Then Came June
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June wore thermal pullovers to hide the fact that her own body couldn't keep her warm. Her summer name was not enough either. She's the type of person to have ice cream for dinner because it came up cold. It was easier to throw up than anything else. It is a comfort food for both of us but her need for comfort was different than mine. When her dad died she got her ear pierced, high on her ear, in the cartilage. At the funeral, when people tried to hug her pain away, it hurt her more than the Saturday when she saw her dad take his last breath. June finishes the vodka bottle her mom bought her and pretends that the taste kills her when the only thing that kills her is being alive. She pretends to know what is best for the people she cares about but she doesn't know what is best for her. "August, that's not a good idea," she says as she pours another shot for both of us. "Self-destructive coping mechanisms don't fix anything". She tilts her head back and swallows. Not even making a face because at least she's feeling something in that moment.
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