Aftercare Instructions Page 3
I guess she was watching me walk up the walkway.
I guess she was waiting for me.
I guess sometimes she pays attention to what is going on around her. I start to forget she’s here, that she might still care about me. When a person stops communicating, you can only make up what they’re feeling for so long before it becomes static. Right now, I remember I have a mother who might notice if I don’t come home at night. There’s nothing she can do, of course. Sometimes I really want to be grounded or punished or something normal.
“Genesis, I was worried about you. Where have you been? I was up all night.”
The last time Mom reacted like this was when I fell off my bike on the way home from school right at the beginning of last school year. My bag got caught in the front tire and I flipped over the front of the bike and landed on my chin. My chest was covered in blood when I walked in the front door, and Mom jumped up and held me tight to her. Like she had some sense of my pain. That time physical, this time something else. She was wearing white and my blood got all over her clothes. I had to fight my way out of her embrace and call my aunt Kayla, Delilah’s mom, to take me to the hospital for stitches. Mom hadn’t started driving again yet. I got four of them. That night, Mom dished out two bowls of ice cream with a mountain of whipped cream and Hershey’s chocolate syrup. My jaw was a little too sore to chew on anything solid for a few days and we ate ice cream for practically every meal. Her “cooking” instead of mine.
“I should have called. I’m sorry.”
I say this, but there have been plenty of times I haven’t come home and she hasn’t reacted like this.
When my chin healed, and I got my stitches out, there was a little bit of a shift. Before, she was just kind of there. Enough there so I wouldn’t be taken away from her, but far enough away that I had more responsibility than I probably should have had. But it wasn’t long after that she got her job back in the file room at an insurance agency, and Aunt Kayla had to answer our distress calls less frequently.
“What happened?”
I suddenly very much want to hear her sing.
“Nothing,” I say.
It’s been so long and so quiet around here.
“I know that’s not true.”
I wait for the switch. Lights out, no one home. I’ve gotten used to the sudden darkening of my mother. I used to try to turn it back on. Flick flick flick her back into herself.
“You all right, Mom? Need anything?”
She’s not switching off, though. Not retreating.
She answers. “You don’t have to always take care of me.”
“Well, if you want something to eat or…”
She shakes her head. “I had a Hot Pocket. There are more if you’re hungry.”
“I love Hot Pockets!” Rose says. “You have the best food here. My mom is all into quinoa and chia lately. I’m sorry, but chia pudding is not dessert.”
“Chia? Like Chia Pets?” my mom asks.
“Um, yeah. Supposedly it’s crazy healthy.”
“Ally had one of those. A dinosaur.”
“Mom, we need to go to my room.”
She nods. I don’t know what to do with her right now. She’s usually asleep. We usually function on autopilot.
When we’re in my room, Rose drops into my bed. “What was that? I thought she never cared when you don’t come home.”
“Yeah, usually she doesn’t.”
“Strange.”
“Yeah.”
I leave Rose and go to the bathroom so I can be alone for a second and look at my phone. Stare at it, really. Stare at it like a lunatic. Only a lunatic would keep staring and hoping for some kind of good news. Something new to hold on to. Because obviously I can’t hold on to things that have already been said. There are no new words, no new signs, no new anything. Why hasn’t he called? Isn’t he wondering how I’m doing? It’s not like I just had a tooth pulled.
Last Friday, after school, I waited for Peter. He was late to meet me, but I knew there’d been some extra planning going on for the Valentine’s dance. I’d been so emotional lately, I was just ready to take care of our situation and move on. It killed me not to be able to tell Rose. I wondered if she could see any changes in my body. Or if they were only perceptible to me.
His condition: No one could know about this. Even one person beyond us and there was too much danger. He actually used the word danger. What am I supposed to do with that word? How is that supposed to make me feel when it’s my body that changed? When I was physically carrying the danger? How could he want to keep something dangerous anyway?
I respected his wishes, though. Secrets really are like wildfire. But if you don’t let them out, the secret wildfire burns you up.
I’ll feel better Monday. I’ll feel better Monday. I’ll be fine on Monday. That’s what I told myself to keep moving forward. To keep the fire contained and to keep the structure, my bones, standing.
While I waited, I saw him walking down the hall and laughing. How did he know how to laugh anymore? He was with Vanessa, and she was laughing too.
I’ve had to accept this. Their friendship. They have to work very closely in Student Government, and you have to pick your battles, right? But it was instant nausea whenever he’d say her name. Vanessa thinks we should have a photo booth at the dance. Wouldn’t that be cool? Or: I’ll be a little late. Dropping Vanessa off at home before I come by. You can imagine the physical reaction quadrupling when I would see them interact.
