Lip Gloss and Agony
The world outside fades from deep blue to black. I get up and stretch. I lie on the floor, make carpet angels, climb a pretend staircase with my hands. My back gradually loosens. I have to call…who do I have to call? I don’t remember, I only know it’s important. The TV blares in the living room: hard rock, unctuous voiceover, the all new Chevy something-something.
The air’s too close. I get up, open the window. The burglar alarm blats in the front hall.
Mom opens the door as I slam the window shut. “What are you doing?” she bellows over the alarm
“I opened the window,” I shout.
“You’re not dressed for bed!”
“It’s eight o’clock—ow!”
Mom drags me, by the arm, into the hallway. “Turn around,” she barks as we come to the alarm panel. I hesitate. She spins me away. My
