Pictures of You (9 page)

             
“Even when you smile, when you laugh, your eyes tell another story.”

             
“I…well…” The words got caught in my throat.

             
“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. You could see his arm muscles flexing as he scrubbed a stubborn stain in one of the sinks.

             
“Okay,” I said, kind of relieved, going back to work on the mirror.

             
“Although I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to,” he added, putting down his sponge.

             
“Thanks.” I smiled.

             
We worked in silence for a moment before I found myself saying, “My best friend died.” It was still hard to say it aloud.

             
Chris set his sponge down again. “Wow. I’m sorry…Do you want to talk about it?”

***

              “Did you know 3,000 people die in car accidents every day?” Mary said, clutching a cup of tea. She wore no makeup today. She looked even more sad than usual when she wasn’t hiding behind the mask of heavy eyeliner and lipstick. More vulnerable.

             
“Mary, you’re so morbid. Why would I want to know that? That’s so depressing,” I said, glaring at her above my worn out copy of
The Outsiders
. Curled up on the couch, we both wore our pajamas despite it being past noon. Tiger had jammed his squishy body between Mary’s and my legs. Sometimes I rubbed my feet against him, feeling his warm, silky fur between my toes.

             
“Okay, whatever,” she said, licking the rim of the cup the way I hated. There were a lot of things I hated about Mary. To name a few: the messes she’d leave in the kitchen, the way she’d always manage to lose the remote controls (now that takes talent), her weird breath (she always had weird breath), her lack of personal space, her slit-my-wrists-and-swallow-a-whole-bottle-of-Zoloft music she’d play waaaay too loud (I know, I know. Depeche Mode and The Cure aren’t exactly cheery, but you should hear this stuff. Ughhhh.)

             
“If you want to talk about Abby, then let’s talk about Abby.” I laid the book down and sat up.

             
“We don’t
have
to talk about her. It’s just that we were her best friends, so it makes sense…”

             
“
I
was her best friend. You get honorable mention,” I said, only half teasing.

             
“Well, you know I could always dethrone you.” Her eyes shot daggers.

             
“She’s dead.” I was only starting to be more comfortable with saying those words. Each time was a little less agonizing. “How would you do that?”

             
“Abby trivia. Winner takes the title, or at least the loser has to shut up about being her
very best friend
.” She made it sound so juvenile. “And anyway, you don’t know for sure that you were.”

             
“Of course I know that, she said it all the—”

             
“She could’ve been lying to spare your feelings,” she said, picking lint from her
Nightmare Before Christmas
pajama bottoms.

             
“You want a tournament, Mary? You really think you know Abby better? You’re on.”

             
She set her mug on the coffee table. “Okay. This will be fun. Her favorite food?”

             
“That’s too easy. Grape Nuts and frozen burritos.” She loved instant food. Anything that wouldn’t get in the way of her music and poetry. Food was often a burden to her. “Your turn. Her favorite color?”

             
Mary rolled her eyes. “Duh. Plum. Her favorite band?”

             
“Oh, come on, you’re not even making this a challenge. The Cure. Her favorite movie?”

             
“
Harold and Maude
. Her life long dream?” Mary said, sitting up straight.

             
“To make it big—become a rock star. And to meet Robert Smith.”

             
“Right. You’re ultra lucky you added the second part.” It didn’t take me long to discover that
ultra
was Mary’s pet word. She shoved it in all sorts of sentences.

             
“Her first boyfriend?” I said.

             
“That’s not fair. I didn’t know her back then.”

             
“See, that’s why I win. I’ve known her
twice
as long.” I knew I was being petty, but I just couldn’t help it.

             
“Wait, I know this. Wait…Brandon Something. Brandon…”

             
“Brandon Westmoreland. Ha!”

             
“Hey, you didn’t give me enough time. Um…Her blood type?” Mary looked smug.

             
“O Negative. You thought you had me there. Favorite flavor of ice cream?”

             
“Um, wait. Wait. Mint chocolate chip? No. Cookie dough.”

             
I made a buzzing sound. “You’re out. Abby didn’t like ice cream.”

             
Mary frowned. “Oh, that’s right. I guess you win.”

             
“You’re right, I win. I totally win. I’m her true bestie,” I said, getting up to do a victory dance. But I regretted it when I saw Mary bite her lip, when I noticed her dark eyes water. I guess I didn’t realize how much this all meant to her. It struck me for the first time: Mary could be hurting as much as I was.

             
I tried to smooth things over. “But I know she was crazy about you. You were definitely one of her top two most favorite people in the world.”

             
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.” She seemed embarrassed now. She sponged her eyes with her index fingers.

             
I added, “And anyway, who doesn’t like ice cream? You’d have to be a total freak.”

             
“I know, right?” And for the first time in history, Mary and I—together—busted out in laughter.

***

              Two weeks into my new job, Chris asked me something that surprised me, something I’d given little thought to these days.

