Page 45 of This I Know
“What was that about?”
“Honestly, I don’t know right now.”
She mouths, “You’vegotto tell me later.”
I nod.
I’m trying to act normal, and I’m trying to feel normal. But I’m not doing a good job at either. As we all sit and wait for the bell, I reach down to my knee where he just was and touch it with my own fingers, as though trying to sense what he sensed and feel what he felt. The chills return.
I pull my hand away.
The following night, Mara calls my house around six o’clock. My mom must be one of the only people on the planet to still have a landline, and Mara likes to call it as a sort of joke. “I’ve never called an actual house phone before,” she’d once said. “I think it’s hilarious.”
I get it. It is like a kind of thrill, like interacting with a museum exhibit that you know is from the olden times. The antiqueness is fascinating. And itishilarious, I guess, especially when my mom answers and doesn’t see the humor in it at all.
“Hold on,” my mom says into the receiver. She holds out the phone to me, extending the cord as far as it’ll go. “Here.”
“Hello?” I say, my voice high and fake as though I have no idea who it could possibly be. I’m playing this up for Mara.
She breaks out laughing through the receiver. “Is your mom ever going to get rid of this thing?”
“Probably not.” My voice goes back to normal. “She’s kind of resistant to change. I should never have given you this number, should I? I have a cell phone for a reason, you know. Privacy. Social norms. Stuff like that.”
“That on applies to texting. I want to call one of the last landlines on earth as long as I can, before your mom comes to her senses and stops paying on it.”
“So listen,” she goes on. “Come to the movies with us tonight.”
“Tonight?” I hate spur-of-the-moment plans being sprung on me. I function best as a planner and thrive on the ability to prepare; Mara is the complete opposite. It’s been that way since we were young.
“We’re leaving in a few,” she says. “Want me to pick you up?”
I don’t bother to ask what movie, and she doesn’t bother to say. She’s been doing this ever since my attack, making these persuasive offers to get me out of the house. And she’s smart about it, too, casually sneaking her attempts into our everyday conversation, automatically inviting me along at the last minute like she’s doing now.
“Who’s we?” I ask as if it’ll make a difference, like it’ll somehow grant me Mara’s personality. No matter who’s going, I still won’t want to go on such short notice. Before she called, I was binge-watching Netflix, curled up on the couch in my comfy Wildfox sweats. Not much can pull me away from that. But I know how convincing she can be, and I already know which way this will go. Time to ditch the sweats, and Orange Is The New Black will have to wait.
“I really want you to come,” she says, ignoring my question. “Oh, and next week is James Connor’s party. You know the one. You have to go with me, okay? I can pick you up for the movie in ten. That work?”
“Okay. Fine.” I hope she can sense my irritation. “This won’t be like last time, right?”
The last time I went to the movies with Mara was two days before my attack. It was before everything, actually; before my dance recital, and before I ever got into that fateful argument with Cole. We saw some sappy romance, and after watching the main character sob over her lost love interest I was bawling my eyes out, too; Mara, on the other hand, was perfectly composed and had snuck in a burrito from the Mexican joint across the street. She chomped on it through the entire movie.
I didn’t mind the eating. It’s just that that was a little too close to criminal behavior for my comfort level.
Call me a good girl, call me a killjoy.
“Cross my heart, I won’t sneak in any more Mexican food.”
“Not sure I buy that.” I sigh. “Okay. Pick me up in ten.”
Tencomes and goes. It’s been about twenty minutes since I got off the phone with Mara. I’m waiting in the living room with my phone glued to my hand, listening for either the buzz of her text or her rap on the front door. Either would do.
I check the time. Make that twenty-two minutes.
I don’t know when the movie starts, but I hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to be late for the movie. And I hope she didn’t lie to me, and is late now because she’s stuffing more meals in her purse as we speak.
Trust, I guess.
I stand and walk to the sliding glass door that leads to our backyard. I stretch my arms above my head. Only then does my phone chime. I sprint, reaching it in two wide strides. Mara’s here; she says to come outside.
