“Why are some men so evil?” I ask with a shaking voice.
“Here’s the truth, sweetie,” she squeezes my hand now, “there are always bad people. Just like there will always be good people. We’ve all been hurt by someone. Prejudiced against. You can’t help what happens to you. Know that it is part of you but doesn’t define you. And you need to talk to someone. A professional. You don’t have to just get over it. It doesn’t make you weak.”
The guys nod in agreement.
“I just hate that I can’t stop him. I can’t work for him. I’ll die. It’ll be the antithesis of everything I’ve fought for.”
“Maybe it’s time to stop fighting. Maybe it’s time to move on and start living your life.”
“Maybe.”
“This can’t be it,” Russell says. “Something has to be done. It’s not fair.”
“I’m starting to think that’s just life,” I say, aware of my morose tone.
“It’s not your job to make the world right, sweetie. You just survive,” Mrs. J. says.
Her encouragement offers a bit of release but also sadness. There should be justice. There should be rightness. But I’m so tired. I could leave this town and change my identity and could live on the run from Zebulund.
I also want a life with Roe. How am I supposed to go on? How could I ever?
Mrs. J. interrupts my thoughts. “Now, someone bring me my wacky tabacky so I can get out of this damn bed.”
* * *
I leaveMrs. J. with a bowl of Cheetos and a sleepy smile on her face as I head back to my room. Walking away from this town would be amazing. To try to forget and, well, maybe not forgive, but definitely forget. But what about everything that brought me to this point? I’m caught up in them. There’s no way to make it right. If Roe were here, we could work through this.
But he left. He doesn’t think the same. All his talk of being a team was empty. I genuinely thought that maybe it meant something to him. That in our most intimate moments of connection the things we said to each other, all those hopes and dreams, could actually bring us a future.
After our night together, I confessed to him dreams of teaching acting, of developing self-confidence in my female students. Of acting, not in film but on the stage, maybe. Something I would have never thought even to myself. I never allow myself to dream of acting because it’s associated with so much darkness, but my theater days in high school and college were some of my happiest memories. There’s something about the camaraderie and thrill of theater that I have yet to find anywhere else.
Roe told me he dreams of picking roles based on interest, not just to boost his career. He might hate the Hollywood machine, but he likes acting. Mostly, he just wished to go back home and live a modest life. I found that most surprising. He, like me, was never enchanted by the wealth but understood its power. But it doesn’t matter now. I have to push away thoughts of him. How he looked happy sleeping on the pillow next to me. I squeeze my eyes shut at the pride I felt feeding him those pancakes, seeing him eat. It all feels too raw and too much. I can’t stop the swirling thoughts.
My phone rings as soon as I walk into my bungalow. My heart beats faster even though I’ve tried to stop getting my hopes up that it might be Roe. I stand there with my phone in my hand, not really seeing it.
My heart pouts and goes back to its cave of sadness when O.G.’s name appears. I’ve been avoiding him. This whole calling me thing is harder to avoid. It goes to voicemail. A second later a text pops up.
“Answer the phone. Stop staring at it,” his text reads.
I flip off the phone. A second later it buzzes again.
“Classy. Answer when I call this time.”
It rings. Resistance is futile.
“Hello?” I’m not even pretending to sound happy.
“I know when I’m being avoided.” The modulated voice greets my ear.
“Says the robot,” I say as I sit at my kitchen counter.
“Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not.”
There’s a pause before he says, “I don’t live in town. I can’t meet easily. But if you want to I could try to find a way.”
There’s a hopefulness in the voice that twists me with guilt. I realize we’re friends. Weird friends that rarely talk to and never see each other, but friends. O.G. has been on my side from the beginning. I shouldn’t take out my feelings on him. Besides, I’m angry at the world but not him.
