Free Notes to Self by Avery Sawyer Page B

beating me or anything. Not making me the chicken I liked on a consistent basis wasn’t exactly child abuse. What if my mom was about to tell me some things I really, really didn’t want to hear?
    “Things were cold .” She stared off into space, and then added, “It was foolish. I should’ve at least finished high school. Doing it later on was hard.”
    “Um, why are we parked here? Are we going to a movie?”
    “This was my, uh, destination,” she said, sheepishly. “I saw this television commercial for Disney World and it looked so perfect. So sunny and happy and…well, I was just a stupid kid.”
    I got it. This was supposed to be some sort of mother-daughter bonding moment. I didn’t say anything, just squirmed in my seat. Did this mean I wasn’t grounded? I remembered visiting Grandma and Grandpa and a half-dozen aunts and uncles when I was six or seven, at Christmastime. The town they lived in consisted of a church, three bars, a Piggly Wiggly, and a bait shop.
    It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, though. The land was covered in thick forest and I was thrilled— thrilled —with the snow. I’d made snow angels and snow men with my cousins and worn mittens, which, for some reason, pleased me to no end. The swishing sound my borrowed snow pants made was like music, and I found the Yooper accent hilarious in a good way. My grandma carried around this enormous purse that had everything you could possibly need in it. I’d made a game of it, testing her by asking for gum, band-aids, lotion, Chapstick, aspirin, a nail clippers, a scissors (!), tape, and a compass during the course of the visit. I finally got her on Girl Scout cookies. She said she’d just finished her purse box the week before.
    Yet I also remembered how people there, my grandparents included, would stay in their favorite bar practically all night, every night, not moving from their favorite stools. How the town was the perfect place for you if you didn’t expect much out of life other than clean air and fried food. Even the radio station that supposedly played Top 40 music mostly played stuff from a while ago. It was strange. Frozen.
    “I’m not a stupid kid,” I said.
    “Oh honey, I know. I guess what I’m trying to do here is apologize. I’ve been a rotten mom and I’m going to do better. You don’t have to run away. I’m here to tell you I tried it, and it doesn’t make anything easier. There are no shortcuts or easy ways out. We just have to help each other.”
    I thought about that for a while. “Well, it is a lot, um, warmer, here.” I settled on. “And you met Dad,” I added, and immediately regretted it. I didn’t want Mom to feel bad for coming to Florida. She was someone who wanted more. She always wanted more, always lived in the future. I understood that.
    “That I did.”
    “I…” I didn’t know what I wanted to say then, other than that her little scheme to get me to understand her better had actually kind of worked. “I’m sorry too.”
    “How about if you promise not to run away again, I’ll promise not to use the GPS on you?”
    “Okay. Um, deal.”
    It wasn’t as if all the bad feelings I’d been trying to escape went away that day. But I started thinking of Mom as a human being, which, when it comes to your parents, you should try to put off for as long as possible.
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 21
    LOW
     
    The phone rang as I tried to sort my school stuff into piles in my room. I wanted to figure out which assignments I actually planned to do versus which ones were out of the question. I didn’t care about my grades super-much, but I didn’t want to fail, either. I heard Mom answer and give a couple “uh-huhs,” and one “great,” before hanging up.
    “Who was it?” I poked my head out of my room.
    “The hospital. They said they’ve moved Emily into a private room this morning. That means we can visit her.”
    “Is she awake? Is she going to be okay?”
    “No, she’s not awake,” Mom