A Shattered Moment

by Tiffany King

  Without a word, I whirled around and stalked away. All the joy and excitement I felt just moments ago had dimmed. I walked blindly, searching for a buffer that used to be Zach. Obviously, he was no longer mine.

  I pasted a smile on my face when I found Kat, Dan, and Jessica, who were animated with enthusiasm as they adjusted their caps and gowns.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Please take your places. We are about to begin.” Mrs. Flores’s voice crackled across a loudspeaker. Jessica, Kat, and I hugged each other before they scurried off to their places in line. I felt someone behind me move into place. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was Tracey. Her signature body spray wafting toward me gave her away. Neither of us spoke. I could feel her breathing on the back of my neck. It was heavy and hinted at impending tears. Over the years, we had cried together many times, so I knew when she was about to break down. Tracey hated for anyone to see her cry, and right now she was gulping hard to fight back the tears. Most times it worked, but on the rare occasion when she felt overwhelmed, she would spew like a fountain. When that happened, no amount of tissues stood a chance.

  I knew she was seconds away from the impending flood. The bitch side of me wanted it to happen to vindicate the fissure of betrayal of my now suffering heart. If we would have been anywhere but in this line, I would have remained stoic and let her suffer, but this was our graduation—our shared moment. Everything we’d planned since we walked through the doors as freshmen would crumble away: our matching outfits, our secret plan to stand together to have our picture taken after we received our diplomas. There would be no single shots. We wanted to graduate the same way we had done every other event in our lives—together. We declared ourselves best friends from the day we met and discovered we shared the same last name. We were convinced we were sisters separated at birth. From that day forward, we’d always been together. All our other friends envied us, and we bragged about it whenever the occasion arose.

  Tracey’s breathing behind me was now coming out in gasps. If I was going to fix this, I needed to do it now.

  Forcing a painful smile on my face, I whirled around. Just as I expected, her eyes were swimming with tears. The situation felt surreal. Shouldn’t it be me crying? I was the one who just found out the two people I trusted the most had betrayed me. What did it say about me that I wasn’t the one whose eyes were filled with tears?

  “It’s fine,” I told her, swallowing hard. A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye. She opened her mouth to answer, but it came out garbled. “It’s fine,” I repeated with more conviction. I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince.

  • • •

  I climbed out of Bentley’s car, throwing him a good-bye as I shut the door. He thanked me again, flashing another one of his dimpled smiles. Even though I didn’t turn around to look once I walked away, I could hear his car idling at the curb as I entered the front door of my building. He was just doing the friend thing, like I emphasized I wanted, by making sure I got in safely. How could I expect anything else? I seemed to be the one dictating things between us. He was only respecting my wishes.

  The weekend dragged by. Even if I wanted to talk to Bentley, he was at work. Keeping up with my classes and homework was a nonissue since I had an abundance of time to study. As the hours slowly trickled on, I was almost sorry I didn’t go home for the weekend. At least there I could have had something to occupy my mind.

  By Sunday evening I was going stir-crazy. I was on the verge of doing something drastic like actually leave my dorm room when Trina showed up. I’m pretty sure my reaction to her arrival made her think I needed a padded room.

  My greeting could only be described as a squeal gone wrong.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, eyeing my cheesy smile with skepticism. She kept her hand on the doorknob like she wasn’t sure if she should flee while she had a chance.

  “Yeah. The weekend’s been a bit of a drag.” I felt as stupid as I sounded.

  “Right,” she answered, still looking at me cautiously.

  “Look, I know I’ve been a total asshole.” My voice stalled slightly, but I plunged on. “I wasn’t expecting dorm living to be . . .” I paused as I searched for the right words. I knew everyone thought I was a complete dud. How did I explain that it was more of a sensory overload issue?

  Trina waited with one eyebrow raised for me to continue. I could tell she was curious to see where this was going.

  “So much,” I finished lamely, wishing she would at least sit down. It felt oddly intimidating to be sitting down while she remained standing. “I guess I knew there would be parties and hanging out. I just didn’t know it would be like twenty-four/seven, and always in here. I didn’t mean to be such a bitch. After the accident and a month in the hospital, I learned to value my alone time. Everyone was always coddling me. I think I went overboard.”

  She moved to her bed, looking uncomfortable with my sudden openness. This was the first time I’d mentioned my leg or the accident since we moved in together. She perched on the edge of her bed. “It’s mellowed out a lot,” she said, smoothing out the wrinkles from her comforter.

  “I know. I’m trying to get better.”

  She nodded, but didn’t look up as she continued to slide her hand over her comforter. My confession had embarrassed her. I should have stopped talking so she could make her retreat without things getting even more awkward, if that was even possible.

  “So, you were in the hospital?” she asked quietly. “Is that why you have the—you know?” She finally looked up toward my cane.

  I briefly regretted mentioning it. I knew it was bound to open a can of worms. I found myself answering her anyway. “Yeah. I was in a car accident.” My throat dried out halfway through the sentence, but I got the words out. It felt strange to have a conversation with someone who knew nothing about what had happened.

