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“You be good,” he said. “And careful—don’t let the sisters know we’re heathens.”
“Take an extra helping of the blood of Christ for me, will you?”
Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could.
What I mean is don’t be a person who seeks out grief. There is enough of that in life.”
I must have shut grief out. Found it in books. Cried over fiction instead of the truth.
“I hope you don’t get in trouble,” I said, but how could trouble find us? We were miraculous. We were beach creatures. We had treasures in our pockets
The end of the world never sounded so good. I know! I kind of want it to happen. Is that bad? We could do all that stuff even without the apocalypse. Good point. So it’s a plan? Yes.
No one talked about the way the summer was supposed to unfold or the places we’d find ourselves in the fall.
It was terrifying, the idea that we could fall asleep girls, minty breathed and nightgowned, and wake to find ourselves wolves.
She peels an orange, separates it in perfect halves, and gives one of them to me. If I could wear it like a friendship bracelet, I would.
“This conversation is very American,” he’d said. “We live in America.” “That we do, Sailor. That we do.
In my mind, we keep ending, ending. I try to stay here, now, for as long as we can.
I was okay just a moment ago. I will learn how to be okay again.
Something in me is cracking open, the light coming through is so bright it hurts, and the rest of me is still here, wounded, even though I know it’s all for the best.
