Whisper to Me(113)

“Of course. Murakami. Good choice.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now get out of here. There’s lasagna in the cafeteria, and if I’m late it’ll all be gone.”





So, not too bad, huh?

I started taking the slightly lower dose. I had a meeting with Dr. Rezwari and Dr. Lewis. They argued a bit but it was obvious they respected each other; everything was hunky-dory. The voice came back, not so bad as before, but I could deal with it. I had the tools now.

Dad wasn’t speaking to me, but I’d caught him looking at me like he was about to speak. We’d even, like, half smiled at each other when passing in the house.

Stupidly, I allowed myself to believe that things were getting better.

I don’t remember the specifics of my life after that point, for a while anyway. I was all over the place, honestly.

Oh, some days passed.

I don’t really remember them.

I don’t remember what happened.





But I remember the next big thing.

And it was the next thing that led to me hurting you.





The next big thing:

It was Thursday. Group day. Group evening. You know what I mean.

I sat up in my room until Dad had gone to work, then I went downstairs and out into the yard. I was hoping you would still be at work. But I timed it badly, or you came back early, I don’t know. Maybe all the concession stands had tons of stuffed animals and you got to go home.

Anyway: you were just walking from your pickup. Shane was in a bar somewhere, presumably—drinking with the other lifeguards.

****, I thought, when I stepped out into the yard and you turned and saw me.

“Hey!” you said, running over. “Are you okay? Jesus, Cass. You went with your dad and then you just disappeared, for like three days … I thought maybe … I mean … did he hurt you?”

“No. Yes. No. I just … went to stay with a relative for a while.”

You looked stricken. “I’m so sorry, Cass. I didn’t know … I didn’t realize … how angry he was.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“He’s throwing me out, you know that?” You sounded incredulous. “I have till the end of the week to find somewhere else.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. Really.” I started to cry, despite the drugs that Dr. Rezwari had reintroduced fogging up the window of my world again, making everything soft and blurred.

“But we can still see each other, right?” you said. “I mean, when he’s at work—I can pick you up, we can go to the pool … or to the warehouse …”

I nodded. “Uh-huh.” Please don’t remember what day it is. Please don’t ask where I’m going.

You smiled. “Good. Good.” Then you seemed to realize that I was leaving, that I had been crossing the yard when you got back. “You going out? You need a lift?”

“Um. No. Thanks.”

“Where are you going?” you asked. Fake-casual.

“Um,” I said. Even at this point, after your declaration of 100 percent, I was afraid to tell you how messed up I really was.

I’m still afraid, to be honest. I’m afraid you’re reading this and resolving to run as far from me as you can go, to Mexico, to the South Pole, to anyplace but Oakwood and any girl but me. Still, I have to try, don’t I? I mean, you’re 100 percent on my side, or you were, when you told me that. But I’m 100 percent on your side too. And I need you to know it.

Anyway.

You nodded. Nodded in this really unsurprised way, like, “I thought so.” You closed your eyes and breathed out, long and hard.

Which was maybe the moment at which my heart broke a little, though I don’t expect much sympathy from you. I don’t deserve much.

“Sorry,” I said.

You didn’t say anything.

Your radio crackled.

“714? Sorry, we actually need you again, if you’re still sober enough to drive. Dippin’ Dots emergency.”

You glared at the radio.

“You’d better get to work,” I said.

You saluted sarcastically like I was an Army officer commanding you and half smiled, though I could still see the hurt and confusion in your eyes, which broke my heart into even smaller pieces, and then you got in the F-150 and drove away.

I walked to the bus.

How could I have known that you would tell your boss you’d had a couple of beers already?

How could I have known you would follow me?





What comes after, you already know. Part of it, at least. The part I wanted you to see.

I went to group at the bowling alley. You don’t need to know what we talked about; it was more of the same stuff. Voices. Aggression. Accommodation. Dr. Lewis asked how we were, and he made me talk first, so of course he’d spoken to Dr. Rezwari, so I had to humiliate myself by talking about the bomb I had placed under myself by lying to her, by lying to my dad, and all the fallout, the dirty ash fallout, coating everything, the drugs, the suspicion in my dad’s eyes always now, the guilt.

The stupidity of it.

You’d have thought I’d have learned my lesson about lies, right?

DR. LEWIS: It sounds like Dr. Rezwari has your best interests at heart.