Becoming Sarah

by Simon, Miranda

  Aurélie put her lips to my ear. “What are you having?”

  “Nothing, thanks.”

  She motioned to the bartender. “I’ll have a martini, and a cosmopolitan for my friend here.”

  “No, Aurélie, I. . .”

  She thrust the drink into my hand. Liza ordered and I paid for us all. I eyed my plastic cup suspiciously, then sniffed it. It smelled like grapefruit juice.

  “Drink up,” Aurélie urged.

  My head swam already from the pounding music, the bad news about Nick, and my hopelessly screwed up life. What could one drink hurt?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I took a tiny sip, then another. The vodka burned my throat a little going down, but the drink itself tasted cool and sweet. Better yet, it melted the lump in my throat and the knot in my stomach.

  Nick, married? It had never even crossed my mind that he might be. In high school, nobody was married. They might see someone on the side, or cheat with some girl they’d met in online, but this seemed far more serious. Sleeping with a married man? How could Sarah live with herself?

  She couldn’t.

  That thought brought me up cold. I could hardly lay this all on Sarah when I had only myself to blame. I’d let my hormones lead me around by the nose, only to end up with an aching heart and smashed dreams. Next time, I wouldn’t be so naïve.

  “Hey, look at those three guys over there,” Liza yelled over the music. “The one in the blue shirt’s pretty hot, and I think he’s checking me out.”

  I looked. They were hot, all right, and they were eyeing all three of us. Liza grabbed my arm. “They’re coming over here!”

  One of the guys – tall, with dark hair – leaned on the bar beside me and bared perfect white teeth. He said something I couldn’t make out.

  “What?”

  He leaned in. His breath tickled my ear. “What are you drinking? I’ll buy you another.”

  His friends were already flirting with Aurélie and Liza. He smelled good, some expensively woodsy after shave. I opened my mouth to point out that I still had most of my first drink left, but when I glanced down I saw that the glass was nearly empty. “No thanks,” I said instead.

  “Want to dance, then?”

  I did not. While I’d gone to a few school dances, I’d stayed on the sidelines. Maybe as Sarah I was less clumsy and awkward, but I didn’t feel like testing that theory. I shook my head. “Not right now, thanks!”

  “Then I hope you don’t mind if I just stand here and admire you.” He grinned. “I told my friends they had to let me talk to you first, since you’re the most beautiful girl in the room tonight.”

  How could I not feel flattered? Here was a great-looking guy, presumably single, interested in me. I smiled back. It was all the encouragement he needed. He introduced himself as Chad. He worked for an advertising agency. He owned a Porsche. He liked German philosophers, wine tasting, and adventure travel. At some point, I let him buy me that second drink. Liza and Aurélie left to dance with the other two guys. Chad was telling me about his last kayaking trip in Malaysia. My eyes kept glazing over. The music was too loud; it hurt my ears.

  Aurélie and Liza appeared next to me. “Come on,” Aurélie said. She grabbed my hand and dragged me away from Chad. “This place is boring. Let’s get out of here.”

  Chad and his friends trailed after us. They thrust business cards into our hands. “Bo-oring,” Liza complained, when they were out of earshot. “I hear there’s a new club in SOMA that’s got a much better crowd.”

  We stumbled outside, where Aurélie hailed a cab. A few gulps of fresh air helped clear my head. We piled into the taxi, then out again a few minutes later. Aurélie and Liza waited while I paid the driver. This club had a long line, but Aurélie knew the bouncer and he let us right in.

  This club was darker, with even louder music. Everyone wore black, plus heaps of black eyeliner – men and women both. I bought us all another round of drinks.

  Halfway through a glass of white wine, I started to relax and have fun. Guys came up to us here, too, except these guys had goatees, tattoos, and tongue rings. The one who ended up next to me shouted in my ear about some performance art piece he was working on, where he cut himself with a razor onstage and then bled on a piece of white canvas. He got very excited explaining what it all meant. “It’s about our fears and desires,” he yelled. “It’s about death and rebirth!”

