Grapes Upside Down

49. Saltines

~Madisen~

I wake up to the sound of my alarm, gingerly propping myself up with a pounding head and eyes swollen shut. Peeking my head out to the hallway, I tiptoe into the bathroom to check if Graciela has already lit the calefont this morning. The water begins warming, so I strip down and step into the shower to begin rinsing the crusted layer of salt off my face.

One always feels better after sleeping, even as our problems remain unchanged upon waking. The hot water thrumming against my skin shifts my mood from peacefully numb to a vague, swirly rage stirring through my blood from head to toe. I begin scrubbing every inch of my body furiously, washing away the deceitful kisses, trying to erase the imprint of his touches that soiled my senses with false love, desperately flooding my head under the harsh spray in an effort to flush even an ounce of red-hot shame from my system.

Padding myself down with a thin, scraggly bath towel, I discover I've rubbed most of my skin into a raw, stinging shade of rose pink.

When I return to my room, I log onto my laptop and search for "American Airlines" in my Gmail inbox. Mama Cami sent me Ignacio's flight details a few days ago. I click link after link, reading and re-reading the fine print. It's not that difficult to comprehend, but I continue clicking alternate pathways through the website in desperate search of different information.

The flight is non-refundable and non-transferable. I've caused my moms to throw two-thousand dollars into the dumpster. The first sobs of the day ripple through my chest, consuming me with guilt.

Once I've calmed myself, I slip out of my room with my book bag, keeping a cautious eye peeled for any other members of the family. I'm grabbing a couple pieces of fruit to take with me to La Católica when Graciela appears in the dining room.

"Madicita, ¿cómo te sientes?"

"Más o menos, gracias," I reply, maintaining my line of vision focused on the apple in my palm.

"Déjame preparar tu desayuno." She moves to begin preparing breakfast, but I insist I have to head to class early in order to finish a project, which is a lie. The class workload recently has been absurdly light.

Graciela protests, but all I can do is apologize repetitively, backing towards the front door like a frightened deer and slipping out before the dam of tears breaks again.

I refuse to skip out on any more of my studies because of Ignacio. Never had I cut a class throughout high school or college before meeting him.

Never before have I found myself outright screaming at other people because they didn't agree with me. Never in my life have I allowed myself to become unconsolably hysterical.

My heart is shattered, but I don't think it's even about losing Ignacio. My image of myself as a rational, insightful, grounded and emotionally intelligent young woman has been smashed into a million shards, a pile of fragmented sea glass.

Epiphanies implode in different parts of my consciousness every few minutes as the micro rumbles towards Valparaíso. They register as a pounding pulse in my temples, zaps to my heart, a sharp ache at the back of my skull. New understanding races with electric currents through the veins of my wrists... bit by bit until I feel my body will split to pieces and crumble like charcoaled logs cracking apart under the force of the tide.

That's why he wouldn't sleep with me. He'd hook me in with earth-shifting kisses and pre-packaged declarations... then make up excuses about bad chemistry to block the consummation of our relationship.

In lit class, Helena hands back our recent essays; mine has earned a seven, which is the highest score in the Chilean grading scale. My professor has written a comment about my perceptive analysis of the characters. I feel sick.