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I guess Kasey actually likes Ha
I think Natalie sort of hates the flowers and hates that Ha
I am at Dad’s this week, which means I usually take the city bus home, because he works too late to pick me up. But today, instead of going right home after school, I walked with Natalie and Ha
Ha
Dad came back from work a few minutes after I got home from Dairy Queen. He works at Rhodes Construction, fixing the broken foundations of houses and things like that. When May and I were kids, Dad used to walk in the door in the evening and we’d run to hug him. I loved how he’d be covered with sweat and dirt, like he’d been on an adventure. Mom would be making di
But life isn’t like that. You can’t be sure how it’s going to come out, even if you do everything right. They turn around on you, lives do. Dad used to come home and look strong from the day of building. Now he looks tired, like a bulldozer ran him over. When May and I were kids, he used to be good to climb on. But now it’s like I’m afraid if I get too close to him, I’ll trip and spill out all the sadness he’s keeping hidden.
He used to love to play jokes on all of us, like switching salt with sugar (he did this so much that we got used to shaking it out on our hands and licking it to determine which was which). Mom got a
Tonight I made microwave mac and cheese with little mini hot dogs for us for di
“So you’re making friends?” he asked over our mac and cheese.
“Yep.” I smiled.
“That’s great,” Dad said.
“Actually, I was going to ask you, can I spend the night at my friend Natalie’s tomorrow?”
Dad hesitated a moment, and I crossed my fingers under the table. Finally he said, “Sure, Laurel.” He paused and added, “I don’t want you cooped up with me.”
Then he turned on the baseball game—he’s a Cubs fan, because he grew up in Iowa near their farm team—and I watched with him while I did my homework. Dad used to give me “baseball is like life” lectures, but he doesn’t do that anymore. Now we just watch in silence. I guess some things turned out too sad even to be explained with a bases-loaded strikeout.
Yours,
Laurel
Dear Kurt,
Last night, I got drunk for the first time. When I got to Natalie’s for the sleepover, we walked to the grocery store, which felt too cold in that air conditioner way. We walked half shivering down the liquor aisle, and Natalie pulled a bottle of ci
We went back to Natalie’s house, where we were alone, because her mom was on a date that night. Natalie said that means she doesn’t get back till morning. We climbed up onto her flat roof with the bottle. The After Shock had ci
I am not sure what happened next, but then we were down from the roof and Natalie and Ha
I remembered how May would sneak out at night and I’d wait up in bed until I heard her come back in. Usually I’d just listen to her tiptoe down the hall and close her door, and then I’d know that I could sleep because she was safe. But once in a while, and this is what I loved the best, she’d come to my room instead and whisper, “Are you up?” My eyes would pop open, and I’d whisper that I was, and she’d come to lie on my bed. I remembered how her breath would smell sweet and hot, like alcohol, I guess. How a smile would spread slowly across her face and she’d laugh in a whisper and slur her words a little, like every sound led into another. As she’d tell me about her adventures—the boys and the kissing and the fast cars—I pictured it sort of like I did when we were little kids, when I believed that May had fairy wings and I’d imagine her on her flights through the night, swooping under the stars.