Page 87 of The Way I Am Now
“I know it’s dumb, but could you stay on the phone with me again tonight?”
“It’s not dumb.” I hear some shuffling and the creaking of his mattress. I close my eyes and can picture him getting settled in bed. “I just put you on speaker.”
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you too.”
“Thank you.”
“For what, loving you?” he asks, a small laugh in his voice.
I smile—it hurts my face. “Yes.”
JOSH
I wake in the morning to my five o’clock alarm, as usual. Still dark out, I see a text already sitting there from my mom.
Is this her?
With a link to an article in the local paper. The headline readsTHREE WOMEN TESTIFY AGAINST BASKETBALL MVP INPEOPLE V. ARMSTRONG.I quickly scan for her name. Not there, thankfully. They haven’t listed any of their names. There’s a highlighted pull quote, enlarged in bold: “Harrowing . . . if true.”
It’s that ellipsis that gets me.Harrowing—dot dot dot—if true. Like someone pushing me from behind.Dot dot dot. Harder, harder, harder.
Now I’m off.
There are other articles, and I find each and every one. One put out by a college paper, titledHE SAID, SHE SAID, BLAH BLAH BLAH. Another calls the “lack of physical evidence shocking.” Here I make the mistake of scrolling down to the comments.
Some commentators are restrained enough to write just a word or two, like “LIARS!” or “poor guy” while others write longer comments. “Five minutes, really? Sending a college kid to prison for something that lasted five minutes! Smh, what is this country coming to?” And then there are the tirades that span multiple paragraphs, some longer than the damn article itself, full of hate and typos.
I feel sick to my stomach.
I only hope she hasn’t seen any of this bullshit.
There’s a knock on my door. “Hey, you awake?” Dominic. “Leaving for the gym. You coming?”
I click the power off on my phone. “Yeah,” I call back.
I work out harder than I have in a while. I can’t tell if it’s anger, sadness, or what that’s fueling me. All I know is that something has crawled inside me, and it’s making me want to fight it. Coach walks by and gives me a nod of approval.
Part of me wants to stand up and tell him I couldn’t give two shits about this fucking team right now. That they’re so stupid to think that any of this matters at all. But then I think of my dad, freshly sober, spending hours on the phone trying to save my ass from getting kicked off the team. And I just work harder. Because I don’t know what else to do.
She can’t get back soon enough.
EDEN
Thursday morning, freshly showered, I sit at my kitchen table. In my dining room with my brother, my mother, my father, sipping orange juice from a glass I’ve used a million times before. Bacon, pancakes, coffee.
Mom asks if I want sugar and cream. I do, but I shake my head no.
Dad is asking who wants eggs. I don’t. But when he comes into the dining room holding the skillet in one hand, scooping up a portion of scrambled eggs, smiling at me, I hold my plate out and take them anyway.
Then we’re all sitting here. Chewing. Forks scraping against plates, awkward silence descending over us. I poke at my syrup-soaked pancake. Neither Mom nor Caelin said a word about how it went for them in court yesterday, but I could see their telltale puffy and bloodshot eyes this morning.
“What a fuckin’ week, huh?” I say, just to break the tension.
Caelin laughs, spitting out the sip of juice he’d just taken. “Perfect timing,” he mumbles into a napkin.
Mom scoffs and says, “Edy, good God.”
