Holding Up the Universe(77)

I change lanes and stop at the light.

“At the next light, you’re going to turn left onto Hillcrest.”

I see the map in my mind—my old neighborhood. I learned every street in it the year I got my first bike. I would take off and ride all over, my mom running alongside me, laughing, saying, “Libby, you’re too fast.” Even though I wasn’t. But I remember the way she made me feel—like I could go anywhere and do anything.

Jack says, “So after all those years of pushing himself and not giving up, it’s like the pressure did Herschel in. When he was asked about the DID, he compared it to hats—you know how we wear hats for all different situations? One for family. One for school. One for work. But with DID, it’s like the hats get mixed up. So you’re wearing the football hat at home, the family hat at work …”

“Too many hats.” I think, I know what this is like.

“After a while, it gets hard to keep them straight.”

And I wonder if we’re still talking about Herschel Walker or if we’re now talking about Jack.

He says, “I think we’re more like Herschel Walker than Mary Katherine Blackwood. I actually don’t think we’re like her at all.”

I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the road.

He says, “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

“I prefer to think of it as saving.”

“Fine. Thank you for saving me.” And now I can’t help but look at him. And he smiles. It is slow at first, creeping across his face like a sunrise until suddenly it shines like the hottest point of the day. I sit on one hand so that I don’t cover my eyes, which is what I want to do.

I smile at him.

And our eyes lock.

Neither of us breaks away, and I actually don’t want to, even when I remind myself I’m driving, Hello.

I drag my eyes away and stare out the windshield, but everything is a blur. I can feel him looking at me.

You need to calm down, girl. Calm. Yourself. Down.

We hit a pothole, and the Land Rover sounds as if it’s going to bottom out.

Jack says, “Christ, this car is shit.”

We turn onto my old street, Capri Lane. I haven’t been back here since that day they carried me away to the hospital. Jack is talking, but I’m not listening because everything is coming back to me. My mom. Being trapped in there. The feeling of not being able to breathe, of thinking this was it, of thinking I was dying. Of being rescued.

When I woke up in the hospital, everything was white. Blue, gray, black, white, like they were the only colors in the world. “You had an anxiety attack,” my dad said. “You’re going to be okay, but we need to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

We’re getting closer to my house, and I can see it coming toward me, only it’s nothing like it used to be because, of course, they had to tear my house down, didn’t they? Even though it was the last place I saw my mom alive. Even though memories of her were in every wall and floor.

I expect to drive right by it, but Jack says, “Pull over here.” At first, I wonder if he’s playing some sort of messed-up joke. But no, he’s waving at the two-story house across the street and saying, “Let’s see if my brother’s in there. If he is, he can drive you home.” He gets out of the Land Rover and starts up the walk.

I don’t move.

Then—somehow—I open the door. I set one foot on the ground. I pull myself out. I set the other foot on the ground. I stand there.

I say, “That’s your house?”

He turns. “Come on already.” And then he looks past me at where I used to live, and his face goes blank, almost like he’s seeing a ghost.

“How long have you lived there?” It’s all I can do to get the words out.

He doesn’t answer. He looks like he’s having a stroke.

“Jack? How long have you lived there? In that house?”

Silence.

“Answer me.”

“All my life.”

And the world

just

stops.

“Can you tell me what happened, Libbs? Can you tell me what has you so panicked?”

“All of it.” That was my answer, even though I knew my dad was expecting something more specific. “Everything. It was you. Me. Aneurysms. Death. Cancer. Murder. Crime. Mean people. Rotten people. Two-faced people. Bullies. Natural disasters. The world has me panicked. The world did this. Especially the way it gives you people to love and then takes them away.” But the answer was actually simple. I had decided to be afraid.

I don’t know how long it takes me to speak. Finally I say, “I used to live there.” I point at the new house, shiny and big and perfectly intact, that sits on top of the grave that is my old one. The new house is nothing like the one that was there before it.

“I know.”

“How do you know?” And by now, I’m waiting for it. I just want to hear him say it.

“Because I was there the day they cut you out.”





Marcus is driving, and I’m in back. My brother is in a mood about having to leave the house, and now he’s shooting me death looks via the rearview mirror. He won’t even turn on the radio, this is how bad it is. The three of us are driving in silence except for Libby going “Turn here” and “Make a right there.” Her voice sounds frostbitten. Now that I’m doing nothing but sitting, my head has gone heavy from the booze.