As You Were (7 page)

“You seem a little too tense, that’s all. And it’s not my fault I have amnesia; it was an accident.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault—”

“Well, you’re acting like you think so.”

Tru sighed and pulled what looked like an ink pen out of her jacket pocket, and put the end in her mouth, sucked it, and vapor came out.

Brittany noticed. “What’s that?”

“An eCig.”

“A what?”

“An electronic cigarette.”

Brittany kept frowning.

“They haven’t been around that long, only a couple of years. But they allowed us both to quit tobacco.”

“It’s not tobacco?”

“No, it’s electronic. Battery heats an atomizer and creates a vapor. No tobacco, no toxins. Just nicotine and whatever flavor you prefer.”

“It smells good. What kind is that?”

“Apple.” Tru glanced at her. “I sell them. I have a distributorship and a website.” When Brittany didn’t say anything else, she thought about their harsh exchange of words before the eCig came up. “Maybe it’s my fault.”

“What?”

“Your amnesia. We had a fight the night you had the accident. I asked you to leave.”

“I thought you said we were close.”

“We were—are—but...
shit happens. We had a fight, that’s all.”

“What was the fight about?”

Tru took another drag. “It doesn’t matter, now. It’s water under the bridge.” She experienced an emotional flash the second she made the comment. She imagined Brittany in that car, underwater, drowning...

Brittany leaned her cheek over onto the headrest, and scrutinized Tru as she puffed the eCig, watched the road, and occasionally checked the rearview mirror. She witnessed the fight with some emotion that kept leaping to Tru’s face. “I’m not trying to cause trouble, Tru, I’m trying to find out who I am.”

Tru pulled the eCig out of her mouth. “Give it some time. It’ll come back to you when you’re ready to remember it. That’s what the doctor told me.”

Brittany adjusted the rings on her fingers. “What’s the story with all this silver and turquoise jewelry?”

Tru looked over at Brittany’s hands, pleased to see that she wore the rings, even though they were on the wrong fingers. “I bought them for you. There’s this jeweler in Boulder that you like. She designs some wonderful things.”

“Oh.” Brittany seemed satisfied, and fell quiet for several miles.

When Tru took the first Gunnison exit, they were both ready to eat an early lunch and go to the bathroom—not necessarily in that order.

Tru carried the pump coffee dispenser inside with her, noting that she had a habit of keeping it with her the last few weeks. She left it for the clerk to refill, and bought two packs of gum, while Brittany ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and drinks from the snack bar. They took the food to go, and trudged through the snow to the parking lot.

“I hope you like cheeseburgers, cause that’s what I got,” Brittany announced. Tru clicked the security module on her key ring to unlock Brittany’s door for her and held it open while she got in. “Gentlemanly of you,” Brittany remarked, looking at Tru oddly.

Tru closed the door and went around to get in, and they were on their way again.

Brittany took the burgers out of the sack, and handed one to Tru. As they ate, Brittany considered the distance they had gone, and still had to go, before Castle Mountain. “Tru—” she said around a mouthful. “How come I was here in Gunnison when I had the accident?”

Tru swallowed her own bite and glanced at Brittany, taking a quick drink of Dr. Pepper. “I guess you kept driving after you left that night. I told you I had a hard time tracking you down.”

“Were you looking for me the whole time I was gone?”

“Night and day. I was afraid—”

“—that I was dead,” she finished for her.

Tru took another bite and remained silent.

“I guess that must have been hard on you.”

“Hard doesn’t even begin to cover it. It was really horrible getting through the holidays all alone. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since you disappeared.”

Brittany frowned and extracted a large ring of white onion from her burger. She tossed it onto the bag next to the fries on the console between them. “Lots of onions.”

Tru glanced down at the white ring stained with mustard. “You like onions.”

Brittany halted before she took another bite. “I do?”

“I don’t like it when you eat them—” Tru heard an editing machine click on in her brain.
Way to be stupid!

Brittany still held her burger aloft, waiting for Tru to finish her sentence.

“I guess they don’t do great things for my breath,” Brit added.

Well, fine
.
I’d rather have you say it, than me.

“Are you going to tell me what we had that fight about?”

Tru shook her head. “No sense in opening old wounds.”

“They’re new to me.” She picked up the onion and put it back between the buns.

Tru filled her mouth with a huge portion of burger to avoid a response entirely.

“It’s okay, I’ll wait until you finish your lunch,” she offered smartly, taking a bite.

Tru sighed, and continued to chew, feeling dreadfully like she was in an interrogation room at the police department. She dropped the remainder of the burger onto the bag with the fries, and swallowed. “Why can’t you wait until we get home?”

“I can’t,” Brit dropped her burger next to Tru’s. “I have too many questions.”

“So do I.”

“Like what?”

“You can’t answer them until you get your memory back,” she said matter-of-factly. “Grab that thermos behind your seat. I need some coffee.”

Brittany obliged, and even poured them each a cup, moving their soft drinks to the rear holders and placing the coffee cups in the console. “Okay. We’ve had lunch, I’m not sleepy, and we both have coffee. Now what subject can we talk about without playing cat and mouse?”

