I breathe in, I blow out. It’s so simple, really, to let it all go.
I face Sylvia like a father.
“Do you think you can stay at Tracy’s house for a little while till we get this situation all squared away?”
She frowns. “Who the f**k is Tracy?”
“Your best friend.”
“I don’t know anyone named Tracy.”
I snub out the cigarette and I’m so sad the high has ended.
“Who was the girl you brought over last summer? The, uh, over-developed one?” I look down at the matted carpet, too embarrassed even to admit it to myself.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” She eats another one of her eyebrow hairs. “Why would I stay anywhere else, but here?”
The blood will never disappear. Sylvia is thirteen and the blood will go on for decades to come. God made menstruation. God made geysers, too.
“Wh
