Breaking Glass by Lisa Amowitz Page A

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    I was truly happy for her. Happy for Ryan and his theatrical success. Basking in my own status as a track star. We secretly started calling ourselves the Awesome Threesome.
    But I was drinking more than ever.
    Now
    An insidious thought creeps into my head. Maybe Ryan killed Susannah and wants to buy my silence with the promise of a new leg. My head spins.
    It’s too much. All of this is just too much.
    I. Need. A. Drink.
    Finally, under the last shelf, nestled behind a carton of Arizona Iced Tea, I see the glint of a bottle. When Dad destroyed the reserve of Absolut, he must have kept one for himself and hidden it where he figured I wouldn’t find it. He didn’t count on how tenacious I can be when I’m thirsty.
    I pry out the bottle, twist open the cap and, like a parched man in the desert, start gulping. I can’t stop until I slug down half the bottle.
    I watch Ryan’s video again and again, repulsed by the bionic limb, yet fascinated by the simple act of running. I’m far too sloshed to stand steadily. Finally, my bursting bladder forces me to haul myself up on my crutches and stumble to the bathroom. Somehow, head spinning, floor tilting, I get there, possibly dragging myself part of the way on my butt. I’m not sure how I manage to aim my pee in the right place. At least, I think I do.
    Reflected in the full-length mirror, the sight of me catches my attention. I’m in a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, the empty pant leg rolled up and tucked into the waistband. I strip to my underwear, and for the first time since the surgery, take a good look at myself. All these years pushing myself to the limit, and I never appreciated how my once-scrawny frame had become sinewy and powerful. Until now—all my efforts rendered useless, a gleaming chassis with no wheels.
    Maybe I could have made my move when I was whole, if I wasn’t such a wimp. I could have had Susannah for myself. Changed the course of our histories. She’d still be here. Alive. I’d be standing on two legs.
    The shuddering tears come on like a summer squall. My lungs fill with liquid as the room floods with the dark waters of the Gorge.
    I should join Mom . Dive to the bottom of the Gorge and settle in the crevices between the jagged stones, the place that was meant to be my grave eight years ago.
    I sink to the freezing tile floor, instead.
    I’m not sure how long I lie curled in a fetal position on the bathroom floor, too spent to haul myself upright. The effects of the Absolut are receding and all I can think about is how I want some more.
    There’s a tingling pressure next to my ear. A soft murmur beside me, inches away.
    I’m here, Jeremy .
    I sit up, heart racing, and glance crazily around.
    There’s no one.
    Great. I’ve finally snapped and gone over the edge. There was talk that my mother was crazy. Had always been crazy. Now I’m losing my mind, too.
    I haul myself upright and lean over the sink. Run water and wet my head to shake it off. The vodka does this to me. Fogs my mind, blurs the sharp edges. That’s what I want it for, isn’t it?
    But the voice was so real.
    I’m still smashed, I realize. Flat-out wasted. I’ve never let myself get this bad.
    I shake my head, spraying droplets everywhere, and face myself in the mirror. Sunken brown eyes circled by bruised rings, my face so gaunt and pale it’s nearly blue. Scraggly stubble peppers my chin. I look like my own ghost.
    “Here lies Jeremy Glass,” I say to my reflection. “May you rest in pieces.”
    I know I hear it this time, despite the haze that clings to my senses like cloud cover. The voice is garbled, as faint as leaves rustled by a light breeze.
    But you’re not a ghost, Jeremy .
    I pivot wildly, slipping, and nearly lose my balance.
    “Susannah?”
    It was her voice. It was . Maybe she’s been here all along, hiding out. Playing games. One rainy afternoon when we were fourteen, she had evaded Ryan and me in her cavernous old house for two