Part 21 (1/2)
”Listen.” Miguel pleaded, his thick Mexican accent disappearing into the paper walls. ”I have to tell you this. You are going to ... what did you call it? Nothingness? Is that what you said?”
She stared blankly through the winds.h.i.+eld.
”Sara, you have to know this, okay? Everybody go to the nothingness sometime. But some people fall in, right? And other people, they jump in. You are jumping in as far as you can. Why? You have to fight it. You have to try.”
”No, I don't. And anyway, weren't you the one asking me if I could get you some needles the other day?”
”I'm still losing the fight slower than you, my friend. How about you pick me up after work? We go to your place, we hang out when you make your little rocks. We can help each other to not do so much.”
”When I make the rocks.”
”Yeah. You always working on making the rocks. So maybe you want company.”
”Company? Or someone to watch and learn how I do it so he can cut me out of my business?”
”Sara, I am not-”
”I'll tell you what, Miguel. I'll drop you off at work. You go do your job. And you let me do mine.”
The receptionist's mouth hung open a little as she stared at Sara with wide eyes. She looked just like a victim in one of the Friday the 13th movies; if Sara had a machete like in the movies she would already be past the reception desk. The woman nervously licked her lips.
The fluorescent lighting burned through Sara like atomic radiation, cooking her. ”I don't have time to wait any more,” she said, leaning against the counter, afraid that she would collapse to the floor without it. She let the Jaguar keys dangle over the edge on the woman's side. ”I'm very busy. My father knows that. He'll see me if you just call him.”
What's her name? She's worked here for, like, forever. Calling her by name would help.
The woman looked anxiously over Sara's shoulder at the people in the waiting area. ”Sara,” she said quietly, ”I told you he's in consultation, and he left specific instructions that he can't be disturbed.”
”Yeah but that's for other things! I'm his daughter!”
The woman came around the counter to place a hand on Sara's shoulder, gingerly. When she grimaced and turned her face slightly away, the reason was clear - she was afraid of catching some kind of disease. She tried to steer Sara away from the counter, but Sara tightened her grip on its edge.
”Your father told all of us that we were not to disturb him with any contact from you, Sara. It was very specific. n.o.body from this desk is to transfer your calls to him or notify him if you show up. That's what he told us to do.” When Sara didn't move, she said, ”I'll leave him a note to tell him you were here, but he's not going to see you today.” She sighed. In pity? Frustration? ”You really should go home. It looks like you could use some sleep.”
”Yeah, okay,” Sara said. The woman released her. ”I know I look tired. I know I'm skinny and my eyes are all dark, okay? But I'm still his daughter. I just want to say h.e.l.lo.”
The receptionist returned to her post, mocking Sara with a forced expression of concern as she clung to the counter. ”I'm sorry, Sara. There's nothing else I can do for you.”
”I'm his f.u.c.king daughter!” Sara screamed. ”He won't even talk to his own f.u.c.king daughter? What the f.u.c.k is wrong with him? What the f.u.c.k is wrong with all of you?”
The receptionist picked up the phone, dialing three numbers. Sara stopped yelling.
Two security guards rushed up and grabbed her by the arms. People in the waiting room craned their necks, watching, as she was dragged backward down the hallway.
”f.u.c.k you! f.u.c.king a.s.sholes. This is a thirteen hundred dollar dress- get your f.u.c.king hands off it! Think you're big s.h.i.+t, making four bucks an hour to drag me away? Protecting my father from me? You think he respects you for it? He'd cut your f.u.c.king hearts out, that's all you'd get, talking to him.”
They pa.s.sed a cart with some medical supplies on it. Sara scanned it, hoping to see a few fresh needles, but saw none.
Not like I'd be able to grab them, anyway.
They dragged her - cursing and struggling, all the way down to the front entrance. They shoved her out the double gla.s.s doors as if she had been caught stealing from the place.
She clenched her fists and moaned. Just for an instant her fingers caressed the gun through her new Chanel bag's supple leather.
Yes. Teach them all. White words hung suspended on red again.
But no. This was a hospital. It was where normal, wholesome people came to get better when they were sick.
The sun was still out, but at least she was under the awning outside the front door. The light burned her eyes, even through the black Ray-Bans, and penetrated her long sleeves. How could she make it back to her car?
Angie appeared in front of her. Sara stared. Angie had cut her hair and gained just enough weight to look healthier. She was older now, without the awkwardness they'd both shared in high school. She was stronger, too, and more confident. Her father was probably taking her to lunch today.
So go ahead, b.i.t.c.h. Gloat. Laugh. Rub it in. Sara ran her fingers along the bulge in the purse again. Give it your best shot.
Angie's smile was sad. ”h.e.l.lo, Sara.”
Sara looked away, hiding her face. Even Angie is too decent now, unapproachable by the d.a.m.ned. That word hung in her mind: d.a.m.ned. Sara tried to straighten and look Angie in the face but the sun was too bright. She ended up slightly hunched over, peering up at her sideways. Angie took a deep breath. ”I am so sorry, Sara. I just-”
Her voice ended abruptly with a kind of whine. Then she took another breath and tried again.
”I wanted to call, but your phone was disconnected. I couldn't call your parents, n.o.body from school had ever seen you ...” She sighed. She started to cry but stopped herself, pursing her lips and squeezing her eyes shut for a moment.
”That day when I saw you weren't helping me stand up for you, it made me mad, you know?” She sniffed. A few more tears spilled down her cheeks as her eyes took in the wreckage that had once been her best friend. ”And then I was kicked out of your house, and your mom called my mom and yelled and screamed. And my mom was convinced you came from a bad family and banned you from my house, too ...
”And I knew how miserable your life was, but there wasn't anything I could do for you.”
She sighed again. Sara couldn't make her eyes focus on Angie, even to watch her as she turned to cardboard. All she could manage was a few quick glances at her face.
”Then the night of the party, you didn't show up, and Josh and I both just ... We let ourselves be mad at you.” She cried for real this time, with real sobs, as her hands wrung the burgundy Aigner bag she carried.
She sniffed again, blinking hard as she fought to control her voice. ”And ... and later in the summer, we talked about it. And we realized that all we'd really wanted was an escape from your life.”
A new look crossed Angie's face. Anger, maybe, or pity. ”We were so young. All of us. And we were graduating and moving on, and ... and we just couldn't stand to be needed so desperately. And we couldn't stand to watch you wither away, and we felt so helpless whenever we were around you- it was like you were draining the life out of us.
”And talking like that, we saw that what we'd done was just trying to break away- to get as far from your life and your family and all your issues as we could, and to make it permanent.”
Sara stared straight ahead. Angie spoke again.
”Once we figured out why we'd done it, we knew there was nothing between us. Nothing but guilt and shame, anyway. We broke it off, and then we traded letters a few times- mostly just asking whether we'd heard anything about you, or if you'd heard about it. But you never did. You never talked to anyone or went anywhere, and you just kept on needing. And I felt so bad ... so I tried to help, still. But I knew you'd find out somehow. Or figure it out.”
Angie's hand appeared on Sara's shoulder. Another ginger touch, but at least she didn't cringe. She tried to look into Sara's blackened eyes but Sara couldn't focus. When Angie spoke again, it was just a whisper.
”I'm so, so sorry, Sara.”
The one you're talking about is gone. I'm something new, now. Something powerful. Something that needs only to feed.