Page 21 of Sparking Sara

Lydia nods. “I hope she’ll wake up. We may not have parted on the best terms, but I still wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about her? The doctor said we should talk about things she might like and that are familiar, so she won’t be so scared when she wakes up.”

I pull another chair over for Lydia and we sit down.

“I can tell you what sheusedto like. But if you want to know about the person she is today, that person is a stranger to me. That person will probably wake up and demand to be moved to the VIP suite.”

“The VIP suite?”

“Yeah. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, the girl is rich. I mean, she was rich even when we were kids, because she grew up in a wealthy household, and then she got everything when her parents died. And now she sells twenty-thousand-dollar paintings.”

“Isn’t that because she has to travel in order to paint them?”

“I guess. But still.”

“So, what can you tell me about her?”

Lydia looks at Sara like she can’t decide if she loves her or hates her.

“We haven’t spoken in over two years,” she says. “She was a lot to handle after her parents died four years ago. And that says a lot coming from me. You see, it takes one to know one. Bitches, I mean.” She laughs half-heartedly. “But the thing is, we knew that about ourselves and we owned it. We used people. We toyed with men for sport. We were selfish and demanding and rude. Except with each other. We were each other’s touchstone. We moved to the city together after high school and, man, did we have fun. But that all changed when her parents died. I tried to be understanding, because, well, they died within like six months of each other and that has to mess with a girl. But I just became another annoyance to her. I could only be her doormat for so long, you know? And then, once her paintings got noticed and she started hanging around with those snobby artists, it just all became too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

Two people have now painted a very unflattering picture of Sara. Yet I can’t help still feeling sorry for her. She lost both her parents. And now she’s alone. I know exactly what that feels like.

“No,I’msorry,” she says. “I kind of went off on a tangent. I know that’s not what you asked me. You want to know what she likes.” She gazes back at Sara, this time placing a hand on her arm. I can tell she’s trying to make an effort to be a friend even though she’s no longer considered one. Her face cracks into a small smile. “She liked the Beach Boys.”

My eyes go wide. “The Beach Boys? Really?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe it’s not so much that she liked them, but her parents did, and she was pretty close with them. And after we moved to the city, I always knew when she was feeling sad because she’d blare “Kokomo” or “Surfin’ USA” throughout the apartment.”

“Okay. Beach Boys. What else?”

“Cats. She liked cats. Neither of us had the time or patience for a dog, but we both loved our cat, Freckles. We got him together as our first purchase when we came to the city.”

“What happened to him? I hope he’s not stuck inside her apartment.”

“He’s not. I got him in the divorce. But I can’t say she hasn’t acquired a new one. However, take it from a cat owner, they can go days without their humans.”

“The divorce?”

“That’s what I call it. And I tell you, it sure as hell seemed like one. I mean we’d been friends since I moved in down the street when we were five years old. We were inseparable. My husband laughs at the stories I’ve told him about what mischief we used to get into.”

“Husband?” I ask. “You’re married? What about the whole ‘toying with men for sport’ thing?”

She admires her wedding rings for a second. “After I left, I realized I never wanted anyone to look at me the way I looked at Sara. I was tired of being a pretentious bitch. So I changed. I got a new apartment. A new job. And I just left my old life behind.”

“Wow,” I say in disbelief.

She laughs. “Yeah. It wasn’t easy at first. It’s hard to think of other people when you’ve put yourself first for so long. But then I met Dan. He called me on my shit and refused to let my inner bitch come through.” She rubs her belly, which I’m just now noticing is protruding. “And now we’ve been married for a year and are expecting our first child. Which reminds me, I only have another twenty minutes. I’m on my way to the obstetrician.”

“Congratulations,” I say. “Well, if we’ve only got twenty minutes, you need to start talking. Tell me everything you can remember.”

As Lydia shares knowledge of her former best friend with me, I listen intently for anything I could use to help Sara. We enjoy several laughs as she reminisces about their childhood. And by the time Lydia gets up to leave, I feel like I’ve gotten to know the woman lying on the bed.

On her way out, Lydia looks back over at Sara. I can tell this visit was hard for her. She’s still struggling over their lost friendship. But in my profession, I’ve seen tragedies bring people together. And I hope this isn’t the last time she will visit her old friend.

After Lydia is gone, I tap around on my phone, and then I turn up the volume as a Beach Boys song plays over my speaker.

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