The Tracey Fragments

The Tracey Fragments

Maureen Medved

Language: English

Pages: 160

ISBN: 088784779X

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Naked under a tattered shower curtain, 15-year-old Tracey Berkowitz has been sitting on a bus for two days, telling her story and looking for her brother, Sonny, who thinks he’s a dog. She confesses her hopes and fantasies, as well as the grief and horror of a hardscrabble life. As time passes, Tracey’s stories begin to twist the truth and entwine it with lies, at once captivating and unsettling the reader. As an unforgettable portrait of a teenager on the verge of imploding, The Tracey Fragments has been compared to The Catcher in the Rye with a style similar to that of Go Ask Alice. Maureen Medved's first novel is a raw, moving account full of twists and turns, fear and uncertainty, trust and betrayal.

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psychiatrist. Is that what you want?” Sure, it’s exactly what I’d always hoped for, right after turning my kidneys into earrings. I’d never in a million years go to a shrink. I’d have to be nuts. “Dear,” said Dr. Heker at our very first appointment. I hate when anyone calls me dear. “Dear,” she said again, just to get my goat. “Is there any reason you have chosen not to stay within the lines of the North American continent?” I couldn’t stay within the lines. I couldn’t write properly, either.

But Sonny will be okay. He really will, you know, because he’s planted inside my brain like a seed and he’ll come out somehow in an idea or a dream. Did you know the weakest gene survives? Look at me. I’m here, aren’t I? My feet were crying. The problem, the problem, the problem was I lost all my feelings. This is the first sign of gangrene. Almost everyone in my family has got gangrene. It’s in our chromosomes. One day we’re fine, then the next day, gangrene. First your fingers, then your arms,

to hobble around on sticks. I felt him go over my leg, carefully, like a doctor. “I can’t tell that yet,” he said. “Don’t think so.” He fluffed extra blankets on me, tucking them into the mattress. “I made up the bed,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting company, but I do it everyday for myself.” I opened my eyes. Sunlight. Morning. I lay on his big bed. The room was big and clean and white like the moon. New paint smell. Nothing in there except this bed — a big square with white sheets like the

there, glooming down. “You wore me down. I’m drained.” I didn’t move. I don’t know why. I just didn’t. “If you wanna go, then go. Think what you want about me.” The wind banged and howled against the window. Lance looked at the door like he didn’t care if I stayed. I looked at Lance. His face was blotched. His tongue ran over and over his teeth. Black crow. Snow. The window glass banged faster and harder than my heart. I looked at Lance again. He smiled. His mouth creeped into a little

a lion tamer. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he said. “I’ll just scream,” I said, my hair tangling in my mouth. “Somebody will call the police. The police will call my parents.” “Nobody’s calling anybody,” he said. I screamed like a maniac. He yelled, “shut up you crazy bitch, shut up you crazy bitch, shut up you crazy bitch.” I lowered my head like a dog. “What are you doing?” he said. I stuck out my tongue. Slackened my jaw. Shook my head. Made out I was spaz or mental. “I’m going to puke.”

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