Detached (12 page)

“Just talking to people,” I said, then moved on. I wasn't in the mood for being the odd one out. I wondered how much longer before I'd be able to bail.

When I couldn't stand being inside another minute, I fought my way to the dining room and dug around until I found my coat. Then I slipped out to the front porch. I pulled my coat tight around my neck and leaned over the railing. The fresh air settled the panic in my chest a bit. Everyone had gone back inside and I was relieved to be alone again.

“Here you are,” Kyle said when he found me a few minutes later.

“Hey,” I said. “It's so hot and crowded in there. I was having a hard time breathing.”

“Yeah, Ray has wicked parties. But it can get to be a bit much.”

When I didn't say anything, Kyle leaned over the railing to look at me. I could smell the beer on his breath.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“I've had a headache all day and it's getting late. I guess I'm ready to go home soon.”

“You want me to take you?”

“You have a car?”

“Sam drove here, but he'll be too wasted to drive home. I think that's why he brings me along in the first place.”

“Brothers,” I snorted.

“So you want a ride? I don't mind and I haven't even had a whole beer.” He laughed. “And that was three hours ago.”

I thought about being alone in a car with Kyle and my first thought was, like, no way in hell. I was afraid he'd want to talk about my bridge painting or, worse, the river incident or the day he saw me down by the highway. I was afraid I'd say one wrong thing and he'd put it all together and attempt his own rescue of a lost soul. But then I thought about how long it would be before Mariam would be ready to go.

“I could probably walk.”

“It's almost midnight. You can't walk home by yourself. Especially in this cold. I'll give you a ride.”

“You really don't mind?”

“No worries,” he said and flashed me a smile with his perfect white teeth. “The car's over here. C'mon.”

I followed him, then paused.

“When you get back, can you tell Mariam you gave me a ride home? Otherwise she'll be pissed I ditched her.”

“Absolutely,” he said and unlocked the door. “You live over by Melborn and Ellington, right?”

“Just past that park with the, uh, baseball diamond,” I said.

It was awkward at first being alone in the car with Kyle and I searched for something to say.

“Too bad Aliya couldn't come,” I finally said.

“Yeah, her mother's, like, way beyond strict.”

Kyle was actually pretty easy to be with. He didn't ask a bazillion dumb questions to make me talk and he didn't rattle on about himself. He slowed down when we drove by the park. My hands started to sweat and I had an urge to roll down the window, but then I realized he just didn't know which street to turn onto.

“Next right,” I said and he pulled down our street.

“That house there with the blue bins out already. My dad takes his recycling very seriously.”

“We all have to do our part,” he said and smiled.

I climbed out of the car, then put my head back inside. The warm air poured over my face.

“Thanks for the ride. Don't let Mariam drink. She has to drive.”

“No worries. I have to keep an eye on Sam anyway, and she's never too far away.”

After the party at Ray's, I actively scouted out new parties and found ways to get invited. Sometimes it would be through a friend of a friend or sometimes I'd muster the courage to talk to whoever was holding the party. If I saw them in the hall or the cafeteria, or in front of the school, I'd call out “see you tonight” and shout some wild animal sound, like “woot woot.” If I didn't get a strange look, I considered it an invitation, of sorts.

My parents seemed secretly pleased by my new social life.

“You're going out again?” my dad said one night.

Then my mother countered with something like, “It's the age. I remember going through the same thing when I was sixteen.”

My friends were happy about the new social me too. We texted and Facebook messaged constantly about where the party was going to be and when and how we'd get there. Mostly Mariam drove because she had a licence and could get a car, or sometimes we'd convince Kyle to take us along with him and Sam. But no matter how exciting it was for my friends or my parents, for me it was just a mission, a means to an end. I figured if I took a few pills from medicine cabinets here and there, it wouldn't take long to have, like, a bowlful of them. That's how I imagined it anyway, a crystal dish full of little coloured candies. Once I had enough, I planned to wash them down with a bottle or two of cough syrup and fall into a long, deep forever sleep. No pain, no trauma, nobody to rescue me. I couldn't believe I didn't consider it earlier.

