Collision

by Kristen Granata

  I laughed.

  Both Shelly and Chase looked at me wearing the same confused expressions.

  “I was just thinking about how nice it would be if my problems were as minor as missing a few football games.”

  “I’m sorry,” Chase started. “I didn’t mean it like–”

  “It’s fine,” I waved my hand and stood. “I’m going to get dressed so we can get this over with.”

  Part of me felt guilty as I made my way to Shelly’s bedroom to change. It was nice of Chase to offer to drive me to physical therapy; it was also nice of him to come with breakfast. Shelly would tell me that I should not treat him so rudely. She was easily the nicest person I knew – the kind that made others strive to be like her. She was a fierce friend, and her abundant optimism made it nearly impossible not to be in a good mood whenever she was around. Unfortunately, one side-effect of her positivity was occasional delusion. She lived in a world where everything was sunshine and rainbows, and all people could be trusted. I did not understand why Chase would volunteer to help me out of the pure goodness of his heart. I was unsure of his motives, and when I felt unsure about someone – my guard remained up.

  I brushed my teeth and lost yet another battle with my hair. Curly hair was difficult enough to manage with two arms, let alone one. Workout attire was all I could muster. After what I had been through, the last thing on my mind was what I looked like. It was hard to find something that I cared about now. Nothing mattered anymore.

  When I returned to the living room, Chase stood with his keys in hand.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” Shelly said, prompting me with her eyes to do the same.

  “Yeah, thanks. That was nice.” I offered him a half smile.

  “Maybe next time you’ll eat a little more.” He half-smiled back.

  I opened the front door and waved to Shelly on my way out. We walked down the stairs to find Chase’s black Plymouth Barracuda parked out front. I nodded my head in appreciation when we stopped at his car. “I forgot you drive a ‘Cuda.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You know what car this is?”

  “What, because I’m a girl I can’t know about cars?”

  He said nothing as he swung open the passenger door for me. He jogged around the front of the car as I positioned myself inside and struggled with my seatbelt.

  “Would you like me to help you?” he asked in an amused tone.

  “No.” Admittedly, I needed help putting my seatbelt on around the sling. I was in too much pain to maneuver around it, and blindly search for the interlocking buckle near my hip. He watched me for about thirty seconds more before he leaned across my lap to pull on the seatbelt and click it into place. His shirt smelled like fabric softener, as if it just came out of the dryer.

  I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he backed out of the spot and began driving. I wondered if the kind of girls he dated knew what kind of classic they were riding in; I assumed not.

  “You used to drive an old car, didn’t you?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

  “Oh, good. Small talk. Here I was worried this would be awkward.”

  He chuckled, seemingly unfazed by my sarcasm. “Was it a Camaro?”

  “It was a 1970 Chevelle.”

  “Ah, yes. That was the car you were in when–”

  “Yep.”

  “Look, I’m sure you don’t want to rehash any of it, but if you ever want to talk about what happened, you can talk to me.”

  “I don’t even want to think about it, let alone talk about it.”

  “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

  “It won’t help.” I kept my eyes fixed on the road ahead, and tried to relax.

  “I’m sorry. I’d like to tell you it will get easier in time, but I don’t actually know if it will. I think maybe you just get used to the pain.”

  I turned my head to look at him. “That’s actually the most realistic thing anyone has said.”

  “People don’t know what to say when someone goes through a hard time. It’s not their fault. They just offer you objective words to make themselves feel less awkward talking about it.”

  “You wouldn’t believe all the objective words I’ve heard. If I had a penny for every time someone has told me that I should feel lucky to be alive…” I rolled my eyes.

  “So you’re saying you don’t feel lucky?”

  “Let’s see. My mother walked out without a second thought. My father was a mental mess for years after that, until he just couldn’t bear the pain any longer and took his own life. Then, I wrapped my car around a tree and totaled the only piece of my dad I had left. I had to drop all of my classes because you can’t attend school when you’re in a two-week coma. I’m sleeping on my best friend’s couch with the contents of my pathetic existence in boxes. My life is destroyed, and every morning I wake up wishing that whoever pulled me out of that car had just left me there to die. So, to answer your question, no – I don’t feel very lucky.”

  It was silent inside the car after that. I did not mean to unleash my demons on him. I looked out the window and wondered how badly it would hurt if I jumped from the moving car, mortified over what I had admitted aloud. Like Shelly, and like anyone else, Chase would undoubtedly tell me it was wrong to think so negatively, and that it was not normal to wish I were dead. He would now look at me like I was a freak, if he hadn’t already.

  After what felt like an eternity, we pulled into a parking spot outside the doctor’s office. I quickly reached for the handle on the door, but was pulled back by the seatbelt.

  “You know, you have to unbuckle yourself before getting out of the car.”

  “I was just looking for the eject button.” I slumped back into my seat, and waited for him to release me. When he didn’t, I reluctantly raised my eyes to meet his gaze.