Peter never thought she meant to harm me. And it always bothered me that he didn’t take my side. That he couldn’t see how much easier things would have been for us if she had just kept her mouth shut.
I stood to block their path as they walked down the hall, and I watched the laughter slide off his face. I wanted to dive for it. To pick it up off the floor and reattach it to him.
To us.
She said, See you Monday, without looking at me.
But Peter looked at me. And his look said No, you won’t see me Monday, because Genesis has other plans for us.
Peter and I walked to his truck without talking. I was not trying to start that conversation when we had so much more to talk about. That conversation never went anywhere but around and around:
Him: Why can’t you let go?
Me: Why should I let go when she completely betrayed me?
Him: Sometimes there’s more to the story.
Me: I know enough not to trust her.
And so on.
But that wasn’t the conversation of the day.
I looked at him. His face. His eyes. His mouth. Our mouths just fit. Sometimes I could have imagined kissing him forever.
How does that shut down so fast?
Fire spreads fast and ruthless.
Rose knocks on the bathroom door and comes in without waiting for me to answer.
“Jesus Christ,” she says, and I see blood all over the inside my thighs.
“Rose, can I have some privacy, please?”
“Um, okay, but you were taking forever and I got worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fine.”
Rose presses her lips together, turns, and leaves. What does it mean to be fine? That’s what we always say. Is it fine to run my course as a sloppy, bloody whirlpool?
I clean myself up.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
Say it three times, and make it come true.
ACT I
SCENE 3
(This scene takes place in a classroom.
At rise, TEACHER gathers papers. Students enter and take their seats.
PETER chooses a seat in the front row.
GENESIS enters, and as she passes his desk, he digs into his backpack so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. She sits near the back.
WILL FONTAINE enters and sits by her. PETER sneaks a couple of glances back during
their conversation.
VANESSA enters and sits near PETER.)
WILL
Hey, Gen. How’s it going?
GENESIS
Going.
WILL
Tell me about it.
GENESIS
You probably know more than most.
WILL
Everything okay?
GENESIS
Let me ask you something: Have I come back to school totally deformed? Do I look like a different person? Because the way people look at me, it’s as if I’m covered in puke or something.
WILL
Still the same old hottie, Gen.
GENESIS
Come on now.
WILL
What? You know it’s true.
(Their interaction is playful.)
GENESIS
I don’t know anything about that.
WILL
I’m sorry, but you know people are ASSHOLES in general, so just ignore them.
(Some people look in their direction when WILL says “assholes.”)
(Bell rings.)
TEACHER
Vanessa, can you please hand these out?
(TEACHER writes “Magical Realism” on the board.)
TEACHER (CONTINUED)
Magical realism. Who can tell me what this means? Has anyone heard this term before?
BRANDON
Yeah, when you brought it up yesterday.
(The class laughs. WILL high-fives him.)
TEACHER
Then you’ll have no problem reminding us what it means, Mr. Moore.
BRANDON
Uh, we didn’t get that far.
(More giggles)
TEACHER
Okay, then, anyone want to help him out?
(Silence)
What about Gabriel García Márquez? Who is that?
(PETER raises his hand.)
TEACHER (CONTINUED)
Yes, Peter, a man of culture and class, thank you for saving your colleagues here.
PETER
He’s a Colombian writer. He wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude.
(GENESIS looks up from her doodling.)
TEACHER
That’s right. Did you read it, Peter?
PETER
No, but I want to. I read Chronicle of a Death Foretold.
TEACHER
Ah, yes, I can see why you would like that one.
PETER
Really?
TEACHER
A very journalistic style.
PETER
I guess.
TEACHER
And was there magical realism?
BRANDON
We still don’t know what that means, Teach.
PETER
I guess there’s some surreal stuff happening in it, in a real kind of world. The brothel seemed kind of magical.
BRANDON
I BET the brothel was magical.
(WILL high-fives him again; GENESIS tries to stay focused on PETER and not the clowns next to her.)
TEACHER
Please.
PETER
I didn’t mean it like that.
(Some of the more jock-ish boys laugh about his being a virgin.)
TEACHER
I know what you mean, Peter. Okay, class, let’s go back to what Peter said about surreal details in a real world. This is the key to magical realism. And we’re going to start off this unit by reading one of Márquez’s short stories called “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings.”
BRANDON
Sounds sexy.
TEACHER
Take the time to read it to yourselves right now, and try to find the surreal and the real within the story. The things that seem magical and the things that seem real.
(Class begins to read. WILL shifts around, then raises his hand.)
WILL
Can I go to the bathroom?
(TEACHER nods and points to the door. He pops his hoodie up and leans toward GENESIS.)
WILL (CONTINUED)
Don’t take any shit from the army, Gen.
(GENESIS smiles and keeps reading.)
