Uses for Boys by Erica Lorraine Scheidt

Author:Erica Lorraine Scheidt [Scheidt, Erica Lorraine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Dating & Sex, Girls & Women
ISBN: 9781250007117
Google: jxZhkyw_4uwC
Amazon: 1250007119
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2013-01-15T08:00:00+00:00

all of me

I stand in our bathroom trying to find my reflection. The dream is a low hum at the edge of everything. The room is dim and the mirror is stained with rust, so even standing as far back as I can, on my toes, I can only see a thin reflection. She doesn’t even look like me.

I had no mother, I tell the wavering image. I had no father.

But nothing’s changed, the reflection replies.

Suddenly I want to go back to the suburbs and the pull is sharp and quick. Unexpected. I have to get out of the apartment. I call my mom but she isn’t home and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved.

It’s nearly midnight. There are four other girls on the bus, sprawled out in the back, headed home after a night in the city with their heavy makeup and black clothes. They’re maybe fourteen and they have a kind of happy kid–ness that shines through the sullen facade. They giggle and then catch themselves and smirk. They’re girls, I think, so their future is certain and I think about Toy. She has all these boys. All these boys that think she’s beautiful. That give her things, but what’s the use? She’s still afraid.

Afraid for her mom. Afraid she is her mom. What’s the use?

I watch the girls’ reflection in the dirty glass. We’re circling a long on-ramp headed toward the freeway. I lean against the window and look out into the darkness.

In the suburbs, the streets are smaller and narrower than I remember. It’s only been six months since I left, but already I’m out of place. Still, my key fits easily in my mom’s lock and the door swings open. The house is hushed. I don’t know where I belong. I push the dial on the thermostat, all the way up until I hear the rush of the furnace.

With Josh’s eyes I notice the insistent cleanliness of everything. Nothing chipped or worn. I leave the lights off and drop my bag. In the hall off the entry I slide down a familiar wall until I’m sitting over a heating vent, the warm air rushes out and I pull my T-shirt over my knees to catch it, just like I did when I was little.

I’m tired. Not because it’s late or because I worked today. Not because I made cappuccinos and lattes and caffe americanos. Not because I slept in a tight ball on one side of the bed since Josh started saying that I kick too much. Since he won’t sleep tangled with me anymore. It’s a new tired.

I make a bowl of cereal and turn on the TV. I sit on one of the big chairs in the living room and imagine my mom coming home. Finding me. I imagine what she’d say and maybe she’d just be happy to have me back. I’m not back, but being here feels like gravity. Weighty. Pulling at me. I turn off the TV and in the upstairs bathroom I start a bath and take off all my clothes.

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