  “Car accidents freak me out. My cousin died in an accident when I was twelve. He was a total dipshit. He was street racing with some friends and flipped his car. I remember seeing the pictures. It was crushed to smithereens.”

  “Accidents have a way of doing that,” I answered, feeling like someone was pressing on my chest.

  “Did your vehicle flip, too?”

  “Yeah, it did.”

  My therapist would call this another milestone. She felt the more I talked about what happened, the easier it would eventually become. I’d come to the conclusion that she must be dipping into the meds she prescribed. It would never get easier.

  eleven

  Bentley

  Mac was already at the library when I showed up on Monday. I took it as good sign that she smiled at me and removed her backpack from the chair next to her. Saving me a seat was definitely a positive sign.

  “Hey,” I greeted her, plopping down in the empty seat.

  “Hey,” she answered, looking right at me. “How was your weekend?” she asked, twisting the lid off her water.

  “Not bad. You know, the work thing. How about you?”

  “It was boring as hell.”

  I chuckled. “That’s too bad. If I didn’t have to work, we could have done something.”

  “Do you work every weekend?” I was totally digging the new eye contact thing. Obviously, Friday night had helped her open up. Now, if I could coax her to move beyond the “friends” thing.

  “For the most part. I tried working shifts during the week, but it screwed up my school schedule completely. Staying up half the night going out on calls and then trying to get to class the next day was too hard. Especially when I fell asleep in class. Turns out college professors don’t take too kindly to that.”

  “Very true.” Her eyes twinkled with humor, and it was all I could do not to stand up and tell her how gorgeous she was. “What high school did you attend?”

  My thoughts were still on her eyes, and it took me a moment to switch gears. “Uh, Mainland. Class of 2011.”

  “That’s a nice school. I had a project there
for the Volusia County Literacy Fair when I was a freshman in high school.”

  “Yeah. It’s not where I was zoned for, but we got it switched because they had the Science and Medical Career Academy.”

  “So, you knew even before high school that you wanted to be an EMT?” she asked, chewing on the end of her pen.

  “My ultimate goal was to become a paramedic, but I’m not sure if I have what it takes.” I couldn’t believe I’d voiced the thought. I hadn’t admitted that to anyone, not even my parents. Being a paramedic had been my only career choice for so long, it freaked me out that all my hard work would go to waste if I changed my mind.

  “How can you say that? You’re great at what you do. You help people more than you might realize.”

  I ran my hand through my hair, trying to better articulate what I meant. “I know we help people. I’m just saying it’s tougher than I thought it would be. Going in, I assumed I’d be making a difference. The bitch of it is—I’m not. Or not as much as I thought I would be.” I was thinking specifically of the domestic violence call from last week. Despite our training, Steve and I had been powerless to help. We didn’t even get the chance.

  “Sometimes it may not seem like you’re helping, but in reality, you’re the difference between darkness and light,” she said quietly. “You were for me.” She lowered her head, studying the screen of her phone.

  I mulled over her words. I would have expected her of all people to hold a grudge against first responders, considering the way things worked out with her and her friends.

  We both sort of sat there silently for a few minutes, digesting the confessions each of us had admitted. I finally piped in, asking her if she’d like to get some dinner. At first I thought she was going to turn me down by the way she started to shake her head. She shocked me by suddenly agreeing.

  Triumphantly, I helped her to her feet and shouldered both our backpacks. As I followed her out of the library, I couldn’t help sneaking a few looks at her trim backside. I knew from carrying her up the stairs on Friday that she couldn’t have weighed more than a buck-five, if that, but she had the right curves. Something about her made me want to go all caveman and keep her from harm. She’d probably assume it was because of her limp and take it as an insult if I told her. Mom claims I’ve been that way since I was a kid. She said it was in my DNA that I inherited from Dad’s side of the family. They were always protective of the ones they loved. If Mac heard that shit, she’d really go running for the hills. I wouldn’t have blamed her.

  “Is there anything you don’t like to eat?” I asked as she climbed into my car.

  “Just seafood.”

  “Really? All seafood?” That still left lots of options. There were plenty of places to eat around the school, but they were always crowded and loud. I wanted to be able to talk to her without shouting over everyone.

  “Yep, all of it. Especially lobster. The idea of cracking their shells open and devouring their bodies seriously creeps me out. Shrimp are the same way, and clams are just yuck. And don’t even get me started on any fish that is served with its head still on.”

  I laughed at her description. “So, are you a vegan?”

  “Vegan?” She laughed. “Heck no. I’m just not a fan of watching my food being boiled to death. I know it sounds funny, but as long as my food’s not looking at me, I’m good to go.”

  “You do realize chicken, beef, and pork are all animals with eyes, too, right? And their faces are cuter than a fish’s any day.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t ever bring out a burger with the cow’s head still attached. Are you a vegetarian or something?”

