The Voice in My Head

by Dana L. Davis

  “But we’re not even out of Seattle yet,” Mom calls from across the aisle. “How are we making a stop already? Indigo, you didn’t go to the bathroom before we left? You’re eighteen years old and need to be reminded to go to the bathroom?”

  “I did go. But then Michelle gave me a bottle of water.”

  “Oh, this is my fault?” Michelle laughs. “Girl, bye.”

  “No. I’m just... Look, I gotta pee. Bad.”

  “Jedidiah?” Dad leans forward. “You mind swinging by a gas station so Indigo can run to the bathroom?”

  “The gas station urinals are connected to terrible fields of disturbed energy.” Jedidiah expertly switches lanes. “Let’s stop at a café—5-Point Café is right off this exit.”

  “Okay, Indigo. We’re stopping. Now go sit down,” Dad orders.

  I return to my seat.

  Jedidiah exits the freeway and we glide along in heavy morning traffic. Just as a large truck is leaving, we pull into an empty spot on the street, right in front of 5-Point Café and Bar.

  “I have good parking space karma,” Jedidiah explains. “Never fails. Always get the best spots.”

  “I wouldn’t turn off the bus, Jedidiah.” Dad turns to me. “Indigo, in and out. Hurry up.”

  “Does anybody else have to go?” Mom turns to look at Brandon and Nam. “Go now. We don’t stop again until—” Mom reads from Violet’s schedule “—Oregon.”

  Nobody says a word. I walk the gauntlet alone. “I’ll be super quick. I swear.”

  The bus doors open and I rush down the stairs into Seattle winter.

  * * *

  I wash my hands at the sink and grab a paper towel. The restroom at 5-Point Café isn’t anything fancy but at least the toilets are clean. I push back out into the restaurant. On Saturdays and Sundays this place is usually packed with a line down the street to get in. But since it’s a random Tuesday morning, most people are at work or school. I move toward the door and hear a familiar laugh. I pause. I know that laugh.

  I turn to see Troy in a booth. “Dear God, no.” He’s not alone. He’s with the girl I saw at his apartment. Corina. I back slowly away. “Don’t let them see me. Please, don’t let them see me.”

  “Hey, excuse you,” someone barks.

  I twist around, almost slamming into a waiter carrying a tray of smoking hot breakfast food. “Shoot. My bad.” I sneak a quick peek at Troy. He and the girl are holding hands. My blood must be boiling because I have to wipe sweat from my forehead and the restaurant’s not even all that warm.

  The waiter clears his throat. “Excuse me? I need to get around you.”

  “Oh, right.” I turn back to the waiter and say softly, “Could I get a knife?”

  He gives me an odd look.

  “I ordered the steak and eggs and I didn’t get a knife. Like, I need a really sharp steak knife. One that could puncture through tires. Though I’m not going to puncture tires. I’m going to cut my steak...and eggs.”

  The waiter reaches into his apron, hands me a bundle of silverware wrapped tightly with a thin paper towel and quickly moves around me.

  I stuff the silverware into the pocket of my coat and rush to the door. A few people moving into the café stop to stare at the eye-mobile. I hear a girl say:

  “Dude, that is some weird shit.”

  I push past them and scurry around to the side alley before anybody on the bus notices me. I scan the street and easily spot Troy’s pearl-white Jeep Wrangler. Thankfully, it’s parked on a secluded section of Fourth Avenue, in front of a giant inflatable Santa. I rush to the car, ducking low so that Mom or Dad won’t catch a glimpse of me through the hundreds of eyeballs on the bus windows.

  Once I make it to Troy’s Jeep, I slide and squat Mission: Impossible–style behind the Santa. The silverware clanks loudly onto the pavement as I rip off the paper towel. I grab the steak knife and examine it.

  “Uh? Hello? Girl, what is you doin’?”

  “Assisting karma.”

  “The universe is perfectly balanced. Karma doesn’t need assistance.”

  I ignore the voice and examine the knife. It has a round tip? Stupid safety knives. How come people don’t make steak knives meant for jabbing things anymore?

  “You’re gonna get arrested.”

  “Cool. Never been to jail.”

