Ghost Time

called an ambulance, and they rushed me to the hospital, wheeling me behind these curtains, cutting off my clothes…. It was so awful.
    After the doctors told my mom how I just missed an artery in my thigh, and how scarred up I was, they had to call in Social Services to be sure it wasn’t child abuse, and they contacted my dad. When my dad found out what happened, how my mom found me in the bathroom, about the ambulance and everything, he gave her an ultimatum. He said if my mom didn’t take action, he would, and not only would he have me institutionalized, he said he’d sue her for full custody. And that he’d win. God, I hate lawyers.
    She signed the papers that day. They kept me overnight for observation, but my mom committed me that day, and she didn’t even tell me—I had no idea what was going on. So when we got home, the next day, I walked into my room, and she’d already torn my whole room apart, like I did that day my parents told me they were getting a divorce. She searched every inch of my room, looking for razors, anything I might have hidden—my computer, my phone, all my notebooks. She even cut the lock off my footlocker, my hope chest. The place where I keep all my treasures safe, like that Easter card Gram sent.
    Every time I told Cam something about me, every single time I shared a secret, I thought that would be the end. I thought as soon as he saw me for who I really am, in a day or two, he’d move on, and that time, for sure—I was so sure that’d be the end, but it wasn’t. No, Cam put his arms around me, hugging me for the longest time, rocking me until I wasn’t tense, and then he put both his hands on my face, so I’d look at him. There were tears in his eyes, and I knew then—I knew he loved me, because I could see the girl he sees in me. She’s so beautiful, too, it reminded me of that saying: Beauty is truth, truth beauty, which sounds great, right? The catch is no one ever said truth is easy to look at.

TUESDAY, MAY 24, 2011
    (SEVEN WEEKS LATER)
    1:35 PM
    Cloud porn. We were driving to the playground, because Melody was dying to go to the playground, and just before we got there, she looked out the window and she goes, Look! Cloud porn , and I just started laughing, thinking, Oh, here we go again. Because we’d seen it on Flickr, something about the best Cloud Porn photos or whatever, and Mel got on a roll with it; Oh, look: tree porn! Oh, look: squirrel porn! Oh, look: cookie porn!
    But you knew about porn before that, right? I asked, and Knox’s head turned so fast, I’m surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. Not you. Mel , I said. Mel, where did you hear about porn? I said, and Knox balked: Excuse me, and Mel ignored him: Nickelodeon, she said. I laughed, turning around in my seat to face her. What, you never heard of kiddy porn? she asked, and I bonked my head against the seat back, laughing. No, seriously, though, I asked, and I could feel Knox’s jaw lock shut, preparingsomething to say if the conversation went any further. Only everywhere—I watch TV, you know, she said. I know I live in a bubble, but I still hear things. I have ears, Thee. I know you do, I said, I’m sorry, just as we pulled into the parking lot.
    So we got out and pushed Mel over to a bench, beneath a tree, and Knox and I sat down on each side, with her chair backed up against the bench, between us. You know what? Mel said, and I go, What’s that?, watching a kid fall into the sand. She goes, I want to sit in the grass , and I was like, The grass? looking down. She goes, Yes. I want to sit in the grass. You won’t get hurt , she said, and I looked at her, ha-ha. She wants to sit in the grass, I told Knox, because he was waiting. Where, here? Knox asked, same reaction I had, right. Mel goes, What is wrong with you people? You can sit in the grass, and you’d rather sit on a bench? she asked. All right, all right, I said.
    We’d been looking at pictures all week; Melody had this huge folder of pictures of girls lying in flowers and grass, and she said it was something she wanted to do, too, to lie in the grass and stare at the clouds like a real girl. I should be able to do that much—I mean, you don’t have to move, right? she said, and I rolled my eyes at her. So Knox got up to push her, and we walked over to the nicest part of grass we could find. It didn’t look all green and beautiful like the pictures she’d chosen, but it was as close as we were going to get, and it was