Ordinary Girls by Jaquira Díaz

Author:Jaquira Díaz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2019-10-29T16:00:00+00:00

The French woman. She was there before I swallowed the first pill. And she would be there always. But all I really knew about her was that she jumped.

Later, it would hit me: I’d been thinking of her as a myth, a legend, a story. But she was not any of those things.

The second time, I swallowed all my mother’s pills, locked myself in my room, didn’t sit to wait until she found me. The second time, I slid a dresser in front of the bedroom door to keep my mother out. The second time, I woke sick to my stomach, stumbled out of bed, but couldn’t get the dresser out of the way in time to make it to the bathroom, so I threw up all over the carpet in my bedroom. The second time, I woke to find that, again, I had not died.

In my bedroom, spewing a foul white foam which I assumed was my mother’s pills, and then the Kentucky Fried Chicken that Kilo had brought over late last night, blowing chunks of chicken and mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese, I was sure that if I didn’t die of a prescription drug overdose, then the retching would kill me. Bent over the mess on the carpet, the vomiting turned to dry heaving. It took me a few minutes to straighten up, to push the dresser out of the way, to wash my face and brush my teeth, to get my sneakers on and my hair in a ponytail, to stuff some of my things in my backpack and go.

I walked past Normandy Park, feeling jittery and weak, headed toward the Circle K, where I bought a small bottle of Gatorade and got some change for the payphone. Outside, I sipped some of the Gatorade, then picked up the phone, my hands shaking. And then I threw up again, just liquid this time, left the receiver dangling and bent over right there on the spot.

Again, it took me a minute to get myself together. Then I finally made the call. I put two quarters in the phone and dialed my father. The line rang four or five times before Papi picked up.

“Hello,” he said, but not like a question, more like he was annoyed at whoever was calling. I was surprised by the sound of his voice, which I hadn’t heard in months—not since I ran away to my mother’s house. His voice stirred something inside me, and I couldn’t believe how much I missed him, how much I needed him. I wanted to ask him for help. I wanted to tell him everything that happened since I left, ask him to come and get me, take me home. But he’d let me down so many times, and I’d let him down so many times, I was sure it was the only thing we would ever do—let each other down.

“Hello?” he said again.

But I couldn’t do it. So I hung up.

I stood there for a long time, feeling tired and weak and so sick.

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