Page 45 of Free Heart
Heather tells me to go on home. But even leaving early, I don’t have time to run back to Peggy Jo’s or over to Martin and Leenie’s for a shower before the start of my shift. So off I go to Papa Bear, trying not to cry, and hoping I don’t smell too gross.
I enter the café, and of course it’s hopping. There are so many families stuffed inside, the place is about to burst at its seams. Spotting a bunch of climbers, I avoid them. They’re always trying to talk with me now, asking about Dan, and pretending like they weren’t in the meadow watching with sick fascination that day.
But I remember.
Ialsoremember that a good number of them have donated to the GoFundMe to benefit Dan’s recovery, so I really ought to be grateful. We’re going to need that money.
But Ialsothink that a bunch of them donated to either assuage their guilt for wishing him to fall all season, or just to feel superior to the putz who risked it all and nearly lost it all. I don’t know. My thoughts aren’t kind like they should be when it comes to them.
I know the climbing community is made up of good people, but I feel…what? Ashamed? Embarrassed? It’s like I want them to pretend that we don’t all know what happened up there on that wall—that Dan tried and failed, that he did something foolish, and is paying the price.
That he’s a lucky son of a bitch.
That they’dneverbe so stupid and foolhardy.
Evading them and swerving past the families poised to ask me for refills or another plate of apple slices for their kids, I slip into the back room. Sniffing at myself, I go over to the mirror near the lockers to check that I really got all the vomit off because I canstillsmell it. Maybe it’s the odor stuck in my nose. Whatever the case, I’m losing it here. I don’t have it in me to cope with this today.
I jerk my locker open, pull out the brush I keep in there, and tidy up my damp hair.
“Sejin.” Celli’s voice comes from the half-open door, along with a dull roar from the crowded café. “Pete’s looking for you.”
Of course he is. She vanishes and the door swings shut. If I smell like vomit, oh fucking well. Screw it. I take one last look at myself, toss the brush back in the locker, and slam it closed right as I bend over to tie a loose shoelace.
My hair catches in the locker door.
“Fuck!” I shout, coming up short as my hair pulls tight. My scalp smarts.
I jiggle the handle, but the door stays shut.
Hunched over, trying to keep from yanking my own hair out, I work the lock, but it won’t budge. It’s jammed up tight.
Carefully, I tug and tug, but my hair won’t come free.
I let rip with a string of curse words. My heart pounds. My stomach twists up again. I’m trapped, bent over into an awkward position and unable to evenseewhere the problem is. I try not to start crying for real. The harder I try to free myself, the more stuck I become.
Taking a deep breath, I yell. “Help! Celli! I need help!”
I call out again and again.
I’ve given up when Celli finally comes see what’s keeping me. “What’s the delay?” She bangs into the room with an exasperated sigh.
“I’m stuck,” I creak out, tears dripping down my face like a baby.
“What?”
“I’m fucking stuck!”
I hear her walk over. “Holy crap, Sejin.” Her voice bubbles with barely repressed laughter. “You’re really tangled up. You look ridiculous.”
“I don’tfeelridiculous!” I feel enraged, sick, trapped, and helpless. “Fuck you, Celli.”
She comes around to the other side of me, and ensnared as I am, curved over and facing the floor, I can only see her shoes, a new pair of red Converse. She sounds a little more serious when she says, “Let me have a look.”
Wiggling the lock and tugging at the handle, she grunts with the effort. “Well, shit.”
“I know,” I moan.
“Here, let me—” She tugs hard at my hair. “Oh, God,” she whispers. “It’s really jammed.”
