Black-Eyed Susans

Prologue

Thirty-two hours of my life are missing.

My best friend, Lydia, tells me to imagine those hours like old clothes in the back of a dark closet. Shut my eyes. Open the door. Move things around. Search.

The things I do remember, I’d rather not. Four freckles. Eyes that aren’t black but blue, wide open, two inches from mine. Insects gnawing into a smooth, soft cheek. The grit of the earth in my teeth. Those parts, I remember.

It’s my seventeenth birthday, and the candles on my cake are burning.

The little flames are waving at me to hurry up. I’m thinking about the Black-Eyed Susans, lying in freezing metal drawers. How I scrub and scrub but can’t wash away their smell no matter how many showers I take.

Be happy.

Make a wish.

I paste on a smile, and focus. Everyone in this room loves me and wants me home.

Hopeful for the same old Tessie.

Never let me remember.

I close my eyes and blow.