Page 18 of What You Left Me

“Hm,” I answer, not sure where this is going. “I don’t think I know you.”

“That’s cool…” He drifts off, his interest directed more toward the plant than me. “Wanna get out of here? Fly’s got another surgery in half an hour. We’ll come back after.”

If there is a course correction to be made, a way to stop myself from dropping farther down the rabbit hole, I can’t see it. So while falling, I might as well fall spectacularly.

“Sure,” I say.

7

I’m pretty done with this dream, and the somewhere, everywhere, nowhere place I am. It’s making me think of the time Mama Dorothy hauled me to the mall super early to hunt for Black Friday deals. I got separated from her, and a bunch of competitive adults swept me up in their pack. They figured I belonged to another woman among them. Thought my crying had to do with the usual little boy problems. Boredom. Hunger. Tiredness. Lack of toys. At some point, I started holding my breath, sick of that weird Williams-Sonoma smell all older ladies at the mall carry with them. About to pass out, I swayed into this blond woman with bug eyes and lipstick on her teeth. She looked at me and said, “Little one, who is your mommy?”

I got returned to Mama D, and after she chewed out every person who would listen, and some who wouldn’t, we went home. We had to take the bus because I wouldn’t unwrap my arms from around her hips. “If anything ever happens to you again,” she said, “don’t worry. I’ll always find you. I’ll handle it.”

It’s like I’m there again, stuck in the middle of a tornado with no one bothering to notice yet. I’d really like for my mom to walk into my bedroom right now and shake me awake. You know, find me and handle it.

• • •

When in doubt, mall it out. Even I live by this rule. It’s the universal, uniting space for all social groups. Turrey—I feel oddly more comfortable calling him that than Mike—drives us here without asking. The wheels of his truck are hiked up so high it’s like cliff diving to reach land, so he walks around to my side and extends his hand out to help me down. Neglecting his gesture, I leap.

Catapulted forward, I’m instead hurtling myself out of Ryan’s Jeep, the air acting as a temporary harness, holding me up as words twist around, taking cruel shapes in my mind. The pavement stings my shins on impact, releasing me to the present.

I’m here.

It’s just a memory.

I’m here.

“Okay?” Turrey asks.

My hands are sweaty, and I’m digging my fingernails into my palms, standing idly outside of Turrey’s gigantic truck. Not Ryan’s Jeep. “I just like to do it myself.”

Turrey shakes his head and starts walking toward the entrance. I don’t bother keeping pace because he’s not much for small talk, which I appreciate, especially now, rattled by the aftershocks of what just worked its way to the surface.

Turrey heads to the food court, and our respectful silence is broken only by the word, “Pizza?” To which I nod. As we wait in line, I text Cameron.

Today’s even weirder than yesterday

What?

Why?

Did you go back to the hospital?

Yeah

I saw him

WHAT?!

Yeah. His sister told me to go see him

So I did

It was so weird

I don’t know why I did it

OMG Petra