Not If I See You First(46)
“Hey!”
—and I yank it out and hold it to my right in case she tries to grab it.
She pulls the car over violently and we bounce against the curb and stop.
“Jesus!” I say. “What the hell’s wrong with you? It’s just a f*cking song!”
Silence.
Well, not exactly. Over the idling car engine, Sheila’s breathing heavy. No, she’s breathing funny, like she’s trying not to cough, or sneeze, or…
Oh shit, she’s crying.
“I… I’m sorry. Here.” I hold out her CD.
It’s yanked from my hand and clatters against the windshield. She sniffles and coughs twice.
“I didn’t mean to…” To what? I didn’t really say anything personal. “It’s okay.”
She snorts and growls, “Fuck you, Parker.”
The car lunges forward—we’re driving down the street again. She’s not sobbing or anything but her stuttering breaths tell me she’s still crying.
“I wasn’t really yelling at you. I was just talking loud over the music. I didn’t mean anything—”
She coughs again. “God, Parker, you think this is because you yelled at me? Everything isn’t about you! Other people have problems and… and… f*ck, whatever.”
I get it now, finally. She was crying when she picked me up. The music was so I wouldn’t hear.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s not about you!”
“I know, I’m just—”
“Ha! What do you know? Tell me! Tell me what you know!”
“It’s not about me—”
“I hear the words but everything else tells me you don’t know! Yeah, you got big problems… You really are blind! You can’t see you’re not the center of the universe! That other people have lives and things happen to them all the time and you know nothing about it!”
“How can I if nobody tells me?”
“You think everyone runs around telling everybody everything? Or that we can all read each other’s faces? That’s not how it works!”
The car jerks to the left and we bounce into the driveway and stop hard enough that my seat belt locks down on my collarbone.
“No,” Sheila says, loud but hoarse. “You just don’t care. Say whatever you want but in your head it is all about you. Except it isn’t, Parker. It really, really isn’t.”
She kicks open the door and it crashes shut. Her footsteps trot to the door, keys hit the ground, get picked up, the door opens, and then it slams.
After a minute I slide my hands across the dash until I find her CD. It seems okay—no scratches I can feel. I search some more and find an empty case. I put the CD inside and stow it in my bag to give her later.
I know why I’m so sure of everything all the time; it’s because I can’t stomach the alternative, that I can’t be sure of anything ever. But when my breathing calms down and I think it through, honestly, the hard truth is clear. I was wrong about pretty much everything that happened in this car ride. And if I let myself think about it, I might be wrong about a lot of other things too.
NINETEEN
It takes me an hour to cane to Sarah’s house. It used to take less time but it’s been a couple years since I walked it. She would have picked me up if I called her but I needed time to think, to meditate even, which is what cane-walking can be like. Besides, I want to do all the work myself this time, just in case.
I ring the doorbell.
It’s strange but I’m here hoping to learn I’m wrong, and I hate being wrong, except this time I’d give anything to be. If I’m not, well… I don’t have a Plan B.
The door opens. Sarah says, “Parker? Did you walk here?”
“Do I talk too much?”
“What?”
“I dunno. We talk about me more than you… I thought it was because I had more… drama… but maybe I don’t. Maybe I just… don’t listen enough.”
“That’s not true,” Sarah says. “You always listen when I need to talk.”
“But?”
“But nothing. I just… don’t need to talk about things as much, maybe.”
“I don’t tell you everything because I need to,” I say, feeling prickly. “I thought we were friends, not that I was one of your patients.” I try to use my bitter voice—it comes out sounding pathetic instead.
“Hey, Parker, no. No. Is that what’s going on? Jesus…” She leans in and her voice deepens and gets hoarse, something I rarely hear. “Don’t you ever think anything like that! Get in here!”
She jostles me and uses the contact to take my arm and pull me inside and close the door and now she’s hugging me and whispering loudly in my ear. “I love you, Parker. You’re my sister. No, better than that; real sisters you’re stuck with—we’re sisters because we want to be.”
I don’t know what to say or even think. She doesn’t loosen her grip.
“You hear me? I love you more than family. We’ve known each other so long I can’t even remember when we met. If we don’t get prom dates, we’re going together. We’re going to each other’s weddings. We’re babysitting each other’s kids. We’re going to get drunk and complain about our husbands. When we get divorces we’re moving in with each other to get back on our feet and find better guys. We’re driving each other to the hospital for chemo when we’re seventy. Right? Right?”