Page 27 of Falling Too Late

“Oh, well. . .” She picked out a few things, telling me that Wren would need to read the directions, and if she didn’t like one, to use the other.

“Is she cramping?”

“I don’t know. She just hasn’t felt good all day.”

The lady took me to another aisle and handed me something called Midol. “This will help with her pain.”

She took me to the front of the store, ringing everything up. “That will be $15.08.” She looked at me, and I pulled out the coin purse, counting out the change.

I was short. I only had $11.75. I didn’t have enough. I looked at the things, trying to figure out what to put back.

“Here, just take it.” She bagged everything up. “Oh, take this too.” She bent over the counter, and I stepped back, giving herroom. She grabbed two chocolate bars. “This always makes girls feel better.” She winked at me.

“I promise I will pay you back.”

She waved me off. “I’m sure you will, sweetheart.”

I stumbled into the apartment, sweat trickling down my back, with the plastic bag in hand. I was relieved to see that Wren was still asleep. I put everything in the bathroom, setting it on the kitchen sink before I went to Wren. I took a breath, trying to stop panting before I went inside.

I gently woke her up. Slowly she opened her eyes, rubbing them.

“Hey, how long did we sleep?” she asked sleepily.

“A while.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my face neutral. “I think. . .” I paused. “You started your period.”

Her brow crinkled, confusion written all over her face. The moment she understood what I was saying, I grabbed her hand, gently tugging her out of bed. “Come on, let's get you to the shower.”

After I got her another pair of sweats to wear, I went back to the bedroom and changed my own sweats. I shoved them into the hamper at the bottom. She came into the bedroom a short time later. Her hair was towel-dried, her head down. I felt like I’d made the right decision, not waking her up before I left. She would have just felt like crap the entire time, and there was no need for that.

“Hey.” I waved her over to me, pulling her down gently to sit next to me. “How’re you feeling?” She made a little noise. I chuckled. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“I ruined your sweats.”

“Wren, don’t you ever feel awkward about your body around me. There is no reason for that. Things like this happen and it's normal.” We resumed our lying back on the bed together. She was quiet and I didn’t like that she felt awkward.

I would do anything for her.?

“Hey, Wren?”

“Hmm?”

“What happened to your dad?”

She was quiet for a bit, and I thought she might have fallen back asleep, but then she rolled over in my arms, staring up at the ceiling. I rose up on my elbow and watched her.

“We had just moved into the apartment and my mom had the flu or something.” She laughed. “I remember my dad teasing her about it. ‘Who the hell gets the flu in the middle of summer?’ So, mom was sleeping inside, and dad took me outside and had me sit in the car while he was working on it. He promised me we would go get ice cream when he was done. So, I’m sitting in the passenger seat with all the doors open, singing along to the radio. I swear we were out there for what seemed like hours, and then I heard him say, ‘Alright birdy, I’m done.’ I had laid the passenger seat down, and when I went to get up, I grabbed something, and the car started to move and then you just hear my Dad scream. I had pulled the gear shift into neutral, and dad didn’t have the parking brake on. It rolled over his hips and broke them.”

She took a deep breath and continued.

“He was hospitalized for a few months. Had lots of surgeries and then physical therapy. Mom had to pick up more shifts at the cleaning agency she worked for. She worked lots of nights, so Dad and I would just lay in his bed and watch movies. He got better for a while, went back to work, but he was always in pain. Eventually the hospital stopped filling his prescription. It got really bad when he went on disability. He stopped going to therapy and just stayed home all the time. I don’t know when it started, but he got his hands on street drugs. The day he died, I was sitting on the floor of his room behind some laundry baskets.”

Wren's eyes glazed over as she spoke, like she was remembering it as she told me.

“I didn’t understand what they were talking about then, but I do now. The guy that dad normally got his pills from had been picked up and was in jail. Dad was in a lot of pain and told Mom to go down to 32nd Street and just buy something from whoever would sell it to her. Mom argued with him, but he yelled at her.Dad used to never yell. So, Mom got her coat from the laundry basket and saw me sitting there, and she said, ‘This is all your fault.’ I knew she blamed me. She wouldn’t look at me anymore. After she left, I crawled into Dad’s bed, and he said, ‘Don’t listen to her, birdy. Things have been rough for her too. But it will get better.’ At some point I fell asleep tucked up next to him. I woke up to the smell of vomit. I sat up and tried to wake him, but he was already gone. He had thrown up on my head.” She tilted her head back to look at me. “I don’t know if he died of an overdose or drowned in his vomit.”

I brushed her hair out of her face, giving my hands something to do. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It was, though. I pulled the stupid gear shift into neutral.”

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