“I want to know what the doctor told you. I mean, are you going to be okay?”

Brittany lifted the cup to her lips and blew on the steamy liquid. “I guess I’ll be as good as new eventually. Provided I get my memory back.”

Tru tore her eyes away from the road, briefly. “I thought the amnesia was only temporary.”

“I don’t think they know for sure.”

“What about your arm—isn’t it supposed to be in the sling?”

“Too confining. My arm’s much better, anyway. It’s my head they worried about. I got over the banged up knees and other stuff. Ribs are still a little sore, though.”

Tru lifted her cup and blew on the coffee. “You had a concussion, right?”

“Yeah. Dr. Armstrong said I bruised my brain. Isn’t that charming?”

“You’re okay now, though, right?”

“I guess so. They released me, didn’t they?”

Tru sipped the coffee. “Are you going to need anything? Prescriptions, or the like?”

“I’ve got enough to last a month or so. Why all the questions? You sound more like my mother than my sister.”

“I want to make sure everything’s in order before we get to the house. Sometimes it’s hard to get back off the mountain in bad weather.”

“Oh.” Brittany picked up her cheeseburger and took another bite. Through a mash of pickles and ground beef, she said, “What are you hiding?”

Tru’s foot came off the accelerator almost imperceptibly, then resumed its original pressure. “Who says I’m hiding anything?”

“You’re somewhat transparent.”

Tru glanced over at her, trying not to lose sight of the roadway. “Heavily into body language, now, are you?”

“Don’t try to change the subject again.”

Tru set the windshield wipers on a slower speed, to counteract the noise they were beginning to make as the snowfall eased. “I think my information is best discussed after we get home, like I said before.”

“Your ‘information’? You sound like a double agent.”

“Close.”

Brittany put her foot back on the floor and faced the front. “This is getting old. You can’t even tell me what this is all about.”

“It doesn’t bother me. I know who I am. It will, however, bother you.”

“How do you know?”

Tru cast a look her direction. “Educated guess.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge?”

“The judge—” Tru smirked. “That’s a good word. You might want to sentence me to hell when you find out.”

“Find out what, dammit!?” Brittany turned in the seat again.

“Want some gum?” Tru fished in her pocket.

“No, I don’t want any stupid damn gum! Spill it!”

Tru released a lungful of air. “I don’t know how to say this...don’t freak out, okay?”

“Tell me,” she ordered.

“I’m not your sister.”

Brittany sat stone-faced, absorbing this information. “Okay...you’re not my sister. . .that’s not a total shock. Why—why did you tell me you were?”

“So you’d trust me and come home.”

“Okay, we’re not sisters. That explains why we look like total opposites, but—”

“We’re lovers.”

Brittany froze, letting this newest tidbit soak in atop the others. “We’re what?”

“Lovers,” Tru confirmed. “You’re gay. I’m gay. We live together. We share a life. We’re lovers.”

Brittany eased herself back against the seat and stared at the dashboard. She put her coffee in the console and blinked a few times, swallowing as if she had something foreign in her throat that would not go down. “Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Stop the fucking car!”

9

TRU ROLLED HER EYES ON A SIGH, her foot pressing only slightly on the brake. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Damn you! I said stop the fucking car!” Brittany shouted, her fingers gripping the door handle, forewarning.

Tru took her foot off the accelerator dubiously. When she saw Brittany pry on the handle and release the door, she braked. “Okay! Okay! Jeez, calm down—” The Cherokee skidded to a halt sideways in the gravely sludge of the shoulder.

Brittany launched herself out of the car, Tru suffering the sensation of cold air rushing into her right ear.

Tru gasped, wiggling a fingertip in her ear to release the pressure. She saw the other young woman trudging down the road ahead of her.
Where does she think she’s going?

Brittany stomped through the snow, pausing every few steps to kick clumps of it out of her path. Tru sighed, refreshing her coffee from the thermos, and letting the steam warm her face as

she continued to watch Brittany, fully expecting her to grasp the irrational nature of her response. Minutes passed, with Tru drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, watching the woman’s form shrinking into the distance. Shaking her head, she dropped the gear shift into drive and let the Cherokee creep along the side of the glassy blacktop.

After walking the length of a football field, Brittany began to clench her side and huff, and Tru thought she looked like an angry human freight train, as her breath formed billows around her head. Tru eased up beside her and fingered the electric window switch on her door. The glass hummed down into the passenger door. “Pretty cold out there. Aren’t you cooled off, yet?”

Brittany shot a glance at her and kept walking.

Tru examined the curve in the road ahead, careful of any oncoming traffic. “Brit. Where are you planning to walk?”

“ To hell if I have to!” she sneered.

“You don’t have to go there to get warm.” Tru leaned back to avoid the oncoming scowl Brittany tossed over her shoulder at her. She realized that sarcasm would not get her back in the car, and tried to imagine what Brittany would want to hear. “We have a big fireplace at home—”

“Shut up!” Brittany thrust her hands in her jeans and continued.

