Page 56 of When Stars Collide
It took him approximately one-tenth of a nanosecond to tick off his three statements.“I’m an orphan; I once attempted to take my own life; I broke my arm in a motorcycle accident a decade ago.”
My jaw involuntarily dropped so low that, any farther, I would have needed a crane to lift it back up. “You’re not fucking around, are you?” I asked when I could finally speak again.
“You should know by now that I always play to win.”
“Okay, but you do realize that you can’t use more than one of your false statements in one round, right?”
“That’s good, because two of those statements are true.”
“Damn,” I whispered.
“Indeed.” He mimed checking a non-existent watch on his wrist. “Is there a time limit to answer? Because I think you’ve exceeded it.”
“Simmer down, this isn’tJeopardy. You can’t just drop a bomb—or two, maybe—on me like that and not expect me to need time to process it.” I searched his face to see whether I could pick up on something—anything—that may sell him out and lead me to the correct answer.
Nothing. I could find absolutely nothing.
“I don’t think you would ever try to take your own life. So, my guess is the second one.”
“Take a drink.”
“What? No, that can’t be true,” I stammered, stunned. “Wh-What happened? When did it happen? Why … you have one of the best lives.”
“I didn’t expect this game to turn into an interrogation, but since I offered up the information, I suppose it’s only fair that I elaborate. Just remember, what’s said on the rooftop …”
“Stays on the rooftop. You can trust me.”
“I know,” he said, looking into my eyes. “And I do.” He cleared his throat, briefly falling silent before he spoke. “When my parents died—”
“Holy shit, you’re actually an orphan, too?”
He nodded. “Afraid so.”
“I’m going to need these shots just to cope with learning about your life.” I leaned back into the couch. “On the bright side, you’ve never broken your arm in a motorcycle accident.”
“You’re right. I actually broke my leg when I dumped my bike after a deer ran out in front of me.”
“Wait. Even your lie was kind of true?”
“I suppose that would depend upon your point of view. May I finish my story now?”
I tipped back the kamikaze shot, glancing forlornly at the remaining glasses. If I didn’t step up my game soon, I was going to be in a world of hurt. “Proceed.”
“I was thirteen when my parents were killed in a car crash. They hit a patch of black ice on their way home from a night out. Their car struck a tree.”
“Jesus, Phin. I’m so sorry.”
“This year marks a quarter century they’ve been gone.”
“It must still be painful.”
He nodded. “I liken my pain over their passing to my experience with breaking my leg. Excruciating at first, but then slowly becoming more and more tolerable with the passage of time, sometimes to the point where it’s unnoticeable. As the months turned to years, and the years turned to decades, it’s all but vanished entirely, manifesting itself as a shooting pain through my body, much like the shooting pain I get down my leg from time to time. It’s a constant reminder that I was hurt once before.
I wanted to say something, anything. However, all I could do was stare at him, thinking to myself how much easier my life had been compared to his and how unfair that was. There was nothing I could offer him—no apology that would feel contrite. All I could do was listen to him. In hindsight, maybe that was all he wanted me to do.
“After my parents died, I went to live with my Aunt Patricia, my mom’s sister, and my Uncle Ryan. They had two kids of their own, my cousins, Anika and Nicole. I was smack dab in the middle of them age-wise. As an only child, I was happy to have siblings, even though they really weren’t siblings. My aunt and uncle did their best to make me feel accepted, but there was something inside—a persistent, nagging thought—that told me that I didn’t belong, and that I never would. I now know that nagging thought was called depression and that I was in the throes of it.”
He didn’t speak about this part of his life often, perhaps he never had. That much was obvious by the way he kept searching for the right words, how careful and thought-out his sentences were. Pausing momentarily, he looked over my shoulder to the view he adored so much, searching for the right thing to say. Little did he know, he didn’t have to be perfect, especially not with me.