(After a beat, the bell rings.)
TEACHER
If you didn’t get all the way through the story, please finish for homework. We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.
(Class gathers things and bolts toward the door. GENESIS walks by PETER again. VANESSA lingers.)
PETER
Hey, Genesis.
GENESIS
Oh, hey.
(Beat)
PETER
Did you like the story?
GENESIS
A lot.
VANESSA
I think it’s disgusting. That angel creature or whatever he was is filthy and gross.
PETER
That’s the point. That’s the real and the magical.
VANESSA
Oh.
GENESIS
Yeah, it’s pretty cool. You like the writer?
PETER
Yeah, I do.
GENESIS
You like the brothel scenes.
(PETER laughs.)
GENESIS (CONTINUED)
Sorry.
PETER
The man keeps things interesting, I guess.
GENESIS
Sounds like it.
PETER
Well …
GENESIS
Well …
VANESSA
Well … I think it’s cool too. I just didn’t like all the parts about the chicken dung in his feathers and stuff.
PETER
Again, the point.
VANESSA
Come on, Peter, we have to get to history.
PETER
Go ahead, I’m going to be a minute.
VANESSA
But …
PETER
I don’t care if I’m late.
VANESSA
Okay. Well, bye, guys.
(She eyes both of them and leaves. GENESIS starts to as well, but slowly, and PETER stops her.)
PETER
Are you … are you busy after school?
GENESIS
Yeah.
PETER
Oh. Okay. Never mind.
GENESIS
I mean … Well, I mean I have to go see my mom at the hospital after school.
PETER
Is she okay?
(Pause)
That’s probably none of my business.
GENESIS
No, it’s cool. She’s fine. I’m the one who brought it up.
(Another pause)
PETER
Okay.
GENESIS
What I should say is: I guess I wish I wasn’t. Busy.
PETER
Yeah?
GENESIS
Yeah.
PETER
Okay, I should get to class.
GENESIS
Yeah, me too.
PETER
I might ask you some other time if you’re busy after school. Is that okay?
GENESIS
(Blurting)
Do you want to come with me?
PETER
To the hospital?
GENESIS
Sorry, that’s actually kind of weird, isn’t it?
PETER
I don’t know.
GENESIS
Never mind. It was a stupid idea.
PETER
What I should say is: Do you want me to come with you?
GENESIS
I think I kind of do.
(Beat)
(They take this in.)
PETER
Then, yes. I’d love to go to the hospital with you.
GENESIS
It’s not a happy scene.
PETER
We’ll make it a happy scene.
(GENESIS shifts awkwardly.)
You don’t need to explain anything you don’t want to.
GENESIS
She’s not doin
g very well.
(Beat)
But she didn’t try to kill herself.
(Another beat)
I’m sorry. Is this too heavy? I know that’s what people think.
PETER
I don’t think anything. I’ll meet you by the C-wing after school.
(Bell rings.)
GENESIS
We’re late.
PETER
I don’t care, do you?
GENESIS
Nope.
PETER
Good.
GENESIS
If you change your mind I completely understand.
PETER
I won’t change my mind.
(They nod at each other and touch fingers as a way of saying good-bye. They’re both trying not to smile as they walk away from each other.)
(Blackout.)
RECOVERY TIMES MAY VARY
In my room, Rose is propped up against my bed on the floor, typing into her phone with her thumbs. I slide down next to her.
“Are you okay?” she asks, setting her phone facedown on the carpet.
Okay? Okay. Am I okay?
“Like, physically?” she says. “What do you need to do to take care of yourself?”
“Just rest, I guess.”
Rose shifts. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
She pauses, looks at my stomach. “Did it hurt?”
“The procedure?”
“Yeah.”
Did it hurt? I mean, everything hurts right now. Places that aren’t even physical hurt right now. I think back. To the click. Slip. Pull. Snap of rubber gloves and metal wheels over tiled floor and my knees and thighs shaking.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It was fast.”
Rose nods.
“And it was definitely uncomfortable. Crampy. But not so bad, really. Everyone there was really nice.”
“I should have been with you. Not him.”
“I kind of just wanted to do it and then forget about it.”
“Gen, you don’t have to be so tough all the time. It’s okay to talk about things.”
My phone vibrates in my bag. Rose and I look at each other. Then I scramble to get to it before I miss the call.
This must be Peter. He must finally be trying to find me. We’ve all panicked before. We all know where we belong. I forgive him, I forgive him, I forgive him, I’m repeating in my head as I dig desperately for the phone.
But before my fingers can find their way to it, the vibrating stops. Rose takes the bag from me and slips the phone out as if it had been resting on top. She looks at the missed call, and then at me, and shakes her head.
Gran.
I knew I’d hear from her after the credit card use.