Girl in Pieces

A few days later, when it’s time to leave, Felix hugs each of us, even me. I shrink from his touch at first and then, consciously, force myself to relax. He rubs my back with his sturdy hands. He kisses my forehead. Linus and Tanner pack the car; Devvie has made several sandwiches for us, arranged a bag of fruit and cheeses, though I suspect Tanner will want to stop for salty treats.

I adjust the waistband of my skirt. It’s army green, cotton, falling just above my knees, four dollars at the Value-Thrift in Santa Fe. I look down at my plain black sneakers, the Santa Fe High School Raiders T-shirt, short-sleeved and light brown, the scars on my legs. What was it Blue said? Who gives a shit.

Linus took me shopping and automatically walked us to the denim section of the store and started sifting through hangers of jeans and overalls, thinking that was what I’d like. I left her there and wandered around. When she found me, my arms were full of plain cotton skirts and T-shirts and one pilled black cardigan with shiny silver buttons. I shook my head at her arms full of overalls and said, “Not anymore.” She raised her eyebrows, smiled, and took them back to the rack.

Felix says, “Did you know, Charlotte, that there is a whole, interesting history of self-mortification?”

I stare at him, unsure of the word, but then I think I understand.

He nods. “It’s true, my dear. Some people used it as a way to get closer to God.” He raises his chin to me. “Are you trying to get closer to God, Charlotte?”

I shake my head. “Fuck no,” I say. Felix laughs and helps me into the car.

Linus starts the car and we drive, but she stops just where we should turn onto the road, looking in the rearview mirror. I turn around. Felix is lumbering down the gravel, his fuzzy slippers raising rivulets of dust. He bends down by my window, out of breath, motions for me to lean closer.

In my ear, he whispers, “You be you, Charlotte. You be you.”