A Shattered Moment

by Tiffany King

  Digging through my bag, I pulled out my phone, and sure enough, I had missed three calls from her. At least it was too late to call her back tonight. Nothing like dodging that bullet.

  Closing out the message from the lawyer, I looked at my now empty in-box and swallowed the lump of hurt in my throat. You’d think by now I would have gotten used to the fact that my e-mails were being unanswered, but each time it was like a punch in the gut. I clicked my sent folder and opened the last attempt I had sent, as if reading it again would somehow help.

  Kat,

  I miss you. I need to talk to you. I know you’re hurting, but I am, too. You don’t have to call me, but please send me back an e-mail. I know you’re back home. We need each other. Please, Kat.

  Brat Pack Member for Life,

  Mac

  I’d sent the e-mail more than three months ago after trying continuously to reach Kat for an entire year. She was the only one of us who’d come out of the accident relatively uninjured. Understandably, she took Dan’s death extremely hard. She shut down completely, refusing to come to the hospital to visit me. It wasn’t until I was released from the hospital that my mom told me Kat’s parents had allowed her to spend the year studying overseas. It all happened so quickly I was shocked. Not that I couldn’t relate to her need to get away, but when she came home over the summer, I truly believed she would finally be ready to reach out to me. I needed her, and yet my e-mails continued to go unanswered. When I moved away from home, I was angry to the point that I vowed never to send her another e-mail again, but there was no way I could stand by that. We’d known each other our entire lives. We were more than friends.

  • • •

  graduation night 2013

  An avalanche of sensations with more pain than the mind can process at once flooded my body. My legs, pinned beneath my seat, which now rested on the roof of the vehicle, felt like they were being gnawed by wild animals. Every subtle muscle twitch and movement hurt. I tried lifting my throbbing left arm to get a better look at it, but the resulting ache prevented me from moving it more than a hair. As if excruciating agony wasn’t bad enough, the dashboard made it impossible to turn my head. I was claustrophobic to begin with. Every instinct in me fought to stand up and move. Bile began to rise in my throat, and I felt the stirrings of dizziness tugging me from every direction.

  I slammed my eyes closed, hoping to combat the nausea. Our steak dinner from earlier sat in my stomach like a ton of bricks. I swallowed hard, willing it to stay down. I would not vomit. I tried to force myself to concentrate on something else—the ringing in my ears, Zach, anything.

  A strange mewling sound broke through my haze of pain. Opening my eyes, I focused my attention to where the noise was coming from. I couldn’t turn my head, but I had a direct view of the back of the vehicle. I could vaguely see Kat in the third row. She wasn’t moving. Neither was Tracey. Her body lay limp with her head resting at an odd angle where Zach’s side of our seat had been. I surveyed the damage to the Suburban that had always felt so large, but now resembled a crushed tin can. The fact that I couldn’t move was a curse. The distorted view of my friends was too painful to watch. Even if I closed my eyes, the images were already burned into my memory. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

  The mewling sound grabbed my attention again. It was Kat.

  “Kat? Are you okay?” My voice was raspy and dry. She continued her faint crying noise that sounded like a wounded animal. “Kat, are you okay?” I repeated, clearing my throat in an attempt to speak louder. Focusing on her was disorienting since we were both dangling upside down. I repeated my question a third time, trying to break through her stupor. It was difficult to see in the dark, but it looked like her head turned toward me.

  “Can you hear me? What about Jessica, can you see her?”

  “No-o-o,” she sobbed. Her voice was thick with tears. “He’s dead. They’re all dead. We’re all going to die.” The words rang through the vehicle in a wail that pierced my tender head. I wanted to cover my ears or yell at her to stop, but I couldn’t do either. Fear and grief were living, breathing beasts in an emergency situation, feeding off panic and threatening to consume you.

  • • •

  Kat may have lost the love of her life that night, but in the end we had all suffered.

  seven

  Bentley

  “Night, Mac,” I repeated to myself. That was my big fucking move. Are you kidding me? I spend half the day in the library and that was the best I could come up with? My plan to play it cool by giving her the brush-off didn’t exactly come together the way I had intended. Giving chicks the silent treatment and letting them come to me had always worked in the past. The way she whipped around with that cane like a samurai ready to take my head off, she must think I’m a total dick bag. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking sneaking up on her like that. It surprised me that I had scared the shit out of her so much that I froze rather than ask her out for coffee like I had intended. And then for the icing on the cake, I practically run away like someone was stealing my car or some shit.

  Her reaction reminded me of when I was a kid and we found a stray cat huddled under Dad’s truck. He was no bigger than my hand, but man, did he puff up and hiss and spit when we reached down to pick him up. It was all for show, and we ended up keeping him and calling him Gizmo. Not that I was comparing Mac to our cat. I’m sure that would go over about as well as things did today. I just meant I needed to figure out how to get her to trust me.

  My Tuesday afternoon class had me getting to the library later the following day. Mac was already there when I arrived, which was what I was banking on. She didn’t look up when I sank down in the seat next to her. Not that I expected her to, but I did notice that she stopped typing on her iPad.