  “Sounds great,” I said, and noticed with interest that my tongue tripped over the words. My stomach didn’t feel quite right, either. I eyed my drink. Was it my third, or my fourth? Maybe I should slow down.

  I looked around for Aurélie and Liza, but couldn’t find them. The room kept spinning. “Excuse me,” I said to Razor Boy. I staggered off in search of a restroom, where I promptly threw up in a toilet.

  I felt a little better after that, but I badly wanted to go home. I located Liza in one of the darker corners, where she was making out with a man who’d shaved his head and had a dragon tattooed on his scalp. “I need to leave,” I told her.

  She looked annoyed. “It’s not even late.”

  “I’m sick. I threw up.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Like I needed to know that. Can’t you hang out here another hour or so?”

  “I want to go.” I felt green around the gills again. I clutched my stomach. “Where’s Aurélie?”

  “I have no idea. Why don’t you get a cab home?”

  “You won’t come with me?”

  She had the grace to look faintly guilty. “Come on, Sarah. Don’t spoil the night for me, too.”

  I had no choice but to wobble out to the street. I got into a yellow cab, gave the driver Sarah’s address, and leaned back in the seat. If I kept my eyes closed, it wasn’t so bad. If I took deep, careful breaths, maybe I wouldn’t vomit again.

  I felt sick as a dog, and angry to boot. Some friends Sarah had. They expected her to pay for everything and didn’t even care when she – I – got sick. I could die in a gutter, for all they cared. Maria would never treat me this way.

  A wave of loneliness swept over me. Maria. I would give anything to have her with me right now. She’d stroke my hair and tell me I'd be fine. She’d help me up the stairs and put me to bed.

  Instead I negotiated the stairs alone, pausing at each landing. The last flight I took at a run. I fumbled open the door and made it to the bathroom just in time. When my stomach was completely empty I brushed my teeth, kicked off my sandals, and practically crawled to the bed.

  As I fell asleep, I vowed that alcohol would never, ever touch my lips again.

  I woke up feeling, if possible, even worse.

  I lay in bed, my head splitting, my stomach clenching. Suddenly I understood my mother’s plaintive moans on the mornings after she’d had too much to drink. I used to drag her out of bed by force, shove her in the shower, and bully her into going to work. “Take an aspirin,” I’d say. “Don’t be such a big baby.”

  Now I understood how cruel I’d been, though perhaps justified.

  The house phone rang. The noise sent violent spikes of pain through my skull. I groaned, rolled over, and pressed my face into my pillow. After four rings, the answering machine picked up.

  "Ms. Winslow? This is James Todd, from the San Francisco Police Department. I'm calling in regards to --"

  I sat up and grabbed for the handset by my bed. My head and stomach protested, but I ignored them. "Yes? Hello? I'm here."

  "Good. We need to talk."

  "Oh!" I needed some good news. "Did Ricky confess?"

  "Hardly." His voice was grim. "Ms. Winslow, I did some checking. Ricky Jones has no criminal record, nothing at all. His grades are decent. His teachers have never had any issues with him."

  "But you talked to him, right? You asked him where he was Wednesday night around --"

  "I'm not finished," Detective Todd broke in. "I did some additional checking. After I was done with Ricky, I looked into your record, Ms. Winslow."

&n
bsp; "My -- ?"

  "That's right. You neglected to tell me a few things when you came by yesterday. The arrest for shoplifting? And I found out you've spent a little time in the mental health system, Ms. Winslow. A private, very upscale facility, but an institution all the same."

  "Oh." I didn't know what else to say; I hadn't known. "But that doesn't change --"

  "I also spoke to Jamie's friend Maria. Maria describes a young woman very much like you, Ms. Winslow, who came to her door on Thursday and claimed to be -- what did she say? Claimed to be Jamie reincarnated, or something like that. Does any of this ring a bell?"

  "No, I --" This conversation was going very badly.

  "Jamie's mother also saw you, or your identical twin perhaps. She says you were standing outside her window and spying on her. I have to tell you, Ms. Winslow, this doesn't look good. If there wasn't a rape involved, I might even consider you as a suspect. I have no idea why you latched on to this particular case, but I suggest you drop it pretty damn fast."

