The next morning, Riley doesn’t say anything about meeting me and Mikey in the alley. He must have been so messed up, or gotten so messed up, that he doesn’t remember. Or he doesn’t care. It’s hard to tell with him. He’s super talkative with Linus and the waitstaff, but not me, though he does slip me half of a grilled cheese sandwich at lunchtime.
After I get off work, I head to the library. All the computers are taken, so I camp out upstairs, in the art section. Ellis used to think it was weird, that I liked to look at old art and stuff, like Rubens and all his pillowy women with soft hair and flushed cheeks. I like Frida Kahlo, too, she seems so pissed off, and her colors are all angry. There are like a million stories inside her paintings. Even though Evan said my comics made him feel great, and famous, they seem dumb to me, just stupid stuff about loser kids on the streets, high as kites, dancing around in dark capes and pretending they’re superheroes.
This art seems important. It’s in books. It lasts. I have to teach myself, I want to teach myself, how to make something great. I want my drawings to be great.
Before I go, I’m able to slip onto one of the computers. There’s an email from Casper.
Dear Charlie,
Well, I was afraid something like this might happen. I wasn’t entirely confident in your mother’s ability to help you. I am glad that you seem to be safe, and will have a friend looking out for you. I hope you’re following the rules I set out for you, and I hope you’re looking for some help. There might be some free counseling available to you, or a group that you could join. Perhaps your friend could help you look for something? I want you to be safe, Charlie. Sometimes we can get overconfident when things seem to go well, and we might not recognize the danger signs that could derail our progress. Take everything slow, Charlie, and one thing at a time, yes? Your first priority is YOU.
I think it’s wonderful you’ve found a job. A job can lead to important gains in confidence. Well done!
You asked about Louisa. I wish I could tell you about Louisa, Charlie, but I can’t. Patient confidentiality and all that “blah blah fuck-all,” as Blue likes to put it. Be well, and I hope to hear from you soon.
P.S. I know all the nicknames, like “Casper” and “GhostDoc,” by the way. Just FYI, as you girls like to say.
I’m just starting to reply when the timer goes off. I promise myself I’ll come back tomorrow after work and write her an email. I should probably write Blue, too. I know how lonely it can get at Creeley. I feel bad that I didn’t reply to her email the last time I was at the library.
When I get home, there’s a note from Mikey shoved under my door. Meet me at Magpies at 9. I got suckered into a double shift today. I’ll take you to a party after, okay? See you.
I fold the note tenderly, my heart thrumming at the thought of seeing Mikey again. A party. Like a date? Something? I’m not sure. I use a lot of soap in the bathtub, pick a clean shirt. I slip into the bathroom down the hall, wincing at the smell of piss in the toilet and the overflowing wastebasket. I inspect my face in the dirty, cracked mirror.
“Excellent-looking underneath all that dirt and shit,” Evan had said at the parade.
I don’t have any dirt and shit on my face now. It’s pink from the sun and clean, with a wave of freckles across my nose. It’s still a shock seeing my real hair after years of dye. Who is this person? What’s she becoming?
I blink at myself. I could be a girl, a real girl. I could be a possibility, with Mikey.
Couldn’t I?
