Hotel Ruby
“I see the bottle of muscle relaxers on my nightstand, and I rustle the comforter sliding over to grab it. I glance at the label again and then shake my head before dropping the bottle into the trash can with a thunk. I’m an idiot. My cell phone is nearby, and I pick it up and pull it back into bed with me. The screen says I have no service, not even to check the time, but at least it’s turning on now. Weird because I haven’t even charged it.
I fall back into the pillow, and a haunting sense of loss comes over me. My fingers shake as I tap the photos icon and find the album titled “No.”
To deal with my grief I took all of the photos of my mother, or ones that reminded me of her, and put them in a separate album. I couldn’t bear to delete them. Instead I labeled them “No” so that I’d be able to stop myself from staring at them. From dripping tears on my screen. From breaking down in math class because I’d accidentally seen her smile—wide and genuine.
“Don’t do it,”
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