  "Won't you please just talk to Ricky?" I begged. "Okay, maybe this does seem strange, but there's an explanation."

  "Really? I'd like to hear it, then."

  "I -- I can't tell you."

  Detective Todd heaved a sigh. "All I can say, Ms. Winslow, is that I advise you to stay far away from Jamie's family and anyone related to this case."

  He hung up. I sat listening in horror to the dial tone. So Ricky was going to get away with murder, it seemed. But I wasn’t about to let Detective Todd keep me away from my mother and Maria.

  Speaking of whom – I grabbed for the clock next to the bed. It was already 10:30. The funeral was in half an hour, on the other side of town.

  “Can’t be late for my own funeral,” I said aloud, then giggled. That was so creepy it was funny.

  I jumped out of bed, and immediately regretted it. It felt like Thor had taken his hammer to my head. As I dressed – in a black wool designer suit, its skirt a little too short and tight for the occasion – I fought off nausea. My mother always said a little food made her feel better, but even the thought made me wince.

  I scrubbed last night’s lipstick off my face and ran my fingers through my hair. One thing I could say for Sarah – she looked great no matter what. Her skin might be a little pale this morning, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes, but I still thought she was beautiful.

  I made it to the front door of the building before I nearly collided with Nick, who came bounding up the stairs to ring the buzzer. “Just who I was looking for,” he said, and swept me up in a hug before I could protest. He held up a paper bag. “Look, I brought bagels! I can’t stay long –“

  I pulled away from him. “I suppose you have to get back to your wife.”

  He shrugged. “So? Let’s not get into this, Sarah.”

  “No, let’s not. I don’t have time anyway.” I stiffened my spine and looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t want to see you again, Nick. Not this morning, not ever. So how about if you just take your bagels and go home where you belong?”

  He stared at me, speechless. His mouth hung open, which to my great satisfaction marred his picture-perfect face.

  “Goodbye, Nick.” I marched past him down the stairs.

  He ran after me and caught my arm. “Wait, Sarah. What’s this? Yesterday you were all over me.”

  “That was then. This is now. It's over.” I shook his hand loose and kept on walking.

  He ran alongside me. “You’ve always run hot and cold, Sarah, but this is ridiculous. What kind of game are you playing?”

  “No game.” I spotted a cab and raised my arm to hail it. The driver pulled up to the curb. As I opened the door, Nick’s mouth twisted in fury. Yup, he was definitely less handsome this way.

  “You stupid bitch,” he yelled, as I slammed the door in his face.

  I felt marginally better after that, at least until the taxi pulled up to St. Michael’s. My mother wasn't a regular churchgoer, but she'd dragged me to an occasional Easter Sunday here. I associated the church with flowered hats, kids with scrubbed faces and slicked-back hair, women in bright suits, and smiles all around. Now I saw instead little clusters of people in dark clothes on the sidewalk talking softly, solemnly -- strangers and neighbors, my teachers, my friends. Some dabbed at tears. Some smiled, then covered their mouths with nervous fingers.

  I didn't want to get out of the cab; I didn't want to go into the church. Yesterday I'd been kind of excited about the idea of the funeral. I'd get to see who cared enough to come. I'd get to hear what people really thought of me. Now it didn't seem like such a great idea.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The driver cleared his throat. "You said St. Michael's, lady, didn't you?"

  "Sorry." I paid him, got out, and walked slowly toward the church's front stoop.

  Inside, I glanced around. I'd never seen so many people here, not even at the Christmas Eve service we'd attended once. I recognized maybe two thirds of them. All my teachers were here, and a lot of my classmates. I nearly raised my hands to cover my face, to hide from them; I kept forgetting they wouldn't know me. I felt like an intruder, somehow.

  There was my mother, near the front pews. Aunt Janelle stood protectively on one side of her, Maria on the other. My mother wore black wool pants and a too-small jacket, one she'd bought herself last Christmas. She'd put on weight since then. I had to clench my teeth against the pain of seeing her look shabby. Quick tears sprang to my eyes.

