Big Fat Disaster (28 page)
Authors: Beth Fehlbaum
I jolt awake and look around. There’s a blue curtain pulled around the emergency room bay. I hear Mom talking on the other side of it. She sounds perturbed.
“Look, Reese, I just thought you’d want to know that your daughter nearly died today, and she has a broken arm…Well, I guess Ryan did it because he felt so guilty about posting a video of her dressing…Oh, so you
did
hear my message about it? Well,
thanks a lot
for calling me back…No, Reese, I’d never expect
you
to do anything about it. You’re
only
her father.
“…Leah’s in bad shape; how would you expect someone to be whose son just committed suicide?…She refuses to believe it; says he’d never do anything like that, and that there
has
to be more to the story…But he
told
us he felt like killing himself because of what he’d done to Colby.
“One minute he was sitting in Leah’s office, and the next minute he left out the back door…We heard this awful noise, went outside, and saw Ryan in the road. Some woman found Colby just off the shoulder. Right now the police are saying that it looks like Colby tried to push him out of the way but slipped on some gravel and ended up…
No
, she would never do that!…Reese, you and I both know that even if Colby
was
trying to kill herself, Ryan would never be able to knock somebody her size clear off the road…
Because I know so
, Reese; she’s gotten even bigger since last time you saw her…” Mom’s voice fades as she walks away.
I close my eyes tightly and see Ryan’s head hanging limply to the side, draped over Leah’s arm. I try to turn over, but my arm is in a bulky splint. I grit my teeth and push my head back into the pillow.
So…I’m too fat to be saved.
Nice to know what she really thinks.
Well, the joke’s on you, Mom, because I
was
trying to die, and he
did
save me. So there.
Ryan’s dead.
Ryan’s dead.
I am alive, and Ryan is dead.
I killed him.
I gasp and shake my head furiously.
No, no, it can’t be.
My throat constricts, and the tickly feeling of tears running down the sides of my head only makes me angrier at still being alive.
We arrive home late in the evening to find cars parked along the road and lining Leah’s driveway. We meet Dulcie coming down Leah’s front steps; she shifts her baby to one arm and hugs Mom first, then me, then Drew.
She pulls up the neck of her shirt and wipes her tears. “I’m so sorry, y’all. So, so sorry. I—I thought I couldn’t cry anymore, but…” She waves her hand in front of her face. “I guess I’m not finished yet. My husband needs our car for his night shift, so I’ve got to go. Y’all take care of Leah. I tried to get her to call your in-laws so they can support her through this, but she absolutely refuses to have a thing to do with any of them. I’m so glad y’all are here for her; otherwise, she’d be all alone as far as family’s concerned.”
Her voice breaks, and it takes her a moment to continue. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
Mom says, “Of course. Thank you, Dulcie.” She watches her go and turns her gaze back to Leah’s house. “I think we’d better get you home, Colby.”
Drew’s voice is high. “We’re not going to check on Aunt Leah, Mama?”
Mom snaps, “No!” She looks back at Leah’s house; someone in the front window quickly closes the curtains. “Colby’s been through a lot. We need to get her into bed and elevate that broken arm.”
An owl hoots and startles me, causing me to jump. I wince in pain.
“See, there? Colby needs to rest.” Mom presses her hand into the small of my back, takes Drew’s hand, and guides us to the trailer. In that moment, it almost feels like she sees me as more than just a big fat disaster. Maybe she
does
love me as much as she loves Drew and Rachel.
The next week is a blur. The doctor gave me pain meds, and I take them whether my arm hurts or not. Within thirty minutes of swallowing that little yellow pill, I can’t feel my head. Even better than that, I don’t have to remember that it’s my fault that Ryan is dead. Mom keeps the pill bottle in her purse; otherwise, I’d take the pills all at once and be done with it.
I feel wired with anger, and it only subsides when I’m doped out of my mind. When the meds wear off, my thoughts are electrified by the desire to die. I’m surprised when the sun comes up each morning. Why does it bother?
Drew’s second grade class makes Get Well cards for me. Her teacher, Mrs. Thurston, delivers them one day after school. “I noticed your mail came, too, so I hope you don’t mind that I pulled it out of your mailbox for you.”
Mom gushes, “That’s so nice of you!” She’s loving all the attention we’ve been getting, and she’s even pulled her
You’d Love to Have Me for Your Best Friend
self out of storage. She thumbs through the mail. “Why, look, Colby Diane! Your sister, Rachel, sent a letter from Lewis & Clark College in Oregon!” Mom smiles at Mrs. Thurston. “Rachel earned a fully paid scholarship to Lewis & Clark. That’s a private college, you know!” She takes a few steps over to me and hands me Rachel’s letter.