  “How can you type on that without a keyboard?” I asked, taking my opportunity to break the ice.

  She looked at me, confused, almost like she didn’t understand the question.

  I pointed to her lap. “Your iPad. Isn’t it hard to type on it without a keyboard?”

  For a moment I thought she was going to flat-out ignore my question when her eyes followed where I had pointed. The guy across from me gave me a sympathetic grin that clearly indicated he thought I was striking out.

  Mac surprised us both though by answering. “It’s no different than texting.” Her voice cracked slightly, but it was a start.

  “Yeah, but I’m not the best at texting. My fingers are too fat,” I said, wagging my fingers at her.

  “They’re not fat, just large.” She blushed slightly before looking back down.

  The guy across from us smirked again, but I ignored him. “Still makes it hard. My fingers need more space. I’ve had some seriously embarrassing autocorrect moments.”

  “My friend Za—I mean, a guy I knew had the same problem,” she answered, tripping over her words.

  “See what I mean? At least it’s not just me. How about you? Are you a good texter?” I wanted to smack myself over the weak-ass line of questions, but I was desperate to keep her talking.

  Her eyes, which had been looking everywhere but at me, finally focused on mine. “I used to be,” she answered quietly before looking back down. Her body language made it clear she was done talking.

  It was a step in the right direction, but I was starting to figure out that with this girl I needed to pick my moments, so I took the hint and gave her a little space.

  We didn’t talk again the rest of the afternoon. A couple of times I swore I felt her eyes on me while I chatted with Brian, a guy I shared a couple of classes with. He was studying to become a nurse, so some of our classes overlapped. Anytime I’d glance over to see if I was right about Mac, I would find her head buried in her textbook. Finally, just like clockwork, when seven rolled around, she packed up her stuff. This time I waited until she was gone before I even thought about gathering my own shit.

  By the time I made it outside, I could barely see her as she disappeared int
o the darkness. “You’d think she’d be more concerned about walking at night,” I said.

  “Were you talking to me?” I hadn’t noticed a guy leaning against the wall in the shadows smoking a cigarette.

  “Nah, man, just thinking out loud,” I answered.

  The protective vibe over Mac came out of nowhere. It really wasn’t my business, but for whatever reason, it was becoming important to me to know she was okay.

  The following day, I hoped the headway I’d made yesterday would get Mac to open up a little more. She was already there when I arrived, and even looked over at me when I sat down. I was about ready to slide my chair closer when she looked back down at her notes without so much as a hello. Slightly frustrated, I pulled out my laptop, reminding myself I needed to be patient. As each hour ticked by, though, I began to second-guess the whole idea. Not talking was something she was obviously good at, but I was beginning to question my sanity for continuing to pursue a chick who clearly wasn’t interested.

  Thursday I decided to go for broke. I had basically reached my all-or-nothing point. I greeted Mac as soon as I sat down. Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of light pink, but she returned my greeting. Pleased that I at least had her attention, I pulled out my anatomy book and the body chart I had printed earlier. Shooting her one last smile, I pored over my chart using my book for reference as I began to label my paper. “You know, if I would have known the human body was this complicated, I never would have gotten into this racket.”

  “That’s kind of your job, isn’t it?” Mac’s soft voice answered, giving me the opportunity I was waiting for.

  “True, but I always figured I could skate by with just knowing the general stuff. You know, arm, leg, head, but scapula bone, carpal bones, malleus—I mean, come on.” She looked at me like I had two heads. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

  “I figured as much.”

  “See, that’s why I could also never be a comedian. I can’t even tell a knock-knock joke without screwing it up,” I answered, hoping to keep our momentum going. Glancing around, I noticed the library had emptied out somewhat and our corner was empty except for the two of us.

  She smiled at my words. “I used to wish I had a photographic memory when I was younger. That way I would never have to study.”

  “I used to wish I was Batman.”

  Her smile that normally didn’t reach her eyes grew. “Batman?”

  “Sure. If I was Batman, I could save the day, plus have all the cool gadgets. I’d be a hero by day and stud by night.”

  Her smile dropped slightly. “And you like being a hero?” she asked quietly, studying me intently.

  “It’s all I wanted to be growing up. Only, there’s an obvious difference between comic books and real life, but mostly I enjoy what I do.”

  “What don’t you like about it?”

  “That sometimes we arrive on the scene and realize there is nothing we can do to help.” In my haste to keep our conversation flowing, I spit out the answer without thinking about how she might react.

  “No, sometimes it’s too late,” she whispered. She looked back down at her textbook and I figured we had traveled into the land of no return again.

  “What about you? What would you have done if you had a photographic memory?” I asked, hoping she’d keep talking.

  “Definitely something worthwhile like cure cancer or end global warming.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “I’m actually kidding. I wish I could say I’d use it for something that noble, but I’d probably use it to win Jeopardy! or something like that.”

  “Hey, at least you’re honest. You know what I always wondered? Is everyone with a photographic memory a genius, or are there some poor bastards out there who can answer like any question in the world, but still can’t figure out how to change the clock on their microwave?”