  I try sawing at the tires but it’s like taking a toothpick to concrete. These are not your average tires. I scan the silverware on the pavement.

  “A butter knife won’t work either.”

  “I wasn’t going to try that.”

  “A spoon? Nah.”

  “Could you be quiet, please? I need to think.”

  The fork suddenly stands out to me. I take it and stab at the tires.

  “Literally never seen anybody do that before. And I’m God. I’ve seen everything.”

  Fork’s not working. I look around to make sure no one’s paying any attention to me. It’s a busy morning and traffic is heavy, but thankfully, I’m almost completely obscured by Santa. I sigh. Where can I find something that can puncture through a tire?

  “If you bend all the other prongs, so only one fork prong stands, you might be able to push it through.”

  I study the fork. That’s actually a pretty good idea. “Wait—you’re helping me?”

  “Eh, when in Rome.”

  I bend the fork prongs down by pushing them onto the concrete. It takes a massive amount of effort, but after a minute or two, I’m finally left with three bent fork prongs and one that stands erect. With all my strength, I stab into the grooves of the tire. Again and again and again, until finally, I hear the tsssss of air seeping through rubber. “Yes! I did it!”

  “Congratulations, Indigo. You’ve just committed your first felony.”

  “Thank you!” I move around and do the same thing to the other tire that’s hidden by Santa. Two flat tires should serve him well. Happy Tuesday, Troy.

  I stuff all the silverware back into my coat pocket and run back to the bus; the doors open as I approach. Michelle’s rushing down the stairs.

  “Michelle.” I’m all outta breath. “What, uh, are you doing?”

  “Girl, you took so long, we ordered a dozen of those breakfast muffins they make.”

  Crap. If Michelle sees Troy she’ll make a scene. Violet will know about Troy and his new girlfriend. The trip could be ruined before it even begins!

  I hold out my hand. “Oh, you stay on the bus. I’ll get the muffins.”

  “I have to pay.” She holds up her credit card.

  I snatch it out of her hand. “I got it. You relax.” I take off before she can respond, rushing across the pavement and pushing through the doors back into the café.

  A hostess with short jet-black hair shaved on one side is returning from seating a family. “Hi. Can I help you?”

  “Yes. To-go order for Michelle Delacroix?”

  She studies a computer screen at the host stand. “Yeah, I see it. You ordered a dozen of the blueberry oatmeal muffins?”

  “Yep.” I thrust the card at her.

  She takes it.

  I stare over her shoulder, tapping my feet anxiously as she rings up the order. Thankfully Troy’s back is to me and it looks like he’s not even halfway through his meal. As long as he doesn’t turn around, I’m good.

  “Would you like napkins and utensils?”

  “Uh...maybe napkins.” I think of Brandon and Nam. “Make it lots of napkins.”

  “Got it. System is so slow today.” She hands me back the card. “Receipt should print out in a second. You can have a seat. I’ll let you know when they’re ready.”

  Ugggh. They’re muffins. Aren’t they already made? Shouldn’t they have a muffin vending machine in this place? “Can you check? We’re in a bit of a rush, if you don’t mind.”


  The receipt prints out. She pulls it out of the machine and slides it across the counter. “Can you sign? Customer receipt hasn’t printed yet. Like I said, system is slow.”

  I scribble something illegible at the bottom. “And can you check? Please?”

  She sighs. “I guess. Yeah. Be right back.” She takes off at a snail’s pace.

  I glance back over at Troy’s girlfriend. Our eyes meet. Shit. She saw me! Her brow furrows. She leans forward and says something to Troy.

  He starts to turn toward me but I duck behind the counter before he can see, pretending to tie my shoes even though I’m wearing Uggs.

  “He didn’t see me. He totally didn’t see me.”

  “But she saw you.”

  “But maybe she didn’t recognize me.”

  “Nah, she totally recognized you.”

  “Stop being so negative!”

  “Indigo?”

  I look up. Holy shitballs, Troy is standing in front of me. Wearing another pair of expensive True Religion jeans, with a snow-white T-shirt. Looking like he comes from money.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  I pop up. “Troy Richmond. What an unpleasant surprise.”

