Ghost Time

night my parents told me they were splitting up.
    Isn’t it strange how you can know something, hearing the phone ring or walking through a door? You feel it, and you just know . I don’t remember what day, but it was November, and it was cold that night, and I remember I had on boots, a scarf, and a hat and gloves, and walking home, I was so pleased with being allbundled up. And I still remember unlocking the front door, and that wave of heat, stepping inside, and then it was like some other light was on. Not the overhead, something else. Because when I closed the front door, behind me, looking up and seeing my mom and dad sitting in the living room, waiting for me to walk in, I knew. It was a trap—they’d set a trap for me in the living room—don’t ask me how, but I knew the moment I laid eyes on them, and all I could say was, No.
    I stood there, between the front hall and the living room, and they both looked at me, waiting for me to come in, so it could begin, and I stared, hoping they’d change their minds. They didn’t, of course, they just kept looking, waiting on me, and then I said it again, louder this time; I said, No . For a second, I thought maybe… maybe I could actually close the door and sneak out. Like maybe if I was fast, faster than sound or light or time, I could stop this from happening, as if I’d triggered everything, walking in.
    Don’t, I said, standing there, in my coat, holding my bag, nodding at them. Don’t do this to me. I don’t want to go, I said. I could hear myself, but I remember that feeling of watching myself, something splitting, and Mom goes, Thee, come in, and I knew she knew, because tears were welling up in her eyes. No, I said, and I turned around, making sure there was no other way out, but there wasn’t. Thea, come sit down, my dad said, but all I could think about was my room: because I grew up in that room. It wasn’t rainbows anymore, it was wallpapered in tons of pictures and drawings—mine, my room. It was my room , and I’d never lived anywhere but there, and it was gone. In that moment,our house was gone, my room was gone, my family, everything I had: gone. Really, how is it possible you’re a family one minute, and then, what, it’s just over? I mean, if family’s so sacred, tell me, how is that possible?
    Standing there, knowing my room was gone… unless you’ve stood there, you can’t say it’s cynical to think families are no different than cars or houses or boats, things that you can buy and sell. They can have expiration dates like anything else, and I felt so sick, figuring that out. Sit down with us, Mom said, patting the seat next to her, on the couch, trying not to cry. No, I repeated, then I looked at my dad, sitting in the opposite chair, leaning forward, staring at his hands. He couldn’t look at me, and I waited, but he wouldn’t dare, coward. I knew everything in that second; it was like I’d read an entire book, and I knew exactly what he did. Somehow, I swear, I even knew who the woman was he was leaving us for. I thought I was going to puke, and I dropped my bag and ran to the bathroom, and I made it just in time, retching.
    Mom came, knocking, asking if I was all right, and when I opened the door, she tried to hug me, and I pushed her away. Don’t touch me, I said, stepping back, and so angry, it was like this fire in me, pushing up from the floor to my ankles, and my ankles to my knees. It kept rising, and she saw it, too, raising her hands and stepping back, hands off. So I went to my bedroom, locked the door, and I stood there, looking around at all these things that I loved so much: all my pictures, my drawings, everything I thought was mine…. It took me a moment, but I knew what I had to do. Then I started tearing it apart, my whole room. The curtains, the bedspread, everything I had, I broke. They werejust things, right? Just like us. And that’s when I heard my mom shouting, calling my name. She’d heard me, and both my parents were banging on my door, demanding I let them in. I don’t know how much time had passed, but when I stopped throwing things, when I could hear sound again, I looked around, and my room was a disaster. Broken glass, down feathers, dozens of triangles of tape on the wall, where all the pictures had been ripped…. I snapped back, and I was like, Ohmygod . It was such a mess, I couldn’t believe I’d done that. I really lost it, too. But, honestly, I have to say, looking around, I