One Last Thing ✅

twenty-four things

My alarm clock goes off, and NF explodes into my room. Shocked out of sleep, I try to bolt upright, but the agony in my left arm reminds me that I can't just go bolting upright whenever I feel like it.

"Aaaaaaagggggghhhh."

I crumple into the pain.

My bedroom door opens, and in comes Grams, looking fresh and rested. Her grey-blonde hair is brushed and falls around her face in soft curls. She's wearing her peach robe, and the way she smiles and opens the blinds reminds me of Sunday mornings and bacon breakfasts. I sniff the air, but there is no telltale hint of deliciousness being cooked.

"Ready?" she chirps.

"For what?" I ask suspiciously.

"For school." She walks over to my closet and throws the door open. My eyes automatically shoot to the pile of sweaters to make sure my shoebox of letters from mom is still covered up. I relax slightly when I see that it is. Grams pushes hangers aside. I'm not sure what she's looking for.

"This," she says triumphantly, pulling out a navy blue dress she helped me pick out for picture day last year.

"Uh," I begin, thinking Grams must have smoked some crack before eating her Cheerios this morning if she believes I'm going back to school today. "I can't go to school. Look at me. I'm injured."

Grams levels a serious look at me. "You're going to school. I'll dose you up with some extra strength Tylenol and give a bottle to the nurse in case you need more later."

She lays the dress on the bed in front of me, and I stare at it, trying to come up with a good reason for not going to school. Grams has always been tough about this sort of thing, though. When I was little, I pretty much had to be projectile puking in order to stay home from school.

"Grams. Have a heart. I killed my English teacher. Do you have any idea what it will be like to go back there?" I want to throw myself onto my pillow but have to settle for slowly easing myself back.

"You're going to have to go back sometime, and the longer you put it off, the harder it's going to be," Grams says reasonably. She sits down next to me and pushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. "Trust me. I know how hard it is going to be to face people. But you have to do it. And you have to hold your head high."

I think of what Grams must have gone through, returning to church after my mother went to jail for trying to murder me. Hell, just going to the grocery store. Did everyone stare at her? Was she filled with shame? I suddenly understand how my grandmother must have felt in a way I never have before.

"Come on," she says, patting my leg.

I am motionless.

She tilts her head thoughtfully. "We can stop at Panera on the way. Get a pumpkin muffin?"

A pumpkin muffin doesn't seem like quite enough incentive, but I can hear the clang of truth in Grams's words. Staying home another week won't make it any easier to walk into Mrs. Edwards's classroom.

I sigh. "Okay."

Grams nods, the matter settled. She gets up and leaves the room. I hear her walk into the bathroom and start the water in the shower. Eyeing the dress, I wonder if Abbott was telling the truth. Are people so focused on the fact that Mrs. Edwards is gone that they've forgotten that I'm the reason why?

I guess I'm going to find out.