  “Are you...following me?”

  “Troy, do I look like I have private detective equipment in my pockets? I don’t know where you go on a day-to-day. I don’t know what you do. I’m here for the muffins, man. The fact that I’ve run into you is simply an unfortunate coincidence.”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “But it’s a school day and you don’t even live in this part of town.”

  Thankfully the hostess approaches with a giant to-go bag.

  “Here you go, Mrs....Delacroix?” She hands me the bag. “A dozen blueberry oatmeal muffins to go, extra napkins.”

  “Mrs. Delacroix?” Troy says to the hostess.

  “Oh, did I pronounce it wrong?” the hostess replies as the customer receipt finally prints out. She grabs it and reads. “Michelle Delacroix?”

  “Yep. That’s correct.” I snatch the receipt out of her hand. “Thank you, miss. Have a great day.” I turn to Troy. “Can you move out of my way?”

  “You’re with the family? Is Violet with you?”

  “Dang, boy, stop being so nosy. Move around.”

  I scoot past him and rush from the restaurant back into the Seattle cold. I climb onto the bus.

  “Everything all right?” Mom asks.

  “Sure. Yeah.” I hand the bag of muffins and credit card to Michelle.

  “Oh, thanks. Did you get utensils?”

  “For what?”

  “The boys need forks.”

  Who eats muffins with a fork? “Oh, yeah. I asked but they ran out. Sorry.”

  I tap Pastor on the shoulder. “We can go now. Let’s drive away from this place. Fast.”

  “Wait a second, Pastor.” Michelle hands him a steaming hot muffin. “Try one. These things are so good.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Pastor Jedidiah peels off the paper. He takes a giant bite, closes his eyes and murmurs, “These are delicious.”

  “Told you.” Michelle passes muffins out to the rest of the family.

  I take a seat in the back and slump down. Why aren’t we moving? Why is Pastor eating so slow? Why? Why? Why?

  After what feels like a trillion years, Pastor crumples up the muffin paper, tosses it in the trash behind his seat and exhales dramatically. “That was the best muffin I’ve ever had in all my life. Thank you, Michelle.”

  Just as Pastor flips on the blinkers and checks his mirrors, banging on the side of the bus startles everyone.

  “What on Earth was that?” Mom stands, peeking through the glass on the doors.

  “Indigo!” a muffled voice shouts from outside.

  I slump farther down in my seat. It’s Troy. I’m caught. I’m dead. Jail-bound for sure. Federal prison, here I come.

  Mom gasps. “Is that Troy Richmond?”

  “What?” Violet looks dumbstruck. “My Troy?” She peeks through the window. “Who’s the girl with him?”

  Now everybody moves to a window.

  Jedidiah pulls the lever that makes the doors swing open and Troy takes a step back. “Gooooood morning. We’re not taking passengers. I know it looks tempting.”

  “Indigo!” Troy shouts. “I know it was you who fucked up my tires! I want you to know I called the police.”

  Mom and Dad turn to me.

  “What is he talking about?” Mom asks.

  “I—” I scratch my head “—may have forked his tires.”

  “Forked? What is that? Is that slang for something?” Dad asks.

  “No, I literally stuck a fork into two of the tires on his Jeep.”

  “Indigo!” Dad bellows. “When?”

  “Just...um...now.”

  “Those were thousand-dollar tires, sir,” Troy calls up to Dad. “I really have no other choice but to press charges when the police get here.”

  “Let me talk to him.” Violet struggles to stand. “Dad, can you help me? I don’t...wanna get too winded. If I do it on my...own. And I don’t...wanna use the wheelchair.”

  “You sure, Violet?” Mom asks nervously, clearly not wanting Violet to be exposed to any more pain and heartache.

  “Either I talk to him...or Indigo gets in big trouble.” She looks up at Dad. “Please?”

  Dad nods, carefully lifts Violet into his arms and walks her down the stairs.

  Everybody clumps together at the doorway. Troy looks like he’s about to shit his pants when he sees Violet. He freezes. Spooked.

  “Hi, Troy,” she says softly.

