Interesting Facts about Space

by Emily R. Austin

I hate that I am self-absorbed enough to hate myself in detail.

A few minutes ago, a baby hurled their sippy cup across the aisle, and I flinched like she had thrown a grenade.

I think if you picked two people from my life and asked them to describe me, they would describe two completely different people.”

My mom would have been younger than me now when he wrote these. She would have been so easy to devastate.

We both turn to look in the mirror. Instead of focusing on how she is shorter, has smaller features, and no rat tattoos—I notice that she and I stand similarly. We both have our shoulders back and our heads tilted slightly to the side.

I wish I were born different. I wish I could smile at bald men, or call my mom just to say hi, and not to check if her head’s in the oven. I wish I were normal.

“Okay, would you prefer to look at some together today, or to watch more of your YouTube channel?” Wow, would I rather be waterboarded or punched repeatedly in the face?

I remember trying to sleep while I heard her. I think she thought the sound of the running water muffled her crying, but it didn’t. I remember pulling my blankets up over my head, hoping the fabric would smother the sound. I would hum to myself whenever her crying was especially hard to ignore. I regularly fell asleep listening to her talk to herself out loud in the tub. She often spoke as if my dad were in the bathroom with her. It was as if she were practicing what she would say to him, given the chance. She would cry, “How could you do this?” and “I forgive you; of course I forgive you.”

She put her hands to her face, and I noticed her arms were cut.

I wanted to skip my appointment with Dr. Jeong today; however, I did not feel brave enough to cancel. I worried she would ask for an explanation and that I would embarrass myself trying to provide one. I thought of just not showing up, but I don’t know what would happen if I did that. I thought maybe she might call the police, as if I had gone missing. Or as if she were concerned because I naively exposed my childhood desire to kill myself.