Roses and Ribcages

(3.) Disembodied

My parents never showed up. According to my mother, an important client needed her assistance and she'd check in when she could. As for my father, he couldn't stand to be in the same room as me alone. I was his biggest disappointment, which I guess I understood. He disapproved of every decision I made up to this point: living with Mags, majoring in philosophy instead of law, going to the HBCU instead of the 'nicer' university near home. Nothing I did was good enough for him, or either of my parents for that matter.

Despite them not coming, it didn't get me out of hot water with Mags. She fumed for the rest of the day, about having her nerves worked and being irresponsible. A lit cigarette was pinched between her fingers as she marched around the apartment, finding little things to fix or replace. When the cigarette went out, she flicked the butt into a small pail near the window, then went to her room and slammed her door. I sat in the living room, with my knees tucked beneath my chin as I stared at the television.

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I blinked to clear my blurred vision then tried to focus on the screen again. I knew she wasn't angry, but she was hurt, which had me feeling even worse than before. Everyone around me was disappointed in me one way or another, and I didn't know how to change it. Why did I keep fucking up?

"I'm finna go get some more squares, you wanna come with?"

"Can we get ice cream too?"

Magnolia rolled her eyes as she agreed, grabbing her keys and leaving out the door. I scrambled to follow behind her, pushing my feet into a pair of slides and jogging down the stairs to catch up with her. Clambering into the front seat, I buckled up then folded into myself with my arms crossed over my stomach. This was the first time I had felt hungry in a while, which begged the question: how long had I been high? It's been a whole day since I took anything, and my body was feeling the effects of being under stimulated. Had there been any gaps between my doses, or had I been on an almost never-ending high?

I had crossed the fine line of recreation and addiction, and dropped the reigns on what I thought was a tight grip of my self-discipline and control. Closing my eyes, I pressed the side of my forehead against the window and let the sun warm my face. How could I fix myself? What was going to make me better?

"...and a bacon, double cheeseburger with chipotle sauce, and a large Sprite—no ice." Mags finished ordering our food.

"Your total is $21.46 at the window, please pull ahead."

I stared out the windshield, eyes flicking from one passing body to the next. Everyone was moving; everyone had their own paths to take, so why was I the only one standing still? My life stopped somewhere awhile back, and I didn't know how to catch it up with the rest of me. The body was on autopilot, while the brain's check engine light was on, but the driver's hands were glued to the wheel as if they still had control. Life had hit the brakes, but the vessel cut the lines and sped toward self-destruction.

Breathe.

Although I heard Mags singing, she sounded far away, as if I were underwater. She nudged my arm with her elbow, and I sipped my drink through a straw. I couldn't see anything: the world was out of focus and gray.

Breathe.

Taking a napkin from the glove compartment, I wiped ice cream from the back of my hand. My teeth pinched the tip of my tongue as I took a bite of the tasteless waffle cone—I felt nothing. I rolled down the window as Mags lit a cigarette—the stoplight turned green.

Breathe.

We were back home. I dragged my feet as I made my way to my room, going face first into my pillows as I laid on the bed. Curling my knees up to my chest, I squeezed the pillow around my head and cried. Tears soaked the soft fabric, but I couldn't care less about it.