  Troy stuffs his hands into his pockets and mumbles, “Hello.”

  “Good to see you.” Violet extends her hand to Corina. “Hi, I’m...Violet. Nice to meet you.”

  A confused Corina shakes Violet’s hand.

  “We’re on our way to Arizona,” Violet explains. “It’s a really important trip. Is there any way you could...maybe call off the police? I can pay you for the tires.”

  Troy stares down at the pavement, too ashamed to even make eye contact with Violet. “Uh, yeah. That would be okay.”

  “What do I owe you?”

  Troy shakes his head. “Nothing. Look, Violet. I couldn’t take money from you. It wouldn’t feel right.”

  “But I have a few thousand dollars in savings. I don’t mind. I only want to keep peace. Indigo...sometimes she does things without thinking... She’s sorry.”

  I roll my eyes. Maybe I do things without thinking but I am definitely not sorry.

  “Violet.” Troy clears his throat. “I won’t take money from you, all right? Let’s forget it. Call it even.”

  “Call what even?” Corina interrupts. “That random girl damages your property and you’re going to let it slide? Is there something I’m missing here?”

  “She’s not random. Don’t get involved in business that’s not yours,” Troy snaps at Corina. “Go wait by the car.”

  Corina’s jaw clenches in anger.

  Dad steps forward. “So then we’re good here, Troy?”

  “Calling it even.” Troy scratches the back of his head. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe not even,” Violet adds with a sigh. “But at least...the police don’t have to get involved.”

  “I agree.” Troy runs a hand across his cheek. “I’m sorry, Violet.”

  This would be the point where I would lurch forward and kick Troy in the balls, but though Violet and I share identical DNA, we don’t share an identical approach to love and life. She’s probably standing there, imagining all the ways Troy is good, while I’m imagining him with a wounded nutsack. She’s forgiving him for all the pain he caused her over these last couple of months. I’m concealing the prong of a fork in the pocket of my coat.
r />   She steps forward and hugs him tightly. He rests his head on her shoulder.

  “I really am sorry, Violet,” he whispers. “I’d take it back if I could.”

  “I know you would.” She pulls away, turns to Dad. “I’m ready.”

  Dad picks her up and we all part to make room as they climb the stairs. The doors to the bus slam shut. Leaving Troy and Corina alone in the cold. I watch them through a window next to Violet’s seat. They’re in a deep conversation that seems to be escalating pretty quickly. Corina removes the lid from the cup in her hand and hurls it in Troy’s face, storming away. He hangs his head, dripping with orange juice, and walks in the opposite direction. I guess...back to his inoperable vehicle? Maybe he’ll call a Lyft or a tow truck. Not sure how he’ll get around on two flats. Not sure I care either. Maybe the police can give him a ride home.

  Violet’s staring out the window, too. She adjusts her cannula with trembling hands.

  We’re all silent. Watching and waiting to see what Violet will do. What she will say. Is she going to burst into tears? Yell and scream at me? I knew Troy had a girlfriend and didn’t tell her the truth. Then I put our entire trip in jeopardy by damaging Troy’s property. I was careless, reckless and melodramatic to the tenth power. She has every right to be angry.

  As if reading my mind, Violet looks up at me. “You...”

  “Violet, I know what I did was wrong. I wasn’t—”

  She holds out a hand to silence me. “You forked his tires?”

  I pull at my ponytail. “With a fork. Yeah.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. Then she starts to laugh. In fact, she laughs until she’s nearly bent over. It’s the first time I’ve seen her laugh in months. My jaw drops.

  “S-M-H,” Alfred says while literally shaking his head. “Man, Indigo, you crazy.” He laughs, too.

  Mom and Dad exchange looks, then burst into laughter as well.

  Even Michelle cracks up. “Did God tell you to do that, Indigo?”

  “No. He told me not to,” I declare with an embarrassed shrug.

  Soon, the entire family is howling with laughter.

  A familiar smell wafts up to my nose. We all spin around to see Jedidiah holding one of his prayer sticks. Its swirls of smoke drifting into all corners of the bus. “Should we have Indigo confess assault with a deadly fork? Or full speed ahead to the Wave?”