  “I guess I never considered that,” she answered after actually giggling slightly.

  “See, I wonder about these things. Regardless, if nothing else, you could have gone to Vegas and cleaned up counting cards.”

  “What exactly is counting cards?”

  “Like in blackjack. If you had a photographic memory, you could memorize the cards that were dealt, and you would have a better chance at knowing how many high cards were left in the deck to either bet high or hold back.”

  “Sounds like a subject you know quite well. Maybe you’ve done a little card counting.”

  “I wish. Imagine being able to pay for school in cash. I’ll be paying off my student loans forever, even with having some scholarship money.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure that will be an issue with me.”

  “Trust fund baby?”

  “No.” She thumped her bad leg. “My lawyer thinks this will earn me a pretty penny.”

  “Right.” I couldn’t seem to stop dragging the conversation back to the topic she obviously wanted to avoid.

  “It’s okay. It’s all my parents talk about,” she said, pulling the thoughts from my head. “Not the money, I mean, but the accident. They’re not overly happy it’s dragged out so long.”

  “Can’t say I blame them. It’s been a year, right?”

  “It’ll be a year and a half next month.”

  I let out a low whistle. “That’s seriously fucked-up.”

  She laughed at my words. It was the first time I’d heard her laugh that way. I liked it. If anything, she was even more beautiful. “I think my dad would agree with you. He’s not taking the delay that well. I’m just ready for it to be over.”

  “I can understand that. Why the delay?”

  “It’s a lot of blah-blah-blah, but it all boils down to the blame game. Thankfully, the insurance company finally smartened up and stopped trying to blame us.”

  “Why would they blame you guys?”

  “Because it’s easy to blame the teenagers. We had to be doing something wrong, right? They figured it out, though, by talking to eyewitnesses and checking the truck driver’s phone records.”

  I mulled over her words, not sure what to say. After a few awkward moments, we both returned to studying. I wanted to ask more questions. Everything about her intrigued me. Originally I thought it was because of the accident and the part I played in the situation, like I had some kind of vested interest in her life now, but that wasn’t it. Something about the way she talked made me want to listen. That was the only way I could describe it.

  We never really spoke again until she packed up her belongings at seven o’clock on the dot. I followed suit, debating whether I should ask her out for coffee. I tried to get a read on her body language, but it was hard to decipher. One thing was for sure, I didn’t want to make the same mistake as the other night and scare the shit out of her, or take a whack in the head with a cane, for that matter.

  Stepping outside, I smiled with satisfaction from the light breeze. A mild front had moved in earlier that day, dropping the temperature to a tolerable level. Now that October was nearly over, we might actually have highs that didn’t reach almost ninety.

  “It feels nice out,” I said conversationally.

  “We’re getting close to my favorite time of year,” she answered, zipping up her light hoodie. She adjusted her cane to balance her weight and gave me a look of dissatisfaction when she noticed me watching her. “Catch you later,” she muttered, heading down the sidewalk.

  “Hey, wait, I’ll walk you to your dorm,” I called out, jogging up to her.

  “That’s okay.”

  “No, I insist.”

  “So, un-insist. I’d rather you didn’t.” She turned and moved on without giving me a second glance.

  eight

  Mac

  I was an asshole. Seriously. I should be locked away so society wouldn’t have to deal with me. The look on Bentley’s face when I told him I didn’t want him to walk me home stayed with me all night, keeping me up. When he wasn’t at the library the next afternoon, it was pretty clear I’d screwed up. H
e was the first person in a long time I’d felt comfortable enough to talk to, and I managed to blow it. For no real reason except that he looked at my cane. How could I possibly want to move on like I keep telling myself if I continued to push people away?

  I couldn’t get any studying done since all I could think about was how to fix the situation if the opportunity arose. Hopefully it would be as simple as biting the bullet and apologizing for my asinine behavior if he showed up, and of course hoping he accepted. I waited throughout the afternoon, looking up every time the library doors opened. Eventually, I resigned myself to the fact that just like I had done with my roommate, Trina, I had caused someone else to seek life elsewhere. Really, I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be around me either. If he ever showed up again, I could still at least apologize so that he would know it wasn’t because of him that I was such a bitch.

  The library was typically dead on Fridays anyway, but given that it was Halloween, the place was a cemetery. No pun intended. I felt like a double loser, sitting there hoping some guy would show up while everyone else was getting ready to go out and party. Normally, I would have basked in the joy of having the place to myself, but after a week of being around Bentley, I suddenly missed the interaction. Frustrated over having branded myself the picture of pathetic, I was in no mood to study, and decided to pack my bag and head out.

  I had just left the library and was rounding the corner toward my dorm when a couple of guys dressed in togas approached me. Judging by their loud obnoxious behavior and the beers in their hands, they had started partying early. They were being pretty ballsy walking around campus with open liquor bottles, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. One of them turned and whistled as I passed. “Nice costume. You’re like the Planters peanut guy,” he slurred. His friend laughed as he pretended to prop himself up with an imaginary cane.