Then . . . nothing. Then is now, and I have nothing left to tell. Plus I don’t even want to anymore. Now, and even if you can’t tell with the naked eye, I’m curled up on the edge of life and I’m just waiting for it to go by.
Latent depression. I can’t remember where I picked up that two-faced rat of an expression, but I used it again with pleasure. It suited me. The latent part, I suppose. For years people had cited me as an example of it, put it into my head even with my strength, my cheerfulness, my courage, and . . . well, it was only too easy for them, the cowards. Much too easy. It’s true that I’ve tried to protect you, and held on as long as I could, but I can’t go on with it anymore.
I’m exhausted.
Because it was all an act, my friends. Oh yes, all of it. All of it was just an act. I knew that my mother was filling out those testing form thingies any which way, checking boxes wherever she had to. She’d leave them lying around on purpose, to reassure me. I knew that all the good news she spent hours talking loudly on the phone to my grandmother about was nothing but hot air. I knew they were both lying to me. I knew my father went straight off to fuck his whore after he dropped my mom off at the hospital for her chemo, and I knew she knew it too.
I knew he’d be out of the house even before her body was cold. That I’d end up living with my older sister, that I’d shave my head and my eyebrows, that I’d fail my high school exams and babysit my sister’s kids to earn my keep. I knew I’d act sweet, classy, above suspicion; that I’d be Auntie Yoyo, who jumped on the beds and knew how to arrange the Pokémon and Bella Sara cards perfectly. I knew I’d let my hair grow back. That I’d make up for lost time, sleep around like crazy, drink like a fish. That I’d build a reputation for myself as a major party girl, tough and always up for anything, so that people would label me as they should, and write me off for good when they did.
I knew that my brother-in-law worked me as hard as he did so he could pretend to be Mickey Corleone, that family was sacred and blah blah blah, but I also knew that if I stopped doing his dirty work, someone else would come along in my place and do it just as well. Yeah, I knew all that, and if I never told you anything it’s because I’m generous.
The only thing I found beautiful during all those years spent at the front—the only time I didn’t lie—an asshole turned it into a book. So there you go. It might be polite to be happy, as they say, but today I don’t care about being polite anymore.
Today I am flat on my back. I’m sticking out my middle finger and pulling the plug.
But, unfortunately, you can’t fight your own nature, so—good girl that I am—I’m going to finish out this story. I’m warning you, though: you can push fast-forward a few times. You won’t miss much.