             
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, his eyes not quite meeting mine. Today he wore his hair down for the first time. I liked how it framed his face like a soft blanket.

             
I dropped the toilet brush, cleared my throat. My heart sped up just a little, I wasn’t sure why. “Um…”

             
“I thought so.” He went back to work, wiping lipstick graffiti off the door of a stall.

             
I took a long, shaky breath. “No, actually I don’t. Not anymore.”

             
He stopped scrubbing. “Oh.”

             
Was that relief I saw? “Abby dying was only part one of my sob story. Care to hear part two?”

             
“There’s a part two? I’d love to hear part two.” He grinned, appearing maybe too enthusiastic.

             
Another shaky breath. “My boyfriend—his name is John—my
ex
boyfriend, I should clarify, cheated on me with my sister.”

             
“No way.” His face scrunched up in this compassionate way.

             
“Yes way. And they’re getting married now. I found this out three weeks after my best friend died.”

             
John held the door open as I pushed the monster truck cart out of restroom number eleven. “Ouch. Do you still love him?”

             
“Yeah, I guess I do. You don’t just stop loving someone because they broke up with you. You can’t turn it on and off like a light switch.”

             
I studied Chris’s face carefully for the first time. He had slightly slanted gray eyes and a bright countenance. If we were close friends, I could see myself calling him “Sunshine Boy”. That would be his superpower, to bring sunshine to everyone around him in a bleak world. I know I for one anticipated our time together every evening.

             
“That’s true…I…” He hesitated, frozen in place for a moment. He picked up and studied a roll of toilet paper in his hand as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. His uneasiness made me nervous.

             
Suddenly I felt fifteen again. Chris and I were awkward locker partners reaching for the dial at the same time. “Um, you go ahead.” “No you go ahead,” we would’ve said.

             
Chris cleared his throat. “So this might be fast. Or too soon after dealing with so much loss, but…”

             
Heart pounding. “Yes?”

             
“Do you want to grab dinner sometime? Or coffee,” he added, avoiding eye contact again.

             
“You don’t have a girlfriend then?” I had to be sure. I had trust issues now after John and April got together behind my back.

             
“Oh crap.” Chris looked like a kid who’d been caught by the police stealing a Snickers bar.

             
“You do have a girlfriend?”
Aha,
I thought.
So he’s
not
the nicest guy in the world. Slimy, scummy cheater, that’s who Chris is.

             
“Yeah, I guess I do.” Chris’s face was florid, his cheeks two pomegranates, his eyes sad, reminding me of a puppy. “Sorry, I guess I forgot.”

             
I couldn’t believe it. What a bunch of bull. “How do you forget you have a girlfriend?”

             
“I don’t know. It’s complicated. I’m not a cheating…” he paused allowing me fill in the blank. Thinking of John, a variety of colorful words filled my mind. “I swear. I’m not like Jim.”

             
“John.”

             
“Right, John. I’m not
that
guy…It’s…it’s complicated.”

             
I managed to stifle my urge to groan and roll my eyes. “It always is.”

             
Chris had a smudge of the powdery cleaner on the side of his nose and I resisted brushing it off.

***

Dear Abby,

              A lot has changed since you left. John is marrying April. Can you believe that?! I mean for starters, John was supposed to be
mine
. But I’m actually kind of glad I now know his true colors. My sister can have the cheating jerk. And then there’s the fact that they’re only nineteen. I mean, who thinks about marriage when they just started college, like a year ago? I hope they’re miserable and get a big fat divorce before their first anniversary.

             
So I met a cute guy at work, but it’s definitely going nowhere. His name’s Chris. He’s your type, other than the fact that he likes classic rock. I know, technically we like older stuff, too, but Chris likes the
really
old stuff, like The Beatles and Led Zeppelin.

             
You’re not going to believe this: Mary is living with me. You heard me right.
Living with me.
Have you ever tried cheese and pickles on a peanut butter and jam sandwich? It sounds awful, I know. Mary forced one on me. She said it was “ultra delicious”. She practically had to pin me to the couch and shove it in my face. But I actually loved it. I’m not too proud to say I’m addicted to them now. I’ve had one every day for the past week.

             
I miss you…Are you ever coming back?

9

             
Four months and eleven days after Abby died I thought I saw her in the subway. I once heard grieving people see their loved ones in strangers’ faces. But I truly, in a moment of lost sanity, thought it was her. She had the same unruly carrot orange hair, the same boney frame, the same me-against-the-world get-up. She even wore a
Striped Goat
band tee. (The Striped Goat was Abby’s band’s name. They were an eyelash away from being signed by an important indie record label.) “We’re going to be big time,” Abby had said, crushing me in an enthusiastic hug, tears of joy cascading down her freckled face. She was inches away from realizing her two biggest dreams: becoming a rock star and traveling the world. I said, “You are. You’re going to be too cool and forget all about me.” I was teasing, of course, but a small part of me feared it would be true. After all, along with losing my sight, losing my closest friend was my deepest fear.