I was surprised how many opportunities I found for stealing prescription codeine. It was like someone or something was cooperating with me finally. Maybe God figured I deserved to die after all. Like, when Farah complained to me during class one day that her deadbeat uncle had moved into their house and that he was on welfare because of chronic back pain, I found a way to get myself invited over. It didn't take long to find out which room he slept in and nobody seemed suspicious when I excused myself during dinner to go to the bathroom. Instead I snuck into his room, pocketed a few of his pills, then doubled back to flush the toilet before heading to the table again. The day after Aliya's mother had to have a double root canal, I just happened to be at her apartment studying. The pills were on the kitchen counter so it took some fancy manoeuvring to sneak the bottle into my pocket and then return it, but my patience paid off. I wasn't sure how many pills I needed, but I wasn't taking any chances, I was going to get it right. Five was my number. There wasn't going to be a sixth time lucky for me.

When Mom and Dad announced they were going away for a weekend to celebrate their anniversary, I knew it was the perfect opportunity. I'd have the house to myself for two days so nobody would find me passed out and rush me to the hospital for a dramatic rescue. I pulled my secret stash from its hiding spot and looked at the collection of variously coloured pills. They reminded me of Skittles. I was sure I had enough. All I had left to do was hit a couple of pharmacies and get some cough syrup. I even knew which brand to buy. Normally I hated the taste of cough syrup, but I was sure I could chug a couple of bottles if I tried hard enough.

I was anxious the week before my parents went away. I worried that something would happen and they'd change their plans or they'd get cold feet and ask Joe to spend the weekend with me. I was on my best behaviour for that final stretch and I covered my anxiety with upbeat smiles. I promised to have Gisele spend the nights so I wouldn't be alone.

“I bought frozen pizzas and lots of snacks. Maybe you two can watch something on Netflix. No parties, though,” Mom said. “Oh, and I told the Rodman's you'd be here alone and to keep an eye on the place.”

“Don't worry. I won't let anyone but Gisele come over. She'll be here in about an hour. Her mother's going to pick her up in the morning and take her to work, then drop her back at dinner.”

“We'll have the cellphone with us the whole time. Don't be afraid to call if you need to. We're only two hours away,” Dad said. They were packing the car and reminding me to feed Sherlock, clean the kitty litter, and all the other stuff I'd being doing since I was ten.

“I can always call Joe. Not that anything is going to go wrong,” I assured them.

“Do you want me to ask him to drop over?”

“We'll be fine, Mom. Sherlock's here, and besides, I have an afternoon shift at the store so I won't be here much. You just go and enjoy yourselves.”

More than anything I wanted them to get in the car and disappear. They fussed for another twenty minutes, then finally backed out the driveway and left.

I went into the house and locked the door. I filled up the dog-food dish to overflowing and put out a fresh bowl of water. Unfortunately Sherlock wasn't going to get outside all weekend, but he could always pee on the kitchen floor. He did that sometimes anyways. I also cleaned the kitty litter and put out enough cat food to last the weekend. Then I went up to my room and pulled out my bag of pills. I'd been putting them in a new hiding spot every day, just to be safe. This time they were taped to the bottom of my dresser. I reached down the heating vent and grabbed the bottles of cough syrup I'd stashed there, then laid everything out on my bed.

I paused and picked up my laptop. I logged on to Facebook and scanned all my friends' updates. I had 437 people listed as friends, but that was a total joke. I only ever chatted with four or five and one of them was Joe. I looked at my status box for a moment, then typed in: “Today's a good day to down a bowlful of Skittles with a Cherry Coke chaser.” I hit send and shut my laptop. Then I started popping pills and chasing them down with mouthfuls of cough syrup. It was awful and nothing like Cherry Coke. It was thick and sweet and made me want to puke, so I slowed down. Throwing up would not be helpful.

The sun was starting to set and the sky glowed a soft pink. I got up to close my blinds and noticed I already felt dizzy. I took another pill and another swig of cough syrup. I shivered from the taste, then did another round. The house was still and quiet, too quiet. I went to the living room and turned on the TV. I had to lean against the wall to get back to my bedroom. My bed was soft and inviting and I sank low when I sat down on it. More pills, more cough syrup. I really wanted a drink of water but didn't want to risk watering anything down. Another round, another pause, and I started to feel unbelievably tired. I still had a handful of pills left and I didn't want to fall asleep before I got through them all, so I started swallowing two at a time.