  “Don’t be embarrassed of your emotions. You don’t have to hide them from me. How you feel is how you feel, and I totally get it. But you need to understand one thing: the people still here – the people that care about you – they feel lucky that you’re alive. That’s why they expect you to feel it, too.”

  Nobody had explained it like that. I thought about Shelly and all she had been through; throughout everything that happened to me, she was experiencing it right along with me. Wishing that I died was like a slap in the face to her. I could not see around my own misery.

  He clicked the release button next to my hip. “Come by the shop when you’re done and I’ll take you home.”

  I nodded and hoisted myself out of his car without a word.

  Chase’s words resonated in my head for the entire hour at physical therapy, which helped take the focus off the pain in my shoulder. I actually did not mind the constant shoulder pain. Physical pain was easy to handle. People understand physical pain – they empathize with it. But when you are depressed, the only person they blame is you. They look at you with judging eyes, wondering why you can’t simply snap out of it. As if it was a choice you were making on purpose, choosing to remain in mental anguish, and revel in it. My suffering was too intense for people to comprehend. No one could fathom stepping into my shoes. I couldn’t blame them. Who would want to, even if they could?

  I took my time as I walked over to Chase’s family shop, letting the warmth of the sun beat down on my face. I didn’t want to face him, or worse, the way he would look at me after getting a glimpse of the thoughts inside my head.

  “Hi Merritt.” Chase’s mom was sitting behind the desk when I stepped inside. She greeted me with a warm smile as she stood up to give me a gentle hug.

  “Hi Mrs. Brooks.”

  “Please,” she waved her hand. “Call me Beverly.”

  Beverly was tall and slender with blonde hair, the same color as Chase’s, settling around her shoulders. She wore minimal makeup, but she did not need it. She had natural beauty. Her kind personality had always shone right through her face. Growing up, I often wondered what it was like to have a mother like her.<
br />
  “Chase is in the back,” she said, motioning to follow her through the door to the garage.

  I inhaled the familiar smell of motor oil and rubber as we walked through the doorway. I looked around at all the heavy machinery and tools everywhere. My eyes rested on a pair of legs sticking out from underneath a Honda. They rolled out when we walked over to reveal that they belonged to Chase’s father. I would have known whose father it was anywhere, just by looking in his eyes. Chase may have his mother’s hair color, but he looked exactly like his father.

  “Hi, Merritt.” Tim wiped his hand on a towel hanging from his belt loop. He reached his hand out to touch my arm. “How are ya hanging in there, kid?”

  “I’m hanging.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Busted axle?” I pointed to the vehicle he had rolled out from under.

  Tim’s smile spread from ear to ear. “Snapped clean in half.”

  “They must have hit a pretty bad bump.”

  “Kids these days wear their cars down to the bone until something breaks.”

  “Chase, come save this poor girl from your father’s shop talk,” Beverly called.

  “I don’t mind, really,” I reassured.

  Chase finally emerged from the far corner of the garage. His hair was now smashed under a backwards baseball hat. His trademark grin spread across his face as he approached me.

  “How was it? Not too bad, right?”

  “They could barely get my arm to move, so we’re taking it slow.”

  “Chase cried like a baby the first day of physical therapy!” Tim exclaimed.

  Chase’s eyes widened. “I did not!”

  “Alright, Tim. Back to work,” Beverly chuckled as she playfully pushed her husband. Tim wrapped his arms around her to give her a lingering kiss before she disappeared into the front office. They were sweet.

  Chase waited until they were out of earshot. “Look, Merritt. I’m sorry I made you upset before. I just–”

  I held my hand up to stop him. “It’s okay. I already forgot about it.”

  He hesitated a moment, and then nodded.

  “I love the way it smells in here.”

  “You do?”

  “It’s that kind of scent that reminds you of your childhood. It takes you back to a certain memory whenever you smell it.”

  “Like old library books.”

  “The ones with the yellowed plastic around the covers,” I agreed. Looking around, my eyes settled on a car covered by a tarp. “What’s under there?”

  “Just a car that was dropped off for some body work.” He turned to face me. “Why don’t we grab lunch before I take you home?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not really hungry.”

  “You didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “That’s not what I remember.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He smirked. “You were never one of those girls who just ate a salad.”

  “How would you know what I ate?”

  “Shelly’s birthday party senior year, I watched you inhale two cheeseburgers and a hot dog in less than five minutes. It was impressive.”

  I hoped my burning cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. I wondered why he remembered anything about my eating habits. “I was just hungry that day.”

  “You need to eat so your shoulder can heal.”

  “And you need to get back to work. Let’s go.”

  “Fine. But next time, we’re getting lunch.”

  “Fine.”

  Chase held up his pinky.

  I rolled my eyes. He held it out more prominently, until I had no other choice but to interlock my pinky with his.

  I waved goodbye to his parents before we stepped out into the parking lot.

