You Love Me(You #3)(55)

And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.

The night before Mother’s Day. You invited me to “tag along” with you and Nomi but you didn’t call the restaurant and change the reservation and I had to sit at that table in the way of all the waiters and spent the whole meal apologizing.

And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.

Last fall I told you I wish I had a boyfriend or a kid just so I had someone to drive around with when the leaves are changing and you said aaww and the next day you posted a picture of you and Nomi on the way to Fort Ward.

And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.

I read that Sarah Jio book and I told you it made me feel hopeful because look at these sexy men lusting after this woman close to our age and you laughed and said “Good luck” and then you asked if I ever heard back from that job in Minneapolis.

And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.

Christmas. I told you I had the flu and you knew I was lying because you know me and you didn’t come over and force me to come over even though you knew I wasn’t sick.

And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.

I don’t want the pain anymore. I am not a good friend. So I can’t blame you for not being a good friend to me.

I’m not gonna dress it up and I’m not gonna make excuses because it is what it is and you need to know it.

Phil and I have been sleeping together for ten years. At my place. In his car. At his studio and at that wealth management place by the pub. The bunkers at Fort Ward.

I betrayed you. And I am sorry.

You betrayed me. And hopefully you are sorry.

Please respect my decision to walk away and save my own life. Nomi will miss me but she has a mom and a dad who love her and she’ll be okay. Goodbye, good love. M.

Send. Vomit. Breathe.

I carry my poor dog up the stairs and my pet is heavy and my house smells like salmon. Licious and Tastic and Riffic are running around, lazing about, cold as the grammar that inspired their names, acting as if nothing is wrong, as if I’m not holding a dead fucking body. But in a way, nothing is wrong. I didn’t kill this woman. I carry her body into my garage and I pop the trunk and I get in the car and I start the car.

I turn on some Sam Cooke—got to stay positive—and I break the speed limit, but only by five miles—the Injustice System better not fuck with me, Mary Kay. Not tonight—and you told me to go to Fort Ward before we even met and tonight, I’m finally doing it. You like Fort Ward and Melanda fucked your husband at Fort Ward so that’s where Melanda will rest. I know how to get there and I know where to park and I wanted to come here with you, not her.

It isn’t fair. None of this is fair. I kill my headlights. My heart thumps in my chest. All it takes is one cop, one restless rambler, one set of horny teens. But it’s January and it’s after midnight and time is the only thing on my side and thank God for that.

I get out of the car. There are no cameras in the lot and I spot the tiny shack the Meerkat talked about when we were coaching Mothballs with their iPhones—the moss on the roof is like the floor of a forest for Barbies—and there’s the opening to the trail you told me about—quickest way to the bunkers is the first entrance—and there’s the entrance I need: the long way up.

I strap the flashlight on my head—thanks, Cooley Hardware—and I ease RIP Melanda out of the trunk. I don’t belong here. I did not kill her and Fort Ward is not the Grand Forest and I hear you in my head, in my soul—When you do go to Fort Ward, make sure you don’t walk off the trail because there are some surprisingly steep drop-offs—and the trail is steeper than I anticipated and damn you, Melanda, because this is the definition of injustice.

I didn’t kill her. I didn’t.

I struggle to stay upright and you weren’t kidding. This isn’t the Grand Fucking Forest—the first part of the trail is paved, thank God—and it helps to have you with me as I climb, as pavement gives way to rocky terrain. My thighs burn—Sorry, Seamus, but this is harder than a Murph—and the endorphins kick in and I am angry. I am sad.

I didn’t kill her. I didn’t do this.

But my heart is thumping faster and louder and my forehead is a sweaty foul place and every time I put one foot in front of the other, I am steadier, my muscles are adjusting. But then I am angrier by the second. An anger that taints every endorphin in my body.

I didn’t fucking do this, Mary Kay. I didn’t.

I pass a chain-link fence, I’m getting there, and the black rocks work against me, unstable enemies on the floor of the forest trying to take me down with every step, and I am deaf with pain until finally the trail bends and to my left I see the abyss—not as deep as I expected but deep enough—and I break away from the trail. I’m a gentleman and I try to carry her but it is steep—you were right—and eventually I just can’t hold on to her any longer.

“Sorry, Melanda.”

I drop her body and let it roll down into the core and she loses her duvet along the way and it all comes back to me, the horror of what she did.