“Brit, do you realize how stupid this is?” Tru crept along beside her and listened for a response, that did not come. “Shit.” Tru stopped and lifted the shift into park. Carrying the coffee with her, she got out and caught up with the young woman. “Brit. Hey. Slow down.” Tru snagged her at the elbow, and Brittany wrenched her arm away, the action causing a sharp pain in her tender ribs. She stopped to wrap her arms around herself. “Hey,” Tru stopped beside her. “You okay?”

“Fucking fantastic!” Brittany straightened with a stunted sigh, her eyes studying the snow-laden trees beside the road.
I can’t be gay. Why does my mind want to reject something I can’t even remember?

Tru stepped in front of her and offered her the coffee. “You’re going to get sick out here.”

“I’m already sick.” Brittany took the steaming Styrofoam cup and held it between her red fingers, then suddenly threw it on a clump of snow in front of her. The brown liquid sank into a tiny indention, steam rising from it in puffs which caught in the wind and were gone.

“Hey, that’s from my finest collection of Styrofoam,” Tru tried to joke. “I swear, we can’t have nice things—“ Brittany ignored her.
Okay, jokes aren’t working.

Brittany stood with her arms around herself.
Is it really wrong to be gay, or is what I feel a knee-jerk response?

“This isn’t going to help anything. Get back in the car. Please?”

A pickup truck whooshed by, splattering Brit’s leg with slush. “Oh perfect,” she grunted, looking up at the shrinking tail lights of the offending vehicle. Then she froze. Taking a sudden step forward, she crushed the cup into the snow, walking stiffly, as if mesmerized, toward the bend in the road.

Tru frowned. “Brit? What’s the matter with you?”

Brittany kept walking, oblivious to Tru’s interrogations. Tru glanced back at the Jeep, its engine idling, the exhaust creating clouds at the back bumper, and decided to leave it to follow Brit around the bend in the road. She watched her move to the rail on the bridge and stop. Tru came up to her and searched her face. Brittany released all the air from her lungs and swallowed thickly.

“What’s wrong? Are you really sick?”

Brittany’s only response was to put her arms back around herself, her breath coming in short wisps in the frigid air.

“Brit? What’s—”

“It was here—” she gasped, swallowing over and over as if the action would remove the feeling. She stared, transfixed, at the new reflective steel posts which had been placed in the break between the poles; the railing ends were jagged and curled in a sinister metal grin.

Tru watched her, suddenly afraid to speak, recognizing the crippling memory as it enveloped the other woman.

“The wreck,” Brit whispered, focusing beyond the rail, now.

Tru surveyed the icy river beneath them on the bridge, conjured an image of Brittany’s car smashing the guard rail and plunging into the wintry water—saw her trapped inside the car—and a haunting, rippling queasiness passed through her.

Tru managed to get Brittany back into the Cherokee, tossing the empty Styrofoam cup she had retrieved from the roadside into the back floorboard. She fixed the seat belt around the woman and buckled it, as Brittany leaned her head against the headrest and stared over the hood onto the road. Tru fastened her own belt and inched out onto the blacktop once more.

Tru glanced over at her, and back at the road sign. “We’ve still got a long way to go. Can we just be civil?” When she saw that Brittany did not intend to respond, she got another Styrofoam cup from the bag under the seat and set it in the console between them. “Drink some coffee. You need to warm up.”

Brittany looked down at the thermos numbly, as if she could not, at first, identify its function. Then she picked it up.

Little was said over the next few hours. Tru took comfort in the radio, tuning to Brittany’s favorite station. Tru remembered a song as it began, and turned up the volume. “This is one of your favorite songs,” she said. Brittany looked down
at the radio as if it were a T
V. “It’s Heart...
remember?” Brittany listened to the driving guitar and lyrics
of ‘Barracuda’
.
‘So this ain’t the end, I saw you again...
today...’
and shook her head. Tru leaned back and let it play, remembering what Brittany could not.

By the time Tru made it to Arvada, she glanced over at Brittany, hoping she’d remember the area, but saw that she still slept soundly. She had either been asleep for the last four hours, or pretending to be asleep. Either way, she did not wake her, but let herself enjoy the tension that had drained from the cab of the Cherokee since Brittany had closed her eyes and dozed off. Two hours later, with Boulder in the rearview mirror, she turned off Fall River Road, onto Castle Mountain Road, and crept into a long driveway, braking softly in front of the garage door.

“We’re home,” she whispered. Brittany did not stir, and Tru leaned her head on the steering wheel and thought of all that ‘home’ used to mean. Softly, she began to cry, but shoved the tears away and patted Brittany’s arm. The young woman’s eyes fluttered and opened, to the view of the garage door, and a rock and cedar Ranch-style house. She looked over at Tru, a sleepy question in her eyes.

“You’re home, Brit.”

Brittany massaged the back of her neck and looked around the place. None of it looked familiar to her. She distinguished the glow of the front porch light from beside the garage, its beam peppered with the light snowflakes that were beginning to fall. “You’re the one who’s home,” she said.