  “So… how do you like living with Shelly?” Chase asked as he roared his engine to a start. “I know you guys have been best friends for a long time.”

  I shrugged. “It’s fine, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “I just feel bad. She and Brody were talking about moving in together right before everything happened. He’s been dying to move out of his parents’ house. Now their lives are on hold because of me.”

  “It’s not because of you. Your friend is helping you until you can get back on your feet again. That’s what friends do.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t make me feel any less guilty.”

  “I’m guessing you weren’t able to keep your house after your dad passed?”

  “Nope. He owed too much, and I wasn’t able to make the payments. Once my shoulder heals up, I’ll be able to work and save up as much as I can to get my own apartment. I’ve been trying to find something to do to make money in the meantime, but haven’t had much luck. There’s not much I can do with one arm.”

  “You’re still pretty banged up,” he said, gently. “You should take this time to rest. You can worry about everything else later.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “I know, I’m not in your shoes. But everything has a way of working itself out. You can only focus on the here and now… and right now you’ve got to heal.”

  It would be comforting to believe that everything worked itself out; it certainly was a nice notion.

  “You know, we have a small space on the side of my house. It’s above the garage. I know my parents were looking to rent it out, but then everything was put on hold. It’s vacant.”

  “They should put an ad online. Lots of people search for apartments that way. You can post pictures, too.”

  “I’m telling you about it, in case you wanted to get out of Shelly’s place.”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. I don’t have money for rent. I don’t even have furniture to put in an apartment.”

  “It’s already furnished. My parents moved my old bedroom set in there when I moved to California. There’s a refrigerator in there that we use to store extra food around the holidays, and a small kitchen with a sink and stove. It would be perfect for you.”

  I shook my head. “That’s kind of you, really. But I still wouldn’t have money for rent.”

  I could see the wheels still spinning in his head as he unclicked my seatbelt when we pulled up to Shelly’s place. “Okay. I’ll see you Wednesday. Don’t forget we’re going to lunch after.”

  “How could I forget? We pinky promised.”

  He grinned. “Are you ever not sarcastic?”

  “Sure. When I’m asleep.” I smiled as I swung the car door shut.

  Chapter Three: Lunch Date

  As pinky promised, Chase took me to lunch after physical therapy on Wednesday. We sat across from each other at the diner, looking over our menus while I hummed along to the song playing in the background.

  Chase shot me a suspicious glance.

  “What?” I asked defensively.

  “You like Journey?”

  “Who doesn’t like Journey?”

  “Touché.”

  “Nobody can belt it out like Perry.”

  “That’s only because you haven’t heard me sing yet.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How do you know I haven’t?”

  “You never came to any of my shows.”

  “Your shows were in your garage. It’s not like I was invited.”

  “You wouldn’t have come if I did.”

  “Touché.”

  “I just didn’t peg you for a rock chick.”

  “Well, there’s your first mistake: trying to peg me as anything.” I stared back at my menu, pretending not to notice Chase’s deliberate stare from across the table. It was strange being around him; I had known him my whole life, but I did not truly know him. We were practically strangers, yet he did not feel like one.

  “What?” I asked again without looking up from my menu.

  “You look nice today.”

  I laughed looking down at my tank top and yoga pants. “I wasn’t trying t
o.”

  “You really don’t have to.”

  “I’m sure anything looks good after seeing me in my Cookie Monster pajamas.”

  “Are you kidding? You looked adorable.”

  His sudden compliments aroused nothing more than my suspicions. I put my menu down and leaned toward the table. “Let’s get something straight here.”

  “Okay.” He had an amused expression on his face as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  “Your charm is not going to work on me. I don’t care that you’re in a band, or that you have a smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial, and I am not going to sleep with you. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but it won’t work. Got it?”

  His head tilted back as he laughed. “You think I’m doing this just to sleep with you? Why would you think that?”

  “Let’s see.” I placed my finger on my chin pretending to think. “There’s Jen, Kelly, Colleen, and Sarah for starters. Shall I name your other conquests?”

  His eyes widened. “Conquests? I’ve never slept with those girls! Except for Colleen, but we were dating for a while back then.”

  I held up my hands. “Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  “Don’t I, though? You’re accusing me of sleeping with girls I’ve never actually slept with.”

  “There’s obviously a reason why people have that impression.”

  “I don’t give a shit about what people think.”

  “So then why bother explaining yourself to me?”

  “Because I care about what you think.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Spare me the you’re different speech.”

  The waitress appeared at our table, and I was grateful for the interruption.

  “What are we having?” she asked impatiently, without even looking up from her pad.

  “Cheeseburger, well-done, with sweet potato fries,” I said.

  “Same for me,” Chase replied. “Regular fries are fine.”

  “You got it.” She walked away just as quickly as she came, and it was just the two of us again.

  One corner of Chase’s mouth slowly turned up. “A toothpaste commercial, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes, but wished those words had not slipped out. “You have nice teeth is all I’m saying.”