I Was Here(60)

             I twist a loose thread from my quilt around my finger until my finger throbs. Thank you, Tricia, for such a precise overview of my inferiority.

             “But even with the deck stacked against you, you stuck to your guns,” Tricia continues on her tear. “You didn’t quit that damn dance class that Tawny Phillips let you join for free, even when you sprained your ankle.”

             “I couldn’t quit. I had the big solo in the dance show, All That Jazz,” I remind her. I’d forgotten about that. Mindy Thomas had been so pissed when I’d gotten the coveted role. I’m not sure Tricia remembers it either. She couldn’t come to the show. She had to work. The Garcias came.

             “Right,” Tricia continues. “And at school, you hated math, but you kept with it all the way through goddamn trignastics.”

             “Trigonometry,” I correct.

             She waves away the distinction. “You took math all the way through that because you wanted to go to college. My point is, you never quit on dance, on math, on anything, and maybe you had more reason to. You had a pile of rocks, and you cleaned them up pretty and made a necklace. Meg got jewels, and she hung herself with them.”

             I know I should defend Meg. This is my best friend. And Tricia has it wrong. She doesn’t know the whole story. And she’s probably jealous of the Garcias for being the family she never was.

             But I don’t defend Meg. I may not be Joe’s daughter. But right at this moment, I actually feel like Tricia’s.





24

             The next day there is a message from All_BS. It simply says: Who did you lose?

             It takes me a minute to realize he—by this point I’m almost certain he’s a man—is referring to an older post. Which means he’s been watching me. I spend an hour thinking about what to write, which story will be most effective, and then I circle back. The true one will.

             Repeat: The better half of me.

             Within twenty minutes he has responded again.

             All_BS: “Nothing is more desirable than to be released from an affliction, but nothing is more frightening than to be divested of a crutch.”—James Baldwin

             Repeat: What do you mean by this?

             The library closes before he has time to respond, leaving me to think about the quote all night. I bring my computer with me to the Chandlers’ the next morning, and discover they don’t lock their Wi-Fi network. I sneak into the bathroom and check to see if there’s a response from All_BS. And there is.

             All_BS: Perhaps your better half, as you call it, was nothing more than a crutch. It can be terrifying, after so long using one, to go without. Maybe that adjustment is what you are going through now.

             And that’s it. Nothing about offing myself, or life being the affliction. Only the suggestion that Meg was my crutch.

             The scary thing is, he’s right. Meg held me up. And without her, I’m falling down.

             Repeat: So you’re saying this is temporary, that I shouldn’t be thinking about catching the bus because I’m just upset over my loss?

             I hear Mrs. Chandler in the next room. I quickly hit post and stash my computer in a corner. The rest of the morning, I worry that I somehow put him off. I practically run to the library that afternoon, relieved to find a response waiting.

             All_BS: I’m saying no such thing.

             Repeat: Then what are you saying?

             He must still be online. Because the reply is instant.