Page 33 of The Burning
“I’m not. I have plenty of other shit to worry about,” I said.
He made a face at me.
Our conversations about Karina were usually one-sided, and I used them to learn what I could about her. It had to be the pull of her mystery that still had me obsessing over her. Even though I knew she was becoming a ghost in my life now, I couldn’t shake her. Chance encounters like the hospital soon wouldn’t be possible.
“I don’t think you guys would’ve worked out, anyway. She can be difficult sometimes and needs a guy who can balance that. And she’s shy with guys, anyway. It’s because she’s never really dated except that dweeb Brien, and he was such a dumbass.”
It took a lot to keep up with even a conversation with Karina, intellectually and emotionally. She never said what I expected her to say, and she always kept me on my toes. With the mind games, the all-knowing explanations for everything under the sun. She was both right and wrong, forest fire and iceberg. She had her escape routes mapped out long before she even entered a situation. Shewasdifficult, but did Fischer realize the irony of him being the one to call her that? Shy was so far from what she was. Discreet, you might say, but notshy. Perhaps he had never seen her the way I had or gotten to know her like I did.
It wasn’t that she was shy—it was that she was closed off because she doesn’t trust anyone. I would never tell him that or expose any part of her to him—that’s her own prerogative to share or withhold—so I had to think carefully about what to say to him.
“There are a million reasons why we would never work, and it’s done now, anyway, so stop thinking about it and asking me weird shit about your sister.”
I stood up straight, letting some of my body weight move back to my leg.
“I’ll stop,” he said through a mouthful of cheap stewed beef. “But you should stop thinking about her, too, because this is the third time we said we were going to change the subject.” He paused, then said again, “You should reconsider the camping trip. It could be the last time we’re all together.”
I shook my head.
“I’ve had my share of camping with all of them in Afghanistan. Adding booze and girls would only make it worse.”
He smiled, showing nearly all of his perfectly straight, bright-white teeth. “Booze and girls never make anything worse.”
Chapter Fifteen
Karina
My day off started off uneventfully. I got my paycheck, which was nice and chunky with all the extra shifts I’d pulled. I made myself coffee and walked to the nail place down the street and came out with my nails and toes painted Lucky Lucky Lavender. I’d felt like getting black, but talked myself out of it. My nails didn’t need to match my mood.
When I’d written my name on the waiting list, my nails were borderline embarrassing. But picking Lucky Lucky Lavender from a huge book full of painted fake fingernails, I knew things were about to get better. Plus, my luck was that the technician suggested that I add a layer of gel to strengthen my nails, so I did. The gel made them longer, and my hands just felt pretty and feminine in a way that they usually didn’t. I kept them short for work, but this length wouldn’t get in the way. The tech was such a good saleswoman that I paid extra for a ten-minute hand massage. Her fingers were magic on my overused muscles. As a massage therapist, I could tell she knew what she was doing and it was so, so good having someone else massage me for once.
On my way home, I passed the hair salon on the row and saw a woman I’d never seen before standing in the back doorway, lit cigarette in hand. Pointing to the little hand-drawn wooden sidewalk sign, she told me they were having a special on highlights and eyebrow waxing.
“I can add an eyebrow dye job for five,” she told me in a raspy voice while staring at my eyebrows for way too long.
Her forehead was shiny with sweat. The sun was going to be unforgiving today. It was barely 11:00 a.m. and the sidewalk was already heating up. I could feel it under my flip-flops as I walked through the alley. It was cold yesterday, hot today. Freaking Georgia couldn’t make its mind up whether fall was ever coming to stay or not.
I declined her generous offer as politely as I could, without actually having to talk to her and without making much in the way of eye contact. She flicked the cigarette onto the ground right before I passed and then walked back inside the shop, letting the heavy metal door slam behind her. I glanced at the door before I mashed her cigarette butt into the sidewalk to make sure it was out, picked it up, and put it in a nearby trash can.
I couldn’t help but stop and look into the side mirror of a van parked in the alley. I touched my roots, pushing them down to see just how grown out they were. They were invading my dark strands like the United States invaded small countries for oil. It was tragic.
Maybe I should dye my hair again? I felt like shit lately, and getting my nails done would give me a little boost of confidence. Maybe it was true, the montage they used in romance books and movies where the woman has her Cinderella moment and changes her appearance and—poof!—she forgets the boy and feels great and lives her best life with her group of happy, single, amazing friends—and another guy comes in and saves the day!
Insert eye roll here.
I didn’t buy that shit for a second. It’d take a hell of a lot more than an appearance change to move on, but what I did buy was hair dye. Two tubes: one dark blond and one a shade darker to blend and break up the dullness that was contributing to my complexion looking so gray and dull. My skin had lost the little bit of color it once had, probably because I hadn’t been outside much lately save for my walks to and from work. Loading up on vitamin D would take some time, but dyeing my hair had always been my restart button since I was first allowed to do it on my thirteenth birthday.
I’d gone through phases of pinkish hair, nearly fried my hair trying to have silver, and went from brunet to blond when I needed to completely escape and refresh. Since salons were so expensive, and I really needed to put my money into my house, I grabbed a mixing brush and bowl to make myself feel more professional and went on my way, hoping for the best, and only thirty dollars poorer.
An hour later, I stared at my freshly dyed, lighter hair and my bright-lavender nails in the mirror. As I looked at myself, I felt new. The tube said my hair would be a “golden walnut” color; I didn’t know what that was, exactly, but I liked it. The lightness of it made my skin look a little pink, which made me feel more alive. Like the constant switching of hair colors, I’d always gone through phases of being the most confident girl in the room, to feeling like everyone in the room secretly hated me and was talking shit about me behind my back. Oh, the fun of overthinking.
My new hair reminded me of my hair when I was sixteen, a funny thought because I was literally wearing an old T-shirt from my high school as my PJs. It had a hole in the sleeve, and my shorts were the same color gray. With the texture of a soft towel, they were my favorite shorts and were tied to memories of comfort over the last few years. My hair and nails now done, it seemed like a good time to attempt my five-step skin-care routine, a major commitment of time and money.
Everything around me was constantly changing, now more than ever, and I was trying to just keep my feet on the ground. Austin was leaving soon; even though there was a chance he would be at Fort Benning for basic, I wouldn’t see him until Family Day and graduation. Phillip would be coming home in the next few months, and I would be living alone again. Sometimes I secretly longed for it, to not have to talk with Elodie about the day or how I felt, and just sit in chosen silence or watch reality shows, turning my brain off without worrying about anyone else.
At the same time, I needed to get my shit together and focus on my life and career and holing up alone in my house wouldn’t accelerate that progress. In reality, I didn’t even have a career yet—I had training, but I needed more experience. I had no idea what my actual plan was beyond knowing that I didn’t want to work for Mali forever. I needed to make more money so I could struggle less, save for the future, buy a decent car, and not hold my breath when I opened my electricity bill every month.
Who was I kidding? I didn’t even know what I was doing this weekend, let alone with the rest of my life. I needed to get out of my own head. I was spending way too much time in there lately.
