forgotten to pick me up somewhere, like that day at CCD when Father Joseph scolded her. Heâd chuckle and say, âOut of sight, out of mind, sweetheart.â I felt a pit in my stomach, remembering his words. It was like I was quietly disappearing and I didnât know where to reach to hang on to myself.
My guitar was leaning up against the bed. I reached for it and started picking. I started singing and playing one of the songs Iâd played a thousand times for people,
I need you ,
Like the winter needs the spring
You know I need you
As the music filled the room, something let up. The walls stopped staring at me; the sun stopped yelling at me; everything felt a little less horrible. Iâd paused the war zone that had become my mind. The lyrics had nowhere to landâI had no one to needâbut the music knew me, it reminded me who I was, no matter where I was, no matter what was happening. I played song after song, I couldnât stop; I wanted to stay inside the music forever. It took me away from the facility, and it felt like home. But while right in the middle of Kenny Logginsâs âHouse at Pooh Corner,â Iheard a loud banging on my door. Louder than loud, with voices behind it. It startled me off the bed. I dropped the guitar on the floor and immediately looked for something to block the door, but the dressers and beds were attached to the walls. The window only opened a foot; there was no way out. I was trapped. What did those girls want? Like a caged animal, I ran around the room looking for something to help me escape. I thought about locking myself in the bathroom. The banging was relentless; I covered my ears and then tripped over my guitar and landed on the floor. I crawled my way into the bathroom.
âYou in there? Open the door .â
I went up to the door and softly answered, âWhat do you want?â
â Open the goddamned door.â That voiceâit was for sure the voice of the girl with the big red earrings, the one who told me to stay the fuck away from her. I was certain she wanted to kill me. But the door was not locked, so if she was going to kill me, she probably would have come in and done it already. With my hand shaking like crazy, I opened the door a few inches. There were at least five or six girls standing at my door with the red-earring girl at the front.
Red-earring girl angrily asked, âYou got a radio in there?â
âNo.â
âYeah, you do, show me your fucking radio.â
âIâI donât have a radio.â
âWe heard the music.â The olive-on-two-toothpicks girl Tilly was standing in the back of the group. And the big pregnant screamer girl, the one with the boils on her face, was on the side looking at me.
I said, âWell, I really donât have a radio or a Walkman or anything. I guess that was me. I donât have a radio, I honestly donât.â Red-earring girl scrunched her face up and leaned closer. Her eyes were filled with rage.
âWhy you lie, why do people lie? What do you mean, it was you?â
âI have a guitar. I play the guitar and IâI . . . sing. So that was me I think youâre talking about.â
âNo shit?â
âUm, no.â
âWell, we want to hear it close up then.â All the girls started talking, asking, âYeah we do, can we?â Red-earring girl scoffed, still skeptical. âThat wasnât her, sheâs full-a shit. That was a radio.â She blew past me and into my room, looked all around in the closet, everywhere. And then she saw my guitar on the floor. She looked at me, and then sat down on the empty bed opposite mine. The other girls filed in after her. They sat on the bed and the floor. One of them handed me the guitar off the floor.
My hands were still shaking; I wasnât sure I could actually do it. I sat down on my bed, with Henry at the pillow. They were all looking at me, waiting.