Slow and steady, my brain instructed. You're almost there, don't screw this up.

I was starting to feel separate from brain, like I'd finally outsmarted my body and it was falling asleep. One more set of pills, one more gulp of cough syrup. My body shivered again and my head was so heavy I couldn't hold it up. I lay down on the pillow and closed my eyes. I could feel sleep tugging at me, pulling me into a dark limitless place with no movement.

It's so easy this way
, I thought.
Why did I wait so long?

Then there was no more thinking, just a knowing. The baggie was empty, the last bottle of cough syrup was empty, my hand was empty. Soon my brain would be empty and separate from the rest of me. At last I floated, comfortably. I felt the relief. It felt so right. Detached. I'd finally severed that one last thread that kept me tethered to my miserable life.

Sherlock came into the room and licked my hand. I told him he was a good boy, or I meant to tell him, or I thought I told him. Did I even say anything? Did I even think that? Whatever happened, he lay down beside my bed. Good ol' Sherlock. Man's best friend. Man. Friend. Best. God. I mean dog. I mean. I.

 

When the dishes were done, I headed to my room where I was about to spend another Friday night trying not to think about what everyone else was doing. It was a waste of time trying not to feel left out though, because come Monday morning I'd be listening to all the stupid stories about who said and did what and who made out with who at Tyson's party. I knew I shouldn't feel bad and that in ten years, or whatever, nobody would remember this party, but it was hard to reason with my misery.

I logged on to Facebook and pulled up Tyson's profile page. Maybe it was just me feeling sorry for myself or trying to keep up, but I figured I might as well know the details, even if I couldn't experience them first-hand. Tyson had updated his status four hours earlier: WARNING. ALERT. PARENTS HOME AND SUSPICIOUS. NO PARTY. DO NOT CALL. DO NOT COME BY. TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW. ABSOLUTELY NO PARTY. I guess using Facebook to announce your party is a dumb idea.

There were thirty-eight comments in response to the cancellation. Gisele's was: “This totally sucks. Nuthin 2 do now.”

Farah posted: “If it wasn't so cold we could go down to the forks.”

Mariam responded to Farah's comment: “Way 2 cold 2 party outside.”

Kyle had posted: “Stuck home with Sam and Ray. Idiots. LOL”

I skimmed through a few more comments, but they all basically said the same things. I secretly felt a bit pleased that I wasn't the only one missing out on a crazy Friday night. Again.

Anna hadn't posted anything, which I thought was odd, so I jumped over to her profile page. She'd posted a picture of last weekend's party. It was a selfie with Mariam and Gisele, and I felt a pang of jealousy. Or maybe not jealousy, but of feeling left out at least. She'd also written: “It's a good day to down a bowlful of Skittles with a Cherry Coke chaser.”

I posted a message: “You're so complex I don't even know what you mean :-P.”

I knew Anna would respond for sure and I hoped Kyle would react.

I skimmed through a few more friends' profiles, but nothing new was going on so I went to the living room to watch a movie with Mom.

“What's this called?” I asked as I settled into the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

“
Thelma and Louise
. It's a classic.” Mom brought us each a can of root beer and a frosty mug. I poured mine then took a drink before the foam settled.

“Check out the hair,” I laughed as the movie got going.

“And the clothes,” Mom added.

I didn't even recognize Brad Pitt when he came on. He looked so young. Mom had to tell me who he was, and at first I didn't believe it was really him. It was a pretty good movie, considering it was from the nineties, and I liked the soundtrack, but I had a hard time concentrating. There was something about Anna's Facebook status that kept bugging me. Something about it didn't seem right. Like, when did Anna start eating Skittles? She was a chocoholic. And Cherry Coke? Do they even still make that stuff anymore? It felt like a code, but I couldn't figure out what for.

Finally I checked my phone, but there were no new messages. Mom glanced over to let me know she didn't approve of me being on
social media
, as she calls it, while we were supposed to be having mother–daughter time so I turned my body and pretended to put my phone away. Anna hadn't replied to my message or logged any more activity on Facebook, which seemed odd since there were another twenty smartass comments since mine. That's what happens on a Friday night when everyone is stuck at home and bored out of their skulls. I figured they finally knew how I felt every weekend.