  “I’m a nonpracticing vegetarian.”

  She snorted. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means I wish I was a vegetarian, but I sorta don’t like vegetables. It makes being a vegetarian awfully hard.”

  “What do you mean you don’t like vegetables? Like all of them?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. My parents tried to force me to eat them when I was little. They’d tell me I couldn’t get up from the table until my plate was clean. They eventually gave up after I fell asleep at the table for like the hundredth time. Nothing like having green beans stuck to your face.”

  I noticed when I mentioned my parents that Mac shifted gears and began talking about food again. It seemed anytime the subjects of family and friends came up, she would say as little as possible. Not that I would embarrass her by probing the matter further. I had a feeling that would be like adding gas to a fire.

  We spent the rest of the drive talking about what other foods neither of us liked. At least she seemed to be having a good time and was completely relaxed when I pulled into a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant I’d been going to all my life. I could tell she approved when she breathed in deeply the moment we stepped into the restaurant. I couldn’t blame her. The scent of spices and fresh tortillas hung heavily in the air.

  “It smells like heaven on a stick in here,” she commented as the hostess led us to a table.

  “That’s nothing. Wait till you try the food. I swear, everything they make here is delicious. The tortillas are the fucking bomb, though.”

  “Señor Bentley, your mouth.” Ana approached our table with a frown on her face. Her accent was heavy, but easy to understand, especially after all the years I’d been coming here. “What would your poor momma say?”

  “Ana, I was only expressing how delicious your homemade tortillas are. You can’t blame a guy for being enthusiastic about your cooking,” I crooned, turning on the charm. Ana and her husband, Pedro, were practically family after the amount of time my family and I had spent at their restaurant over the years. Never having children of their own, they’d showered my sister and me with attention while I was growing up. Between Ana and my mom, I had two women who regularly chastised me for my language. I tried to tell them both I was an adult now, but my argument never seemed to stick.

  “Don’t think you can charm me with that smile of yours, mijo. I’ll tell your momma if I catch vulgar language on that tongue again. Comprende?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I answered as Mac smirked.

  “And who is this pretty young lady?” Ana asked, studying Mac with her typical eagle eye.

  “This is Mac.” Mac shifted slightly now that the attention was on her.

  “Mac? That is not a name suitable for such a lovely girl.”

  “Ana,” I warned. Ana had an uncomfortable habit of saying whatever was on her mind.

  “It’s short for Mackenzie,” Mac answered. Her gaze was unwavering, though her voice shook slightly. It pained me to see her uncomfortable. Her shyness was what had initially drawn me in and now I felt protective because of it.

  “Mackenzie,” Ana said aloud, like she was testing it out. “Now that is a beautiful name. I will call you Mackenzie. Mac is some disgusting hamburger you get at fake restaurants.”

  “Ana, fast-food restaurants are not fake. And Mackenzie prefers Mac.”

  “Don’t you sass me. If I say they’re fake, then they are. And if I want to call your new girl by her given name, I will.” She placed her hands on her plump hips, daring Mac or me to argue. She took our drink orders and stomped off toward the kitchen to complain to Pedro.

  “Sorry about that. Ana’s pretty old-school. Arguing with her is about as much fun as letting seagulls poke your eyes out.”

  Mac flashed me a weak smile, but shrugged her shoulders. “That’s fine. My mom still insists on calling me Mackenzie, too. She pretends it’s because she forgets, but I know that’s just her stubborn way of keeping me in my place.”

  “Can I ask why you changed it?” It seemed like a good opportunity to get a little insight into her family life.

  She took a steadying breath before answering. “It was just easier after the accident. I don’t know how to really explain it. Everything changed so drastically. I didn’t feel like the same person anymore. I was so sick of the sadness and the depression. I wanted to sha
ke it all off.”

  She paused while Ana placed our drinks and a basket of chips and a bowl of fresh salsa on the table. We gave her our dinner orders and I waited for Mac to continue. I dipped a chip in salsa, waiting for her to finish without pressuring her.

  After a few moments, she continued, “Anyway, it got to the point that I wanted to shed everything from my old life. That’s why I transferred to the dorms this year. While I was at home, I was the victim who had lost everything. I would go to classes and then come home every night to the same questions about how I was doing or how I was feeling. If it wasn’t that, we were always talking about the case. I just needed a change. During the summer, I broke it to my parents that I wanted to live on campus, and shortened my name. Needless to say, neither made them happy. They tried to fight my decisions, but in the end I played the ‘I’m an adult now’ card.” She sat back in her chair looking like she had just confessed to a crime.

  “I can understand that,” I told her, dunking another chip into the salsa. “I bet deep down your parents do, too.”

  “I think my dad does. He’s always been the go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Mom, not so much. It’s usually her way or the highway. She works as a business executive in a marketing firm, so she’s used to getting her way. In the beginning, she tried to fix me like she does problems that arise at work, but she realized I’m unfixable.”