I take the letter to my room and stretch out on my bed to read it. The first thing I notice is that it’s dated the same day as what we’re calling “The Accident.”
August 28
C.~
Mom’s been telling me what a selfish little bitch you’re being lately. She didn’t use those words exactly, but come on, Colby. Why would you let her buy four bags of clothes that
you knew wouldn’t fit
? It’s your fault that she had to buy all those new clothes in the first place! Hellooooooooo, it’s called self-control, Colby. Lose some weight. If not for yourself, then think of Mom and what she’s dealing with.
Speaking of that, giving yourself heat exhaustion and ending up in the hospital is just what Mom didn’t need right now. If I were there, I’d sit you down and tell you to think of someone besides yourself for once.
Maybe you don’t realize how bad things are for us, money-wise. I may have a full-ride scholarship, but I have
no spending money at all
. Dad doesn’t send anything to help, and thanks to
you and your selfishness
, Mom has no extra money to send me, either. My friends whose parents can help them get to go out all the time, and I just have to sit in my dorm room. I’ve been trying to find a job, but it’s hard since I’m taking fifteen hours of classes.
At least you can talk to Mom any time you want. I can’t get a call through to her unless she’s at work or sitting by a stupid
Goats for Sale
sign so that her cell phone has a signal. You’ve got it a lot better than I do, so grow up, Colby!
R.
I read the letter several more times. This
has
to have been sent early on the day of “The Accident.” But knowing Rachel, she’d have put it in my casket if I
had
died, just to make sure that even in the Afterlife, I know what a wretched waste of flesh I am.
I slide off my bed, pull out my snack stash drawer, and withdraw a gallon-size bag of frosted cookies that I stole from Sugar’s. I gorge on them until the pain medicine makes me so sleepy that I pass out on the floor.
Mom finds me later, and from the way she reacts to finding me with my face smudged with icing and cookie crumbs all over the place, there’s no doubt that the
You’d Love to Have Me for Your Best Friend
version of Mom left the house at the same time Mrs. Thurston did.
When Chief Taylor calls to say that he’s coming over to interview me about the day Ryan died, I immediately ask Mom for a pain pill.
She props me up on the sofa with a stack of pillows under my arm. Two seconds later, there’s a knock on the door. She invites him in, then settles herself next to me.
Chief Taylor clears his throat. “Mrs. Denton, I’d prefer to speak to Colby alone.”
Mom pushes back into the sofa cushions, tilts her head, and softly says, “No.” She gives him her beauty queen smile, tosses her hair back, and crosses her arms. She’s apparently decided to be charming instead of stiff.
Nice move, Mom.
Chief Taylor looks a little surprised and drops into the chair across from us. “All right, then; Colby, tell me what happened the day Ryan died.” He’s got his pen poised above his notepad.
My pain pill hasn’t actually kicked in yet, but I pretend that it’s hard to keep my eyes open. I blink repeatedly and allow my head to fall forward a few times.
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Is your daughter presently medicated, Mrs. Denton?”
“Yes; she’s taking pain pills for the broken arm she received when she tried to stop Ryan from taking his own life. Your officer told me that it appeared that she slipped on some gravel. It’s by the grace of God that she wasn’t also killed. I would think you’d be honoring Colby for bravery instead of treating her like a suspect.” Mom’s words are blunt, but her voice is coated in honey.
He flips his notepad closed and asks gruffly, “Did you
see
it happen? Because I have a driver who said that Colby purposely stepped in front of his car. He didn’t see Ryan at all.”
Mom’s eyebrows furrow; she turns and pokes my shoulder. This time, her voice is more sandpaper than sugar. “Hey.”
I allow my eyes to close.
She does it again: “Hey! Wake up!”
I pretend it works. “Huh? What?”
Her tone is accusing: “He says that somebody saw you out in the street before Ryan was there. Is that true?” She’s teetering on brand-new disappointment in me, and what’s left of my soul shrivels up and dies a little more.
I make a face and speak slowly, “N-no, I was just sitting on the steps of that house for rent, thinking about the video that Ryan posted of me…Why would I be in the street?”
Chief Taylor flips open his notepad again and scrawls some notes.
“So, you did not enter the road until…when?” He narrows his eyes and watches me carefully.
I swallow hard and imagine how it might have happened. “Ryan just, like, showed up out of nowhere. He ran past me—past the steps, I mean—to the top of the hill and stood with his arms out, you know, like Jesus on the cross, and I said, ‘Hey, Ryan, what are you doing?’ and he said, ‘Leave me alone. I want to die. I’m done.’
