Purple Hearts(60)

Rita returned from the kitchen, where she’d warmed up today’s plate of sesame chicken.

“Where’s yours?” I asked her.

“I’m burned out on Chinese food.”

Footsteps on the stairs.

Cassie entered, kicking off her Converses and socks, humming along to some tune in her headphones, smelling like fresh air. I wondered if I was excited because it was Cassie, or if I was excited because since I’d killed a fly earlier this morning, this was the most exciting thing to happen all day.

My tongue was feeling loose. Cloud head was descending. “Want some sesame chicken?” I called.

She paused in the path to her bedroom and looked at me, startled. “What?” She took her headphones off her ears and I noticed for the millionth time that everything was harder than before. I thought of our e-mails, our jokes. Speaking in code, poking at each other, but stopping if it hurt.

“Oh, I said do you want any lunch? You can have some of this,” I said.

“I can’t eat that shit,” she muttered, and continued on her way. That’s right. I always forgot. But how was I supposed to know? I don’t know, dumbass, maybe look it up.

“Well, I should be going,” Rita said. “I’ll leave you kids to it.”

“No, don’t go—” I began.

At the same time, Cassie said, “No, Rita, you can stay.”

“Nah, I gotta go let Dante out.” Rita held up a peace sign. “See ya later, champ.”

When she shut the door, the room got quieter. I could hear the music pumping from Cassie’s headphones across the room. She kept them around her neck, pressed pause, and continued into the kitchen without a word.

As I ate, I could hear her take something out of the refrigerator, the sounds of a knife hitting the cutting board. Since I’d moved in, she’d begun to sort of vibrate.

Or else I just knew her now. Measured steps, water for tea, humming: she had either just played music or had sex with Toby, which I hated to think about. Quick steps and tossing her purse meant she was late and pissed, or looking for something she had lost, which happened a lot; she forgot her phone on her nightstand at least every other day. Slow steps meant she was tired or thinking hard or about to sit down and write music.

My empty, sesame-sauce-streaked plate sat in my lap. I was about to set it aside, but then I realized Cassie might think I expected her to clear and wash it. Rita usually took care of this part. Well, not today, cloud head said. Cloud head told me I should prove that I wasn’t just an eating, sleeping blob.

But you are just an eating, sleeping blob, regular head said. You couldn’t keep Frankie safe. You can’t keep yourself safe. What makes you think you’re not going to fuck this up?

With my good leg, I scooted the chair into the kitchen, plate and fork in hand. Go ahead, try. See what happens when you try.

Cassie was cutting tomatoes, keeping her eyes on her task. Chop. Chop. Chop.

Her kitchen seemed to shrink. I was having a hard time steering the chair in the right direction without the use of both hands. I started to sweat, from frustration or effort, I couldn’t tell. Now I was in the middle of the tile, not one foot from Cassie, eye level with her back and ass. Great.

Either I would have to wait until she was done chopping, or ask her to move so I could get to the sink.

My thoughts were moving slowly. This was the problem with the “one-thing” function of OxyContin. It seemed to take about three minutes to move from one idea to the next.

I summoned more cloud head, trying to sound polite. “Could I get by here?”

She turned, glancing at the plate and fork. “Just give them to me,” she said, reaching.

“No, no, it’s okay,” I said, moving them out of her reach.

“Luke, you can’t reach the faucet—” she said, grabbing again, and the movement made me lose my grip on the plate. It fell to the floor and cracked in two.

“Shit,” we said at the same time.

She stooped to pick it up.

“Please, let me,” I said, and the room seemed to expand to normal size again, but too quickly, almost knocking the wind out of my lungs. I heard bullets—no particular sensation had reminded me, and yet I could hear them, just like I could hear the sound of the flag whipping. They’re picking us off from the northwest hill. My voice was distorted again, shaking, this time by something other than anger. Something that came from the same place in my stomach.

As if sensing it, Cassie rose and stepped away.

I leaned over in the chair, folding my torso to its limit to grab the plate halves.

Why did these little things mess with my brain like this? Why couldn’t I just let life pass through me? And of course, because I never left her apartment, Cassie was around every single time this happened.

I wheeled to a spot next to the counter and set the pieces near an avocado. “Or do you want me to put them in the trash?”

“Right there’s fine, thanks.”

She breezed past me. “Do you need the bathroom? I’m going to take a shower.”

I stayed facing the wall, but I could feel her moving across the room. Good fucking work, Morrow. This was the problem with regular head. Regular head was worse. Regular head sent me nightmares during the day. Cloud head would take over most of the interactions from now on, I decided right then. And I know what you’re thinking, I said in my head to no one. You think it’s because I like the OxyContin. No. That’s not it.