Aftershock

And then of course, she didn't leave.

Not right away.

Dropped the bomb and then waited to detonate it. So we all sat with our fingers figuratively in our ears, wincing and waiting for the Big Bang. For the world to fly to bits.

The delay left plenty of room for confusion. For speculation. For hope. Hope that she had changed her mind. She'd decided to stay. She couldn't bear to leave. (Because when you're a kid, no matter how much fighting or violence or household items sailing through the air and crashing into walls, nothing is worse than someone leaving. Even if that someone leaving would neutralize the chaos and a whole load of other shit.)

But the cat was out of the bag - and was scampering around the house leaving things in shreds.

I'd gone to school. Ridden the bus. I had no idea how to even tell my seat mate Carolyn who always road with me. She was a nervous wreck on the best of days. Had I told her, the driver would have had to pull over to start chest compressions.

But it was on the bus that Reality paid a visit. THIS was happening. THIS was happening to me. THIS was happening to my sibs. THIS was happening to my Dad (In my Almost 14 year old simplistic comprehension of the complexities of marriage, he was just as rocked by the news as I was.)

My first class was gym. Volleyball. I hate volleyball. I do not have the hands or the wrists to play without hurting myself on a simple volley. I walk around all day looking like I got defensive injuries in a recent mugging.

In the locker room afterwards, reddened forearms and all, I finally began to cry as I untied my sneakers. My friend Sandy was telling an amusing family story (her family would have been a huge hit had reality TV dawned 30 years earlier). She looked around as people laughed and noticed that my head was bent. My hands were shaking.

She sat on the bench with me. Softened her voice. Listened as I choked out the reason I was coming unraveled in public (There is no more public a place to an eighth grader than the locker room. Ask anyone. Talk about being exposed!)

Sandy heard me out and was appropriately horrified. She went to get me some tissues (toilet paper) and a teacher (the only female gym teacher we were reasonably sure was not a lesbian) and returned to my side.

I choked out the tale of woe yet again. I'd have to get used to this. Maybe I could come up with a less pathetic-sounding Readers' Digest abridged version that didn't make people cry along with me.

Both of them hugged me.

I felt like I had not been hugged in years.