Walking on Glass (3 page)

Alissa and I

go to the

arcade.

We meet some

of her friends there

and play pool in teams.

They treat me like

they can't see the darkness

in the back of my mind

and I have

fun.

The wind blows

Mom's rose petals,

scattering them

across her garden—

unwanted children

tossed aside.

I gather the petals,

put them into a bowl,

and place it beside

Mom's bed.

They're dead,

but their scent fills the room

like a memory.

The force

of the chandelier

crashing down

broke my arm.

Even though

the glass has all been

swept away

and my arm is healed,

it still hurts

when it

rains.

“This sucks.

I'm tired of being

some kind of wannabe.”

Jack throws his beer bottle

under the graffiti

on the brick wall.

“I'm tired of it.

I'm going

hard core.”

My father

cries out to Mom

in his sleep.

I slide from the warmth

of my bed

to sleep on the bumpy couch

in the living room,

where I'll no longer

hear his calls.

Alissa asks,

“Can I go with you

to meet your Mom?”

“I don't think she knows

we're there,” I say.

“That's okay,” she says.

“Whatever.”

In Mom's hospital room,

Alissa sits beside her.

She takes Mom's hand gently,

like a veterinarian holds the

broken wing of a bird.

“Hello, I'm Alissa.

Pleased to finally meet you.”

Her voice

overpowers the

squawks of the machines

until I can hear

nothing else.

What's left of the

old chandelier

is heaped next to the window.

And once in a while

the sun shines in

and rainbows dance

against the walls.

It's as if the crystals

stole Mom's spirit.

I hang the crystals

by the window

in Mom's room.

I hope they

give her

spirit

back.

I see the kid.

He's outside a white house

with a nice yard

and a dog.

He throws a football

with his father.

His mother comes outside smiling.

Carrying lunch.

Watching them,

I get the same feeling

I had when I was small

and Mom would chase me

in the backyard,

then pick me up,

wrapping me tight

in sheets straight off the line.

I wish
I had

that kid's shoes.

Dad looks

older than he is.

Wrinkles line

his tired eyes

and his hair

is turning

gray.

He doesn't smile

like he used to.

He won't look at me.

In the smoke-filled room at Vic's,

Crypt members

and wannabes

gather,

drinking beer

and toking up.

Everyone is just one

big blob of blue

with no single

identity.

I can no longer

tell who is who.

Jack turns

seventeen today.

He steals beer from his dad

and we go in the alley

behind the mall

to celebrate.

He drinks so much,

he stumbles.

People walk by,

laughing.

“Jack, let's go.”

I grab his shoulders

and steer him out of the alley.

He sees this girl

and pushes me away.

“Waaaiit.”

He grabs the girl's arm

and pulls her close to him.

He says he can bang her

so hard,

her eyeballs will roll

to the back of her head.

She tries to get away,

but he grabs her again.

I say,

“Leave her alone, Jack.”

He doesn't.

Red marks spread

around his fingers as

they dig into her bare arm.

I yell,

“Let her go, Jack!”

He pulls her close

and licks the tears

off her face.

I hit him.

We're no longer

friends.

Today

the doctors tell Dad

there's still no hope.

Mom's not getting better.

They ask if he would

consent

to have the machines

shut down

and donate

Mom's organs.

Dad gets mad.

He refuses to believe

she's gone.

But I'm feeling

more relieved

than mad.

The thought of my own mother

dying

shouldn't leave the taste of

freedom

in my mouth.

I sit with Mom

and squeeze her hand

gently.

Hoping she'll

squeeze back

like she used to when

I was small and

scared.

But no matter how often

I squeeze her hand,

it stays limp.

Alissa sets all of the butterflies

free.

Colors fill the air

and float through

the school yard.

Mr. Crouch sends her

to the office for pulling

a stupid prank.

I don't think it was stupid.

I think it was

brave.

I see Jack's mother

in the grocery store.

She asks, “How's your mom?”

“Same,” I say.

I grab some TV dinners.

She picks through the frozen

vegetables

and says, “You should drop by for

supper.

We miss having you around.”

I say, “I'm pretty busy.”

“I understand.” She looks past me,

far away.

Nurses flock

to Mom's room

like she's having a sale

on white sneakers.

In between their visits

I'm alone with her

and her machines.

I reach for the machine

to do what I need to do.

My hands shake,

and sweat drips

down the back of my legs,

stinging the open blisters

on my heels.

I jerk my hand away,

without even touching

the switch.

I race out of there,

gasping for air,

and throw up on

the shoes I still can't

fill.

“Do you ever feel like

someone's puppet?” I ask Dr. Mac.

He raises his eyebrows.

“Do you?”

I roll my eyes. “I asked you first.”

“I think at times

we can all get our

strings pulled.”

Alissa has the key

to the cage,

but I can't let

her open it

yet.

When the phone

rings and I see

Alissa's number

on the display,

I don't pick it up.

I trip over

Mom's shoes

at the bottom of the stairs.

I pick them up

and whip them through

the dining room window.

It shatters

over Mom's

precious rosebushes.

The cage

in my chest

loosens.

A board covers

the broken window

and I can no longer

see Mom's torn

roses.

Dad putters around the house

avoiding me.

I want to get right up

in his face

and scream for him

to be the man he should be

so I won't have to,

but I

can't.

“Why didn't you call?”

“I was busy.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I think we shouldn't see each other

for a while.”

“Why?”

I stare at my feet.

Her eyes are my looking glass,

able to flip the truth

and make me want to believes

everything is okay,

but it's not.

“I know you think

I'm wrong,”

Dad says.

He looks at me

over the piles of

takeout containers

on the coffee table.

“I can't let go yet.”

I scarf down my

chow-mein noodles

to avoid looking

directly at him.

“It's not my fault…,”

he says.

I glance up.

His eyes water.

I focus my attention

on my noodles.

“And I didn't know she was that

unhappy,” he says.

I push my plate

across the table.

It tips.

I get up

and walk away,

leaving my dad's heart

and the noodles

spilled all over the floor.

At school

I see Alissa

talking to her friends.

I watch her

push her hair away

from her eyes.

Those beautiful

blue eyes, so full

of life.

Why can't I look

into them

and let her make

me feel

good again?

Jack beats

on my front door.

“Come on!

I know you're home.

Let me in.

I forgive

you.”

I don't get up.

He's not the one

who I need

to forgive

me.

Jack catches up to me.

“What's with you

lately?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Why you avoiding me then?”

I don't answer.

He knows why.

Today

Dad smashes

the mirror

in the front hall.

I guess neither one

of us can stand to

look into it.

As I left the house

that
June morning,

Mom said,

“I love you.”

I just closed the door

and left her

alone.

I should have told her

I loved her.

Maybe then

she wouldn't be

in the hospital

today.

I bring Mom

roses.

I watch her carefully,

looking for any clue

she knows I'm with her.

She lies there

lifeless.

I try to swallow the lump

building in my throat,

but it just expands.

The aroma from the roses

filters through the air.

They smell like she used to

when I was small.

Sweet and fresh.

Their scent

will fade

now that they're

no longer attached

to the roots

which gave them life.

I stare outside

and wonder

if I'll ever have the courage

to cut Mom off

from her roots.