Unravel(29)

She could grab her toothbrush and purse and no one would know that she had even lived here.

I wondered how many times she had cleaned up her room like she had the barn. I trembled at the thought.

Lana moved around the room, opening and closing drawers. She held her pajamas to her chest and quietly walked into the bathroom that was connected to her room and shut the door. A few seconds later I heard the shower turn on.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the door.

Blindly, I reached for the lock on the door. I couldn’t find one.

I bent down and inspected the doorknob.

There was no lock.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered.

I stood back up. I wrapped my arms around my mid-section. I felt sick to my stomach. The urge to leave was powerful, but I couldn’t leave Lana.

As Lana walked out of the bathroom, a trail of mist followed behind her. Her sleep pants had pink sheep on them. She wore a white t-shirt that was three sizes too big. She looked too small and fragile for the things that had happened to her. How had she not broken apart?

I bit my cheek to keep from crying.

Lana took the decorative pillows off her bed, tossing them in the corner. I moved away from the door. My fingers trailed across her computer desk.

She got into bed and reached over to turn off the lamp. She looked over at me. “Good-night.”

She turned off the lights. The sheets rustled as she got comfortable.

“Night,” I whispered.

This was how she was going to end the night.

No tears.

No emotions.

No anything.

I lay flat on my back. Every muscle in my body was tense. I was afraid to relax. I was afraid to move. Or even breathe. So I watched the ceiling fan blades move slowly above me. I tried to focus on happy things. Good things. The fan blades reminded me of a Ferris wheel. I pictured a state fair and how out of three months of summer, the fair always landed on the hottest day. I envisioned the greasy food, shrieks of laughter and the buzz of conversations.

I narrowed my eyes and did my best to keep the scene going. But the memory of Lana and me when we were thirteen popped into my head. We were waiting in line for the Ferris wheel. She was staring up at the ride, pupils dilated. The line started to move. I urged her to walk forward. She turned and looked at me with frantic eyes. “I’m not going on that.” She got out of line and stood to the side. My turn came. When I reached the very top I looked down at her. She was still there, by herself, with a vacant expression.

“How was it?” she asked when I got off.

It was nothing. I had been too busy looking at her, making sure she was okay. I shrugged and told her it was okay. We moved onto a different activity, and I had brushed away the moment and moved on.

But now I understood that Lana didn’t need to be in control of her life. She just needed to be ready for whatever came her way. I could still hear the water dripping in the bathroom and the normal creaks that houses make. I tried my best to ignore the noises. My eyes involuntarily drifted back to the door. I quickly looked away, my fingers gripping the sheets.

Lana’s breathing was starting to even out. I turned and stared at the back of her head.

Did I even know the person I called my best friend?

I used to think so.

I knew that she couldn’t dance. She loved movies because in two hours or less you were normally guaranteed a happy ending. Sky blue was her favorite color and she loved waking up early to watch the sunrise and hated rainy days.

I thought those facts were part of her story. But they weren’t. They were just a simple punctuation mark—the beginning of who she really is.

“Lana?” I whispered.

I didn’t count on her answering. I just had to keep my mind busy.

For a few minutes there was nothing but silence. The sheets rustled and she said in a hoarse voice, “Yeah?”

I knew that she didn’t want to talk about it. But there was this ache in my chest that was deep and powerful. It wouldn’t leave until I talked to her.

“How long has it been going on?” I whispered.

I heard her swallow. “Since I was ten.”

Her words echoed around the room, taking up the air around me, making it impossible for me to breathe.

“Does anyone know?”

“Just my mom.” She said her words so casually, as if we were shooting the breeze and talking about what we ate for dinner.

“A-and she’s done nothing?” I whispered.

“It would be shame on the family,” Lana whispered back. “So she sweeps it under the rug and pretends nothing’s happened.”

I was stunned speechless.

When you look at Lana’s mom you see heels, pearls and lipstick. She’s always so put together. She’s a throwback to the era of Susie Homemaker.

Quickly, I was realizing that her image was just smoke and mirrors. That mist was starting to fade and I saw the truth.

I had no words. At least nothing that could erase what had happened to her.

“I’m so sorry,” I said brokenly.

They were just three simple words. But said in the right way, said with truth and compassion, they could put a soul back together again.

A choked sound came from Lana. It sounded like an animal dying and it was gut wrenching. Tears instantly pooled in my eyes, my vision blurred.

I didn’t hug her and I didn’t bother her with any more questions. I just lay there next to her and let her cry.