Page 9 of False Start
“My bad. Looks wicked, though.” She stares at it some more, a grimace painted on her face.
The reality is, how am I supposed to talk about something I can’t explain? Something I haven’t fully processed, that changed the entire fabric of my being. How do I try to make someone understand that I’m not supposed to be here, but somehow, I just am?
Every doctor said I was a miracle, that even waking up shouldn’t have been enough, because my brain activity had been so low, they expected a vegetable.
But I’m here.
Somehow.
The drive back to her house is filled with silence when it should have been filled with memories and catching up. I missed my friend. Stella—StarScreamer—was one of my closest friends in grade school, and when Lonnie Green opened Skateland, we were the first two in line for tryouts.
Right now, it feels like there are miles stretched between us, forged from years apart and distance.
We pull into her driveway. The early 1990s style craftsman home is just as I remembered it: white siding stained by time and a picket fence that looks recently power washed. My brain buzzes with regret, second thoughts and insecurities drowning me with the need for reassurance, the kind I desperately sought from Lonnie.
She opens her door and begins climbing out, the actionturning on the motion sensor outdoor lights that force her dog to appear at the window. Even his bark is recognizable.
“Jesus Christ, Monty is still alive?” I laugh, shocked that the miniature poodle is still kicking it this long.
“He’ll be sixteen this year, don’t worry, he’s onlya littleincontinent.” She grabs her bag from the backseat and then reaches for mine.
“Actually…” I start. “I was thinking I’d come by tomorrow?” I lift a hesitant brow her way.
“I don’t think you should be alone tonight, Antônia.” She gives me a look filled with parental concern, a look that says she knows better.
“I have all my things at the motel, and I have to run a few errands before I fuck off for the night anyway.” I try my best to awkwardly fumble my way out of this one, but Star gives up first, knowing that I can’t be forced into any social situation I don’t want to be in.
Even if it’s just a simple sleepover at a friend’s.
“Tomorrow, yeah?” She holds me to it, shutting the passenger side door but leaning into the still-open window.
“I promise.” I grin, nodding her way.
I need to crumble tonight. I need to shred down every fiber of my being, decompose and come back into my own by tomorrow morning, and there is only one person in town who can help me do it.
4
NIA
Here I am again, at themostfamiliar part of Devil Town. The very street I lost myself to as a teenager, the very street my mom fought tooth and nail to pull me out of. I look down at my empty prescription bottle and squeeze it tight in my hand.
This is fine.
I just need a little more to wean off, and then I’ll be back to normal again. I pull my phone out of my pocket and text one of the few numbers I still know from memory.
I’M OUT HERE
I don’t knowwhy I bother; the man never looks at his phone. I unbuckle my seatbelt, anxiously looking around as I pocket the empty bottle and feel for the wad of cash. The door opens before I can reach it, a brunette in ablack pantsuit combo looks me up and down before sliding past the half-shut door.
I put up my hand to stop her from closing it behind her, returning the same stale stink-eye she’d given me, before pushing it open the rest of the way and walking inside.
“He—Hey, squirt.” It comes out almost like laughter, amusement for sure in seeing me again, no doubt surprised that I’m still alive.
Ditto, motherfucker.
“Ryan fucking Lee.” I grin, finding him sitting on the same torn up leather recliner I’d spent many teenage nights sleeping in.
He’s only six or seven years older, but he carries with him wisdom from being on his own for so long, and at times, it appears the same as old age. When I was seventeen, he was twenty-three and running an ecstasy operation right out of Devil Town.
