Disaster Relief
by Hilary LeichterPage 3 of 3
"Bye Jonah, sorry things got messed up."
"Sorry about your shirt, Sylvia."
"Goodbye, Sylvia," his dad says.
Known to me by drips and drabs is that Jonah gets the occasional black eye. I can stick around and watch the show, but that's what I did with Sung-Jin, and that's how his dad gave me my one-occasion black eye. So I don't go to Sung-Jin's house anymore, even though it's closer to my apartment by bus than Jonah's. I'm not a hero, I just know how to take care of myself.
At home, my mom is asleep on the couch, looking small. The upholstery is busted at the seams on this couch, the same one we had at our old house. I creep back to the shower and peel off my landslide garb, climb on under the leaky faucet and get everything back to normal. I'll call Jonah later to find out if he's okay, to find out about when Bridget's parents are going splitsville, which drugs Sung-Jin is using these days, hearing about other people's disasters until I fall asleep.
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