Page 35 of Dallas

“Is that one of your psychology classes talking?”

She laughs. “Maybe. Why didn’t you go to school, Dallas?”

“I didn’t like it. I just remember being in Eugene, doing classes, walking around campus, feeling like I was playing pretend. Like none of it was real. Like I wasn’t real. Definitely like I didn’t deserve to be there. I think I mainly got in because of the essay I wrote about the first fifteen years of my life.”

“You deserved to be there,” she says. “You’re smart.”

“Well, I didn’t feel like it. Also, I didn’t like sitting still. I’m happier doing this. Anyway, I’ve found all the financial success I could possibly need in the rodeo. Guess I didn’t need school.”

“Maybe not. But it’s okay if you wanted it.”

I think about that for a moment. “Maybe a version of me would have. One who grew up in that house. With my dad. I bet my sisters will go to school. Maybe they’ll even be veterinarians. But they’ll have the luxury of having been raised in one place. Of having always known they were secure. Loved. Of having people praise the work that they do, make a big deal out of it. I love my family so much. I’m glad that I’m home. Gold Valley is my home.”

“But you feel on the outside of it sometimes.”

My jaw aches. “Yeah. I do.”

We arrive back at the cabin, and I open the door for her. “Want to watch a movie?” I ask. I don’t want to go to bed just yet, and I’m not sure why. Things feel a bit uncertain. They feel unsettled. Maybe because all this stuff has been dredged up to the surface.

“Yes. I do.” Her eyes go bright, and I know what she’sgoing to say before she even says it. I’ve set myself up. “I think we should watch Lord of the Rings.”

I groan. She was obsessed with that movie when we were kids. If we were ever in a household where we got to have some modicum of control over what was on TV, she would put on Lord of the Rings.

She smiles, wicked. “Please, Samwise Gamgee. I need you to come on this journey with me.”

“How the fuck did I end up being Samwise?” I ask, moving into the kitchen and rooting around to see if I have a bag of microwave popcorn somewhere. I do. She’s already fiddling around with my TV, toying with the remote and pulling up the settings to see where the movie is available.

Luckily, I have the service it’s streaming on. Well, luckily for her. I am an unwilling participant in this trip to Mordor.

“Because I’m Frodo,” she says. “The One Ring is all my trauma, I need to cast it into the fire, but I don’t really want to. The longer you carry it, the more you start to think it protects you, even though it causes you pain.”

I grimace. “That is a little bit on the nose, and something you’ve undoubtedly thought about before.”

She laughs. “Yes. I wrote a paper on it, actually. In one of my classes. A lot of times we carry trauma around for longer than we need to and it does become a weapon, a shield. I recognize it. I haven’t figured out how to cast mine into the fire, though.”

I pop the bag into the microwave, and press the popcorn button, which I know you’re not supposed to do, but I don’t care, I’m lazy.

I lean against the cabinets and stare at her while she curls up on my couch.

“Go on,” I say. “I’m interested.”

“I’m really angry, Dallas,” she says, suddenly very serious. “About all the things that happened to me. I’m angry they affect me, I’m afraid to let them not affect me. Because I…” She looks away. “I still don’t let anyone touch me.”

Her voice is soft, so soft that I almost can’t hear it. I’m not entirely sure I understand exactly what she’s saying.

“People you don’t know,” I press.

“No. Nobody. I don’t let anyone close. I… I’m so angry, because it’s the ring. Around my neck, right? But I put it on my finger too many times, I’ve used it to keep people at a distance. I’ve used it to remind myself that the world isn’t safe and I can’t trust anybody. Now I don’t know how to get rid of it. I’m just carrying it, and it’s a burden, and I’m basically Gollum.” She’s referencing the character who loses all his humanity chasing after the ring, which transforms him into a vile disgusting creature.

There is nothing vile or disgusting about Sarah.

“You’re not like that,” I say. “Sarah, you’ve been through a lot. Don’t be so hard on yourself about what you haven’t been able to let go of on top of everything else.”

“But it’s killing me,” she says. “Literally. I’m lonely. I want to feel normal. I don’t want dinners like that to be an anomaly. I don’t want connecting to people to be something I don’t have experience with. I’m almost twenty-one, I would damn well like to go on a date.”

I grit my teeth and pull the popcorn bag out of the microwave just before it stops, because I can hear that the popping has slowed down, and I'm sure it would burn if I left it.

I shake the bag as I walk over to the couch. “Yeah. You’re young.”

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