I checked to see if Anna was online, but she wasn't showing up as linked in at all. I texted but nothing came back. That's when I decided I should call her, just to put my mind at ease.

“Can you pause this for a sec?”

Mom picked up the remote and paused the movie. She looked concerned.

“I just gotta go to the bathroom. You want anything while I'm up?”

The bowl was still half full of popcorn and our mugs topped up with root beer, so Mom shook her head.

“Make it quick. We're coming to the best part.”

I tucked my phone into my shirt sleeve and headed to the bathroom. I had about five minutes before Mom would start asking questions and getting nosey, and I didn't want her to know anything was up, or not up, as the case was with the cancelled party at Tyson's house.

I dialled Anna's phone while I sat on the toilet, but it went right to voice message.

“Hey, Anna. It's me. About nine-thirty. Where are you? I tried to text but you're not responding. Call me and rescue me from my mother.”

I flushed the toilet and washed my hands. I checked for pimples and brushed my hair. I waited for Anna to return my call, but my phone didn't so much as vibrate. I sat on the edge of the bathtub and checked to see if she'd read my text, but she hadn't. Maybe she lost her phone or something, I reasoned. Or maybe she's busy, like really busy, like with a boy. I ran through about ten scenarios in my head but none of them made any sense.

“Aliya!” My mother called from the living room. “You okay in there?”

I went back and watched more of the movie before I decided I should try her home phone. If I could talk to her parents I might feel better. I waited a few minutes before I got up again. Mom paused the movie. Again.

“What's up with you? You're like a Mexican jumping bean.”

I have no idea what a Mexican jumping bean is, but my mom compares me to one quite frequently, like whenever I move and she wants me to be still, which is a lot. She also compares me to a squirming worm and a horse with a burr under its saddle. My mom is seriously old. And weird. But I couldn't let her know I was worried or she'd insist we drive over and check up on Anna that very minute. She believes it's better to be safe than sorry. She also lacks a sense of personal boundaries and oversteps hers daily. I could just imagine driving up to Anna's house and ringing the doorbell, then telling her parents we just wanted to check on Anna because she wasn't texting me back or trolling Facebook. It would be absurd.

“I just want to put on my PJ pants,” I said. It was a lame excuse but the only one I could think of besides the bathroom, and if I went to the bathroom one more time Mom was going to insist on giving me a dose of Pepto-Bismol.

Mom sighed and hoisted herself off the couch. She headed to the kitchen and I heard the popcorn maker whirring again.

I climbed into my PJ pants as quickly as I could and at the same time called Anna's house. The phone rang and rang but nobody picked up. I ended up leaving a lame message on the answering machine that I hoped wouldn't alarm her parents if they picked it up first. Then I dialled again and it was busy. Maybe I called back too soon, I decided, and the machine was still working. I waited a minute and called again. When the machine answered, I hung up. Then I called again. And again. I called five times until I was confident nobody was home. Then I chastised myself for overreacting. Maybe I was more like my mother than I thought. Maybe I also lacked a clear sense of boundaries. Anna was probably out somewhere with her parents. They did that sometimes — went to dinner and a movie or to a play and dessert downtown.

Then suddenly on the last call, for some reason, somebody picked up. It was a man's voice, but it didn't sound familiar. He sounded panicked, though, and I panicked in return.

“Uh. Sorry. I think I have the wrong number.”

“Who were you trying to call?”

“Anna.”

“You have the right number. Who's this?”

“Her friend, Aliya.”

“Anna can't come to the phone right now.” The man sounded rushed. “Do you have a cell number for her parents?”

“No?”

“Her brother?”

“No. Why?”

“There's been an emergency.”

“Who are you?” I asked, in case it was a home invader and I needed to protect Anna from halfway across the city.

“I'm Anna's neighbour. I really can't talk right now. Can you call back another time?”

I could hear voices in the background, but none that I recognized. I heard what sounded like a siren. My heart started to race and my pulse throbbed in my temple.

“Is Anna okay?”

“I don't know. Please. Call back later.”

The neighbour hung up and I started to panic for real.