In an Instant(47)

Most surprising is her obsession with my death. An entire shoebox in her closet is filled with clippings about the accident, along with all sorts of information about dying in a car accident and how to avoid being injured. Along with all the morbid reading is the deck of cards we used to play bullshit on the way up to the mountains and several photos of her and me that were taken over the years. She looks at the photos often, and watching her looking at them is heartbreaking. In each she is smiling almost eagerly, while I stand beside her barely suppressing a grimace, and it makes me feel terrible for how unkind I was, realizing now how much she genuinely wanted to be my friend.

Finally Mo says, “I don’t get it. Why bring it up all the time? It’s so awful. Don’t you want to put it behind you?”

Natalie cocks her head, like she’s unsure what Mo is asking.

“And the way you’re telling it,” Mo goes on, “changing it the way you have. It’s like your version and what actually happened are two completely different things.”

Natalie continues to look confused, and I realize it’s possible that in her mind, the truth has actually been altered. I think about how she has pored over the news clippings about the accident, reading them again and again as if trying to make sense of them or glean some wisdom. Then I think about how she was during the accident, the dazed look on her face as her parents took care of her, and I realize it might actually be possible she doesn’t really remember it, and now she is struggling to figure it out.

“Is that really how you remember it?” Mo says. There’s no anger in her tone, the question sincere, as if she really wants to know.

Natalie looks down at the sidewalk between them, and her head shakes slowly as she shrugs. “Actually I don’t really remember much about it at all,” she says. “I mean, I do. I know it happened, and I know I was there, but it’s blurry, like it happened to someone else a very long time ago. Is that how it is for you?”

Mo stiffens, and I watch as she exhales slowly through her nose, taking a long time before she answers. When she does, the words are slow and deliberate, betraying the effort it takes for her to speak about it. “No,” she says. “For me it’s the opposite, the memory so real it’s like I more than lived it, and so close it’s like it happened yesterday or like it’s going to happen again at any moment.”

Natalie’s eyes widen.

“Every detail so vivid that, most of the time, I can’t see past it.”

“Oh,” Natalie says.

Another long beat passes, Natalie fidgeting and Mo still.

“Can you tell me something?” Mo says.

Natalie nods, no longer in a hurry to return to her table.

“How did your dad end up with Oz’s gloves?”

Natalie shrugs.

“You don’t know?”

“Do you know what happened to that boy who was with us?” Natalie says instead of answering.

“I don’t know. I suppose he just went back to his life.”

“He was really cute,” Natalie says. “Didn’t you think he was cute?”

Mo gives a small smile. This is who Natalie is, a girl with the depth of a dime who would rather talk about a cute boy than almost dying in the cold, and who will deal with it in the dark, in the closet of her bedroom where no one can see, turning the story over again and again until finally she gets it right, altered into a version she can understand.

“He was really nice too. Didn’t you think he was nice? Do you know what he said to me when he gave me a boost onto the camper after we went outside? He told me it was going to be okay. He was wrong, and I knew he was wrong, but it was nice of him to say it.”

“He was wrong?” Mo says.

“Well, yeah? Nothing’s okay. I mean, maybe it is for him, but nothing’s okay for the rest of us. Finn and Oz died. Chloe’s all weird now and doesn’t have a bunch of toes. Vance dropped out of school. My parents are a mess. You’re, like, not even you anymore.”

Mo laughs, a high, lilting sound that makes me smile. “I’m not?”

“No. Just look at you.”

Mo looks down at herself. She’s wearing Converse sneakers, jeans, and a surf sweatshirt, very unfashionista. She laughs again, and Natalie giggles with her.

“I guess you have a point,” Mo says.

“Nat, let’s go,” Ryan hollers from the corner of the building. “Unless you’re arranging that threesome, then take your time.”

Mo rolls her eyes and holds up her middle finger. He gives a few hip thrusts in response, then trots off.

“He’s a jerk,” Mo says.

Natalie toes the ground.

“Well, I guess we should get to class,” Mo says.

Natalie doesn’t move. “You won’t tell?” she says.

“Tell what?”

“Why Oz gave his gloves to my dad?”

It surprises me, but it doesn’t, that Natalie has decided to confess. It’s amazing how people trust Mo. It has a lot to do with her eyes, wide pools of blue so innocent looking they seem incapable of deceit—at least this is what people believe.

“Crackers,” Natalie says. “My dad traded Oz two packages of crackers for his gloves.”

Mo’s right dimple twitches, but otherwise she doesn’t react. Her eyes remain steady on Natalie’s, and her rosebud lips still hold an understanding smile.