “This sucks,” she says. “And there’s no way around that. But what we have to do now is damage control. I know you have a chemistry exam tomorrow. You left your flashcards all over the house. What time is your class?”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t go.”
“You can go,” she says. “And you need to.”
“Chemistry doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.” Maggie’s eyes fill with concern as she realizes I mean it. And then her mouth tightens in determination. She’s in problem solving mode.
“You’re probably right. But on the off chance you want to keep your scholarship and finish college, you need to take exams and pass classes.”
My eyebrows scrunch up at her words.
“I know you need time to fall to pieces and process everything. You can have that time. But not tomorrow. Tomorrow you need to pull it together for one hour. Then you can have the whole weekend to sleep or cry or yell or break things. Whatever you need. But tomorrow you need to take your exam. Now what time is it?”
“Nine,” I mumble.
“Okay, perfect. I’ve got a nine o’clock class too. I’m going to get you up early. We’re going to get ready. I suggest you shower. Then we’re going to head to campus.”
It’s too exhausting to argue with her, so I just agree.
The next day she wakes me up, and I numbly eat some cereal. My stomach gurgles unhappily. I walk to campus on five-hundred-pound legs.
We make it to my chemistry building, and she gives me a hug.
“You can do this. As soon as you’re done, you can go straight home and crawl into bed. Just one exam first. You’ve got this.”
She’s wrong. I don’t got this. The professor hands out the exam and the words and diagrams on the page mean nothing to me. I vaguely remember studying something like this. But that was a lifetime ago. Back when the world made sense. Back when Jake still loved me.
I fill in some answers. I write in some words. Honestly, I’m barely aware of what I’m doing. When the professor says the time is up, I hand in my test and walk back home.
