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1
MARISSA
Sixteen Years Ago – Prom Night
A police officer escorts me to the front porch of my parents’ house, ringing the bell.
It takes my sister a while to come to the door. Teresa must’ve been sleeping. The only saving grace of the night is her being home instead of my parents. They would’ve died of a heart attack seeing the police bring me home in the middle of the night.
Still, the expression on Tessie’s face as she comes to the door shows she must be suffering a minor cardiac episode as well. Her sleep-puffy eyes are wide with fear, and even the unicorns on her pajamas seem dismayed.
She takes in my tear-streaked face, dirty dress, the officer standing beside me, the flashing red and blue lights of the NYPD car in the driveway, and gasps. “What happened?”
I fling myself at her. “Johnny left me.”
My sister hugs me back, but her body is still rigid.
“Is everything all right, officer?” I hear her ask in a mechanical voice.
“Yes, just make sure your…”
“Sister,” Teresa offers.
“Your sister keeps out of trouble. Have a good night.”
“Good night, officer, and thank you for bringing her home.”
Teresa shifts in my arms, dragging me sideways with her to close the door.
“What happened?”
I shake my head, trying to contain the tears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Mari, you were just brought home by the police in the middle of the night. Can I at least ask why?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to be indicted.” Being publicly humiliated is not a crime. “And I said I don’t want to talk about it.”
“And what do you want to do?”
I want to go back in time and join my parents on their cruise, skipping my senior prom altogether. Better even, I want to never fall in love with the boy next door.
My heart squeezes because that’s not happening. No matter how brutally he rejected me tonight, that love is wedged deep into my heart and it’s not going anywhere.
Oh, gosh. Johnny is gone. As the realization hits me anew, my pulse races out of control, my palms get sweaty, and a breath catches in my throat. I’m about to have a full-blown panic attack.
To hide it from Teresa, I flee upstairs to my bedroom, seeking a safe place where I can break down undisturbed. But of course my sister follows me. Well, at least running up the stairs has staved off the onset of the panic attack, and as Tessie joins me in my room, I can sit on the bed without having to gasp for every breath.
Teresa sits next to me, placing a comforting hand on my thigh. “What now?”
“I honestly just want to sit on the couch, eat Doritos, and binge-watch unboxing videos on YouTube.” I sob, wiping my tears with my hands. My fingertips come back blackened. Mascara must be running down my cheeks in rapids, the makeup that cost me an arm and a leg at the mall, ruined.
Teresa kicks her heels against the footboard of my twin bed. “Why unboxing videos?”
“Because they’re soothing.”
“Unboxing videos of what, anyway?”
“Cat litter robots.”
