What Happens Now(19)

I parked and we got out, then sat on the wall. The lights of the valley below us, the geometric shapes of crop fields, and the vague suggestion of hills and an unseen river in the distance. It was home.

“Want to share this with me?” Kendall asked as she pulled a beer out of her huge purse.

“You know I don’t drink.”

“Just checking, in case that’s changed.”

I gave her a look. “Still on the same medication so no, that hasn’t changed. But that’s classy, carrying beer around with you.”

Kendall shrugged. “This would be part of the ‘doing whatever the hell we want to’ program. That girl, Claire, from work? Her father has a craft brewery. She gives these to me as a thank-you for covering for her when she’s late for her shift.”

She opened the bottle and took a sip, made a face, but then took another sip. Kendall had more freedom than anyone else I knew—she was the youngest of four and the only one left living at home, so her parents were pretty much over it—she never seemed compelled to take advantage of this. Until now.

I watched her, wondering how drinking a homemade beer was going to help bring her all the things she felt she’d been missing. Finally I asked, “Do you think it’ll be a good summer, Kendall?”

“It might. But there’s so much pressure. I mean, what makes something a good summer, anyway? Is there a checklist of things we’re supposed to do?”

“It didn’t used to be that way. We just had fun.”

“Well, now we have other stuff.” Kendall paused, took another swig of beer, and then turned to me. “Although I was thinking about how we used to hang out on the raft at the lake and play Truth. We haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Could that be because we’re not thirteen anymore?”

“Aw, come on. You’re never too old for Truth.”

“Who goes first?” I asked.

“Me.”

“Okay. Bring it on.”

Kendall shifted on the wall and placed the bottle down beside her, took a deep breath, and then quickly pushed out the words. “When you sliced up your arm. You’ve always said you weren’t trying to kill yourself. Is that really, truly true?”

Now that the question had been asked, she seemed to deflate with relief.

“Yes,” I said. “Of course it is. All this time, you never believed me?”

Kendall’s face took on extra shadow. In that shadow, I saw the things that kept changing between us, all the distances and differences we were constantly trying to bridge.

“Can you blame me for not being so sure?” she asked faintly.

I held out my left arm and pushed up the sleeve. “Look how high these cuts are. They’re nowhere near my wrists or even a main artery. You think my grasp of anatomy is that bad?”

Kendall looked long and hungry-curious at the scars. I’d never invited her to examine them before.

She swallowed hard. “So then, why?”

I paused and looked up at the sky, which seemed full of extra stars. I couldn’t articulate it to myself, let alone Kendall. The pain, and the urge to punish myself for feeling it in the first place, and the need to let it out. The unbearable relief of watching my skin open up. Imagining the gashes were mouths that screamed Help into the silence.

“All I can tell you,” I finally said, “is that at the time, I couldn’t not do it. Does that make some kind of sense?”

Kendall thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “It actually does. But why . . . why . . . the other stuff . . . ?”

“You mean, why was I depressed in the first place?”

“Did something happen or . . .”

She stopped, hoping I would finish the sentence and maybe it would be one shocking revelation that would explain it all. Here came the truth I’d only admitted to my therapist.

“That was the hard part . . . ,” I began, forcing the words out quickly. “Nothing happened. There was no reason. I have a mom and a stepdad and a half sister who love me. I didn’t get hurt or traumatized. My biological father checking out on me was pretty bad, for sure, but that was so long ago.”

I paused, and Kendall stared, and in the darkness I hoped she could see how tough this was for me.

“But still,” I continued. “It came. Or maybe I should say, I think it’s always been there. I get now that it’s part of who I am.”

A car pulled into the parking lot just then and we both glanced up to watch it. A young couple climbed out and perched themselves on the hood to light cigarettes.

“Truth,” I finally said, smoothing my sleeve back down. I didn’t want Kendall to say anything; I wanted it to simply be out there, floating on its own, with no need for a response to make it more true. “So now it’s my turn?”

“Yup,” said Kendall.

I thought hard about which honesty I wanted, and realized I wanted honesty, period. The specifics didn’t matter.

“Tell me something you haven’t told anyone else.”

“Too vague. Don’t wimp out on me here.”

I sensed she was inviting me closer, over some extra barrier I didn’t know was there.

“Tell me something you’ve been afraid to tell me,” I said. The words felt risky and raw.