Page 13 of The Last Thing You Said

Shit. Shitshitshit.

I take one last look across the treetops and try again to find some peace in the silence and solitude. There is nothing, and I can’t escape the reality that waits for me at the bottom of the tower. I turn and begin the climb back down.

When I get to the theater, everyone is inside except for Dana. She’s alone, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. Guthrie was right. She is pist.

Here’s how it goes down:

Dana: You’re late. You promised me you wouldn’t be late, Ben.

Me (swats at a swarm of gnats): Sorry. Got tied up at the resort.

Dana: Oh.

Me: You don’t believe me?

Dana: Of course I do!

Me: Doesn’t seem like it.

Dana: Ben, I’m trying to help. You seem so, I don’t know, lost lately (puts hand on my arm).

Me: Dana—

Dana (in a soft, low voice): I wish you would let me help you.

Me (pulls arm away): What makes you think I need help?

Dana (pinches lips together): You have no idea how many people care about you, Benjamin. How many people love you. How many people ache for you because you’re in so much pain—

Me (interrupts, angry, sick of the drama, sick of hearing her talk in italics all the time): Shut up.

Dana (mouth drops open): What? What did you say?

Me (takes a step back): I said shut up. You want to help me? You can help me by shutting the hell up.

Dana (takes a step toward me, panicked): You don’t mean that. You can’t possibly mean that.

Me (raises one eyebrow, takes another step backward): Oh, I mean it. And my name is not fucking Benjamin.

I’m a dick and she’s too nice. She shouldn’t put up with my shit.

I walk across the parking lot and get in the Firebird. It takes about five seconds for Dana to decide to follow me.

“Let’s drive around,” she says. “Maybe it will clear your head.”

I know where this is going.

“Fine.”

We drive to the abandoned baseball fields behind the paper mill. I park the car and turn toward the girl in the front seat. My girlfriend. She smiles. Her teeth are artificially perfect and white. In fact, she has no visible flaws. Her hair, her smile, her GPA, everything is perfect. A little too perfect, maybe.

Lucy’s ponytails are usually crooked or she’ll miss a few strands that curl around her neck or one side will be bumpy. And if you look closely, you can see that one of Lucy’s blue eyes is narrower at the outside corner than the other. Two of her bottom teeth are crooked, angled slightly, bowing to each other.

I’m sitting in my car with my girlfriend, thinking about Lucy Meadows.

I don’t want to think anymore.

So I don’t. I lean over to Dana.