Excerpt
No RoomWhen my mom decides to run away from home
she packs up her car
with all the things that matter most
to her.
Her guitar
and some books
all her CDs
her clothes
her shoes
Grandmas music box from the fireplace mantle
and the quilt from the bed she shares with Dad.
She jams plastic grocery bags
filled with soap and shampoo
into the small spaces
left in between things
and ties a couple of suitcases to the roof.
At the last minute she
throws in a few dishes
some towels
and a potted red geranium
that guards the front porch.
Dad tells her not to pack stuff too high
so she can still see out the back window
but she ignores him
and shoves her pillow
between her guitar case and the portable TV.
By the time shes done
theres no room left for anything else.
No room left for Dad.
And no room left for me.
The Wrong Answers
When I ask her why shes leaving
she finds lots of ways
to not answer me.
She yanks photos from the albums
and dumps out her purse on the kitchen table
then puts everything back in it again.
She unloads the dishwasher
just like any other day.
“Why do you have to go?”
Because I cant stay.
“Why?”
She paces
arms swinging wildly
trapped
like a bee in a jar.
I dont belong here anymore.
“If youre not supposed to be here
where are you supposed to be?”
I dont know, Rachel.
I just dont know.
“Why cant I go with you?”
You just cant.
Later
yes later
maybe after I get settled
but now
now you need to stay here
you have to stay with your dad
it will all be fine
even better than fine, I bet.
I dont mean to,
but I snort
and she slams her hand down
on the kitchen table.
I jump.
I cant do this anymore, Rachel!
I wonder
if she took her pills this morning
then I glance at the bottle
near the coffee pot
and she catches me looking.
Yes, she says.
But sometimes they dont work.
And then she starts to cry.
From the Trade Paperback edition.