Free Normalish by Margaret Lesh Page B

we sat at Starbucks drinking our half-caf soy vanilla mocha lattes like two refugees from a prison camp. That’s just how it felt, like we were on leave for a little while, waiting to be picked up and taken back to jail. It was a temporary escape, that’s all, then the guards would take me back, and I’d have to go to school tomorrow.

October 14, Later –
Everything Is Wrong
     
    Roman stopped by in the afternoon to take me to see Becca. I got into his beater car, brushing fast food bags off the seat. His car really is a disaster area. I can’t imagine what his bedroom looks like.
    “I like your shirt, Roman.”
    He was wearing an old, black The Cure T-shirt with holes. It was so thin, you could practically see through it.
    “Thanks. My dad gave it to me. Becca cut the sleeves off for me,” he said with a little smile.
    Why didn’t that surprise me. It’s kind of funny when I think of it, Becca cutting the sleeves off of everything and how happy Roman was with his shirt. I’m just glad she didn’t go to town on my clothes too.
    We rode most of the way in awkward silence except for the radio. I had no idea what to expect—if they’d even let us see her—and when we got to Brookside, the lady at the reception desk told us to come back because it was medication time, and then Becca had a therapy session after. Poor Roman was so confused, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s so used to Becca giving him his daily instructions. They’re like two halves of the same person.
    On the drive home, he looked so sad. I wanted to hug him, but we’re not usually huggy like that. We were both quiet, and I thought about how things were before, when I was little. I pictured the three of us girls with Mom and Dad and how happy we were, but we didn’t know it at the time. Why would we?
    How could life have changed so much? How did I get here ?

October 15 –
Poor Roman
     
    Roman and I cut school after third period to go visit Becca. I risked Mom’s wrath, knowing she’d kill me for cutting classes, but I went anyway mainly just to keep Roman from jumping off the nearest roof.
    At Brookside, I watched him and Becca have their little reunion, kind of staying in the background, because I didn’t want to intrude. It was sad and sweet. The two of them hugged like pale ghosts. Becca had this faraway look on her face. After a couple of minutes, I gave her shoulder a squeeze, said my goodbye, and waited for Roman outside on the benches.

October 16 -
Are You There, God?
It’s Me, Stacy
     
    I’ve picked up a new habit the past few days. A praying habit. Every night in bed, I’ve been saying a little prayer for Becca. It’s been years since I’ve prayed regularly, not since I was six years old and Mom and Dad took Jill and Becca and me to Sunday school at a church in the neighborhood. Mom and Dad only lasted for a couple of Sundays. It turned out to be a very holy-rollerish place. The pastor would call people up to the altar rail, encouraging them to “Let Jesus into your heart.” It wasn’t their cup of tea, I guess, but Dad kept taking us to Sunday school. I think he was concerned about us being godless heathens, which we totally were. I went to the younger kids’ section; Jill and Becca went with the older kids.
    Two things stand out about my whole experience there: one, I remember the pastor’s wife cleaning the wax out of my ears with bobby pins. (Don’t they always say not to put anything in your ear sharper than your elbow? I guess she never heard that one.) And, two, the Sunday school teachers taught me how to pray by getting on my knees and placing my hands together and talking directly to God. I did this for a few nights. I got down on my knees and prayed that God would watch over my family, our cat Rex, my grandparents, Aunt Linda, and everyone else. This went on for a few nights, then I stopped, probably because Becca told me I looked like a dork doing it or most likely, because I got