Exit Wounds

02 | girlhood

T W O

NEW YORK CITY, NY

          Everything I've kept at bay for the past six years comes flowing right back.

          It's probably a combination of that and the dumb Diet Coke and vodka mix I had that's currently revolting around in my stomach, but I'm so nauseous I can barely stand up straight. There are more than enough walls and pieces of furniture around me I can use to support myself, but then I catch a glimpse of my reflection on one of the tall windows in my living room and decide against it.

          Every time I think about when I left and start getting second thoughts, feeling myself crumble under the heavy weight of remorse and doubt, I force myself to never forget about the whys of my departure. I force myself to never forget what was done to me and every promise that was broken, every part of me that I left behind, every aspect of my girlhood that was ripped apart from me. I force myself to remember all the ways a city broke my heart and continues to ruin me, long after I left; the things it takes away, it never gives back. 

          This phone call breaks me all over again, reminds me of every little piece of myself I had to piece back into place, and reminds me why I need to stay gone.

          I changed my surroundings, my city, my state, my career, my whole life, and it's all been for nothing. This phone call, as shattering as it is, reminds me I'll never be free.

          "How did you get this number?" I repeat, hoping this will be the time I get a proper answer instead of being ignored. It's all they ever did to me when they weren't busy criticizing every single little thing I did—they looked away, pretended the problems weren't there. Even when I left, they still acted blind and oblivious, my suffering being treated as teenage angst, even when I was nearing my twenties.

          "I have my ways," my mother replies. She's three hours behind me, and I don't put it past her forgetting this is my bedtime. Nothing she does is ever a coincidence, not when she plans every single one of her moves and decisions to the millimeter—like she tried to do with me—and her side of the line sounds lively enough, the usual background chatter of a crowded house. "That is also no way to greet your mother."

          "If I wanted to talk to you, I would've reached out. You don't get to complain about the way I greet you when you're invading several levels of my privacy right now."

          "Listen—"

          "No, you listen. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you. I don't want to think about you. In case me being gone wasn't clear enough, let me try to find another way of laying it on you." I switch my phone from one ear to the other, holding it in place with my shoulder as I reach out for my empty glass to pour myself another drink, now that it's settled I won't be headed off to bed anytime soon. My head is buzzing, both from stress and the alcohol, and I know this is no way to live, and yet. "I don't want to think about anything that reminds me of you. I don't want to think about anything that reminds me of that place and the people there. I need you all to leave me alone and understand I want nothing to do with any of you."

          "Your grandmother died."

          "So?"

          "Your father would like to see you. He'd like you to come home for the funeral."

          Everything she does gives me whiplash, so I shouldn't be surprised to have it happen again, but I've never worked well with the shoulds and the shouldn'ts.

          Everything I've done, I've done out of impulse, diving in headfirst, and I never stop to think about what I'm doing or how it will affect me, so I understand why she still catches me off-guard even after all these years. Using my father against me is a premeditated move and nothing she says or does will convince me otherwise, like it's the last straw she's grasping at, like mentioning him will erase the hundreds of reasons I don't want anyone from my past life to stay in touch with me. I keep people on a need-to-know basis by instinct, like what I do with Theo, and my family is no different. Whatever she does, it somehow always breaks me, and she calls me to remind me of that.