pushed a little more. Glass clinked together and the highest bins tumbled down but I pushed like they meant nothing to anyone. These things were not heirlooms or decorations or plans for the future, they were just stuff. Stuff that barricaded us from the world, stuff piled too high to see over so we’d never be taunted by what we were missing, stuff that fused us together into one inevitable tragedy.
When the case was finally stuck, I put my head down and smacked the top with both hands. Letting my hair form a brown veil over my face, I couldn’t bear to look at my mother. I couldn’t hear her crying. This only happened because I dreamed of being a normal television teen. I walked to my bedroom and slammed the door.
That night, I saw I finally had everything I wanted right then and nothing more. I saw a green shag rug to sleep on, the micro-fleece blanket and pillow waiting on top of it, the TV, the nearly empty wicker shelf. Just this in a little yellow box. I turned off the light and it all disappeared.
I lay down on the rug, pulled the blanket over me, and tried to make myself comfortable. I tried for five minutes. I couldn't keep still. Everything else was still, too still. It was so dark, so silent, it hurled me into outer space and I thought my head would explode. I wondered if Mom was lost in orbit too. I