  As I watched, she bowed her head. Her shoulders slumped forward. Aunt Janelle put an arm around her, and my mother leaned heavily against her friend. I wanted so much to go to her at that moment. I wanted to make it okay. She didn't need to go through this. She didn't need to grieve for me.

  I took two steps forward. At that moment, Maria looked up and saw me. Her face registered shock, then anger. Detective Todd said she'd complained about me. No one would make a scene today, would they? What would they do, toss me out?

  I stood frozen as Maria touch Mom's arm and whispered something into her ear. They both turned to glare at me. I lowered my eyes and refused to meet theirs. When I looked back, they'd turned their backs on me. I breathed a sigh of relief, but my stomach was in knots. They knew me now, and thought I was some crazy woman with a weird fixation. How the heck was I supposed to get close enough, now, to convince them of the truth?

  I moved slowly down the aisle, always careful to keep my distance from my mother. The crowd parted around me, and I saw it: the casket.

  Oh, God. That was me in there, dead. I'd only seen a couple of bodies in my life -- my grandmother's, and one of my mother's co-workers. The co-worker I'd never met, and my grandmother I barely knew; she'd lived in Chicago and had more or less disowned my mother years ago. I'd viewed their bodies with a sort of morbid fascination.

  This was different. I'd figured the coffin would be closed, but it wasn't. I couldn't stand to look and yet I knew I needed to. I needed to see my old body to know this was real. Closure, they called it on the talk shows.

  I got in line.

  The line moved slowly, too slowly for me. Irritation twisted up inside me. Look at these people, here to gawk. They paused in front of the casket. Some of them gasped, others broke down and sobbed. I wanted to get up in front of them and shout, "I'm not dead, you idiots!"

  When it was my turn, I closed my eyes as I stepped forward. I couldn't look, and then I did.

  Me. Jamie Lumley. Still and pale, pancake makeup layered on my cheekbone where Ricky hit me.

  My body wore an outfit I'd never liked, a long flowered skirt and a white turtleneck sweater. The turtleneck to hide the bruises, I supposed. My hand went involuntarily to my neck -- Sarah's neck.

  I wasn't as homely as I'd thought. That's what surprised me most. From the outside, looking down at my own face, I could see that I had nice eyelashes, a dark pretty fringe curving on my cheeks. My hair wasn't bad, either -- more red than brown against the white pillow, thick and shiny. O
h, but had my body always been so lumpy and awkward, so clumsy? After only three days I'd grown used to Sarah's graceful silhouette.

  Still, I felt a wave of affection and pity for the body in the casket. I'd lived 16 years in that body. I'd felt pleasure inside it, as well as pain. I’d had chicken pox and the occasional flu, and once I’d broken my ankle, but otherwise I’d been healthy. More importantly, this was the body of the person my mother loved. This is the body that came from hers.

  How strange to think it would go in the ground now. How strange to think that it would rot away, while I went on living.

  I’d stood too long, looking down at my own face.

  I moved away, toward the back of the church. People were taking their seats now. I slid into a back pew, between a man I didn’t know and my fourth grade teacher. Mrs. Pettigrew, that was her name. She’d always liked me; she let me erase the board for her every day after lunch.

  The service began with a priest I didn’t know. He read a bible verse and went on for a while about God’s will. After a few minutes, I tuned him out. I couldn’t quite believe some big guy in the sky wanted Ricky’s hands around my neck. What purpose was there in that? Was I supposed to end up here, in Sarah’s body? But if so, why didn’t He just speak up and explain His reasoning?

  Maria stood up to speak first. She took out her notes and smoothed them on the podium. Even from the back of the church, I could see that her hands shook.

  “Jamie was my best friend,” she said, and had to stop because she was sobbing too hard.

  A lump grew in my throat. I balled my hands into fists; my nails cut into my palms. Maria pushed on: “I first met Jamie the summer after fifth grade. She was sitting by herself in the park, reading a book. I’d taken my little nephew there to play. I put him on the slide about a million times, and every time I looked up this girl with the book was watching us. Finally I asked her if she wanted one of our cookies. She said yes, and we started talking and everything. It turned out we were both going to the same middle school next year.”