Paper Stars

8

Charlotte Hollins
Present
Addiction is like a constant itch in that place between your shoulder blades that you can never reach. Rehab teaches you how to live with the itch, how to ignore it's presence. After a while you might forget about it and have a brief period of solace, but it always comes back. The trick is learning not to scratch.
After my mental breakdown, my mind feels as if it's been ravaged by a tornado. It takes all of my willpower not to tear apart the kitchen bit by bit looking for some kind of medication. The knowledge that Aunt Joan has it all locked up in her medicine cabinet only makes me more frantic. All of that peace and quiet wrapped up in a simple pill, all locked away in a place that I could never get to.

Ionlyneedonejustonewoulddo

Once the dark thoughts start coming, I get out of the basement as quickly as I can and go to the bathroom. I lock the door behind me and turn the knob in the shower. Frigid water sprays from the shower head and I step inside, fully clothed, and let the cold drench me. The cool streams of water sizzle against my burning skin. I take full, deep breaths and let the water wash away the itch and the thoughts until all that's left is a blank space and sweet nothing.

Pleasejustgivemeone
​Justone.
onlyone...
...

***

After I get out of the shower and change into dry clothes, I wrap myself in a thick blanket and take a long nap on the couch while Brooklyn 99 streams from the TV. When I wake up, it's 7:30 and cello music is drifting up from the basement. The smell of dinner has passed and now the smell of cold chicken and we-didn't-want-to-wake-you is in the air. Aunt Joan is in the kitchen doing dishes and Uncle Kenny sits at the table, looking over some sheet music for his high school class. They both look up when I approach the table and sit in front of my cold food.
"How was your day, Charlie?" Aunt Joan asks as she scrubs the pots and pans.
I poke at the chicken with my fork. "It was all right, I guess." I don't want them to know about the breakdown. I don't want them to be worried about me again.
Uncle Kenny removes his glasses and rubs his eyes before putting them back on. "You know, I saw Ms. Gibbs at the school today."
"Ken," Aunt Joan warns.
"No, it's fine," I say. They never talk about Flet around me. He's an eggshell subject.
Uncle Kenny continues. "Anyway, it turns out that the yearbook teacher was selling old high school pictures of Fletcher to the tabloids, and Ms. Gibbs was threatening to sue. She was getting pretty angry with the principal and was almost shouting. I've never heard that woman talk any louder than a loud whisper. Most exciting part of my day." He's grinning from ear to ear at the news, but Aunt Joan looks nervous, looking back and forth between Uncle Kenny and me as if she's expecting a reaction. I poke at my chicken again. Aunt Joan hurriedly changes the subject to her work. The conductor of her orchestra handed out new music today that they'll be playing at some festival. As she's talking, I look up and see my music folder, the one Belmont gave me this morning, resting at the edge of the counter.
"Why do you have my folder?" I ask, cutting Aunt Joan off.
Aunt Joan opens and closes her mouth like a suffocating fish. "Emma brought it up from the basement," she finally says. "She found it on your drum set. Were you playing today, while we were gone?"
"Belmont dropped off the folder this morning and offered me Kaufman. I said no." Quick and clean, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
Uncle Kenny removes his glasses again. "Kaufman? He offered you Kaufman? Charlie, that's huge!"
"I'm not taking it." I prod the chicken with the end of my fork. My stomach stirs.
"Why not?" Aunt Joan asks. "Students at music schools all around the country would kill for this opportunity. Kaufman is a gateway to Lincoln Center. This is your career we're talking about, Charlie."
My grip on my fork is getting tighter. My fingers are starting to turn white. "I said that I quit drumming," I say in a voice that's fighting to stay steady. Keep it together, Charlie.
"Oh, you weren't really serious about that. Why would you quit something you love?"
I stand up abruptly and my chair clatters backwards as I plant both of my hands on the table. "Because drumming almost killed me!"
Aunt Joan takes a step back, stunned into silence. Uncle Kenny looks down at the table. The cello music downstairs pauses.
Aunt Joan swallows. "That was months ago, Charlie, if you just tried—"
"I did try! Today I went down to the basement and I sat down and tried to play the charts, but it I—I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it without the..." I don't finish the sentence. A vicious shivering has dominated my nerves and I hug my arms around my middle so that they can't see my shaking hands. "I'm going to bed," I say and quickly dismiss myself from the table.
"Aren't you going to finish your food?" Aunt Joan asks timidly.
​​​​​​"I'm not really that hungry."