Somehow, I drag my limp, feverish body off of the couch and upstairs to my room. I fall on my bed, lifeless. How long I lie there, I have no idea.
I am snapped back to animation by a knock on my door.
"Hello?"
"Come in," I say weakly.
I raise my head up off of my cool, smooth quilt as my mother walks into the room.
Cautiously, my mother walks over to my bed and gingerly sits down.
"Honey, I just saw Eva leaving, very upset," she says, nervously smoothing her hands over the coverlet. "Is anything wrong?"
Without another word, I start to cry. Tears flooding my cheeks, my gasp hitches in my throat and I cannot breathe. I roll over and press my face into my pillow, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry and home.
She rubs my back awkwardly, trying to soothe me. Eventually, I cry myself to sleep, exhausted by my panting sobs. The dull blackness of a deep dreamless sleep is a welcome relief.
I sleep and I sleep, but never do I dream. I am plunged into a gray, empty, endless vortex of nothingness.
For almost eight hours, I sleep. When I awaken, the sky is just lightening. My face is dry and tight, and, for a moment, I can't recall why. Then, I see the picture of Eva and me on my bedside table and I remember last night's tears.
I stumble downstairs to the smell of coffee and see my mother, father, uncle, and brother all sitting around the kitchen island.
I can feel the stony silence settle like fog on my shoulders.
Hearing my footsteps approach, all four heads whip up to look at me.
"You little dyke!" My mother's face, red with rage, scrunches up as she screams at me. I stumble back a few steps, shaken by the fury radiating from her.
"Amelia, calm down! This is no time to get hysterical," my father orders, surprisingly composed. He takes my mother by the arm and leads her upstairs, leaving me alone with my brother and uncle.
I look over at my brother, who is avoiding my face.
"Eva called."
My heart drops through my stomach and my mouth goes dry.
"Wh-what did she say?"
"What do you think," he spits out in disgust. "I gotta go." With that, he pushes his chair away from the island, the long wooden legs scraping across the floor.
The house is eerily silent, the only noises being the slam of the front door as my brother stalks out and the gurgling of the coffee machine.
I slide into an empty seat, staring straight through the granite countertop.
The thump of heavy feet coming down the stairs heralds my father's arrival. I glance up to see him stop at the bottom step and he looks at me, really looks at me.
In the past month, I have lost a lot of weight that I didn't need to lose. My eyes must be bloodshot and puffy from all the weeping, and I haven't changed my clothes all weekend.
Ignoring his brother-in-law by my side, my father says, "Get your shoes on. We're going for a walk."
I scramble to my feet, running to the front door, sliding my feet into a pair of clogs as I go. He marches out behind me and pulls the door shut.
The early morning air is surprisingly crisp for late June. Wearing only a tank top and pajama shorts, my arms and legs break out in goose bumps as I hop up and down, trying to warm up.
My father strides down the driveway, setting a brisk pace as we walk down the sidewalk. I silently thank God that the streets are deserted, so that no one can see me in my disheveled, half-clothed state.
After about fifteen minutes of walking in quiet, my father speaks.
"Why did you never tell me?"
"What?" I ask, surprised.
He stops walking and I realize that we are at the elementary school playground.
"Follow me," he says. Unexpectedly, he takes my hand and leads me to the swing set.
As I sit down on the swings, I am bombarded with memories of Eva and I sitting on these very seats, laughing, playing, growing up together. A tear slips past my closed eyelid and rolls down my cheek. I can hear the creak of the chains as my father squeezes into a seat far too small for his large frame.
Without a word, I can feel the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder, gently rubbing.
