Hung Up (17 page)

May 20, 12:08 p.m.

Lucy:
What did you eat for lunch? You’re thinking way too hard. Seriously. And I can’t believe that Nan pinched you. It’s like she hasn’t changed since second grade at all! And what’s with grabbing your nipple? And what’s with you telling me that she grabbed your nipple? You know, sometimes too much anatomical precision freaks me out.

May 20, 3:24 p.m.

James:
Where are you? And it’s disappointing to hear that I can’t talk about my nipples. They’re interesting.

May 20, 6:18 p.m.

Lucy:
When you tell me that your nipples are interesting, it makes me feel like they’re shaped wrong. Are they? Okay. I am headed to Sarducci’s for dinner with CeCe and Taylor. This is major progress for CeCe. She’s thrilled. It’s just going to be the three of us. We’ll probably eat pizza. Actually, I like the penne pugliese. It has eggplant in it. And I am a huge fan of eggplant. Okay. I am not planning on staying for the entire dinner. I am going to
leave early so that they have some time alone. I’ll try to call you. But if I don’t, it’s because I have homework. It’s for psychology. I have to write a letter to myself ten years in the future. I am taking it very seriously. Except that I haven’t started yet. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it all semester, because I knew it was coming. But the actual writing process hasn’t begun yet. I hope you and your nipples have a good night.

May 21, 5:12 p.m.

James:
Sometimes I feel like you’re avoiding me.

Lucy:
You’ve got to be joking.

James:
You’re right. So how did your letter writing go last night?

Lucy:
It was actually really hard.

James:
But you said you’d been thinking about it all semester.

Lucy:
Yeah. It wasn’t that I didn’t have things to say. It was hard in other ways.

James:
Do you want to talk about it?

Lucy:
Okay.

James:
When are you going to start talking about it?

Lucy:
Right now. Geez. It’s like you don’t even let me breathe.

James:
Sometimes you wait almost five or six seconds.

Lucy:
I’m b-r-e-a-t-h-i-n-g.

James:
I guess I’m talented in that I can talk and breathe at the same time.

Lucy:
Okay, okay, okay. It was hard for me to write that letter, because I have to think of the future, and when I think of the future, I have to imagine it without Kathryn. And, even after all these years, that’s still sad to me. Because I’d rather imagine her in it.

James:
Do you think it will always be hard?

Lucy:
Yeah. I mean, there’s all these milestones in life. High school graduation. College. Marriage. You know. The important stuff. For her and for me.

James:
Do you think the saying is true, that this will get better with time?

Lucy:
The pain isn’t sharp like it was when she first disappeared. But there’s this specific sadness, sort of like a loneliness, that has a way of creeping into my life. I miss Kathryn. And I’ll always miss Kathryn.

James:
I have a question, but I don’t know if it’s appropriate.

Lucy:
You want to ask an inappropriate question about my missing sister?

James:
I don’t
know
whether or not it’s inappropriate.

Lucy:
What is it?

James:
When you think about her, do you ever wonder what exactly happened to her?

Lucy:
Like who took her?

James:
Yeah.

Lucy:
Not anymore. I mean, I used to. I’d go to this place and it’s all I’d think about. Like I was stuck in these long daydreams. They were frightening and made me feel miserable. Now I try to focus on her life. She was happy.

James:
I think I’d be obsessed with it.

Lucy:
I’ve had to put it down. It’s too much. For a long time, I saw a therapist every week.

James:
You don’t anymore?

Lucy:
Not right now. Maybe I’ll see somebody later. Right now I’m doing okay. This is hard to explain, but even though Kathryn’s so absent, she’s still sort of present.

James:
Has it always felt that way?

Lucy:
It comes and goes. Sometimes I really feel her. Other times there’s just this sad emptiness. That’s why I try to focus on her life. Because she was a great person. She really was.

James:
Do you like the way the letter to your future self turned out?

Lucy:
Sure. I ask myself a lot of questions.

James:
I thought you were supposed to tell yourself things.

Lucy:
Yeah. I don’t think I really followed the assignment. I didn’t want to tell myself things. I have no clue where I’ll be in ten years. I might be living in a foreign country.

James:
Like Honduras?

Lucy:
I was thinking France.

James:
I’ve never been to Honduras or France.

Lucy:
Neither have I. I guess we’ve both got a lot of living left to do.

James:
Lucy, I want to thank you for something.

Lucy:
Okay. Thank away.

James:
Thanks for making me read Bo’s letters.

Lucy:
I didn’t make you.

James:
Without you telling me to, I doubt I would have read them. And they’ve really helped me understand him. Without them, I probably wouldn’t have been able to forgive him.

Lucy:
So you’ve forgiven him? Does this mean you trust him again too?

James:
I still need to work on that.

Lucy:
Have you ever thought of writing letters to Bo?

James:
I’m not ready for that.

Lucy:
Oh.

James:
Maybe one day.

Lucy:
I write letters.

James:
I know. To your future self in ten years.

Lucy:
No. I write letters that aren’t part of an assignment.

James:
Really? To who?

Lucy:
Kathryn. I do it when something exciting or interesting happens. Actually, that’s not true. Sometimes nothing all that interesting has happened and I’ll sit down and write her.

James:
Like a diary? Except in letters?

Lucy:
I guess. When I first started doing this, I used to think: What if Kathryn is one of the stories, one of those rare cases, where somebody finds her? I figured that when Kathryn came home, I could give her these. I could show her how much I missed her, how I was always thinking about her. And when she read them, even though all this time has passed, it would be like she hadn’t missed
everything
.

James:
That’s really sad, Lucy.

Lucy:
It helps me.

James:
Have you written her any letters lately?

Lucy:
Oh yeah. I’ve been keeping her well informed
about Paris and the eggs. I’ve also told her a little bit about you.

James:
Good things?

Lucy:
Pretty good things.

James:
Can I ask you another question about this?

Lucy:
Yes.

James:
If you’ve given her a death date and you don’t think that she’s going to read them anymore, why do you still write them?

Lucy:
I guess I believe in an afterlife and stuff. I think she still has access to them. In some way. She sees them.

James:
Oh.

Lucy:
I think I’m through talking tonight.

James:
That’s good. Because I think I’m through listening.

Lucy:
That was so rude!

James:
I was joking.

Lucy:
Jokes can be rude.

James:
You’re being way too hard on me.

Lucy:
Get used to it.

James:
What’s next? More nipple insults?

Lucy:
You’re the one who said they were interesting.

James:
They are. I mean, if these nipples could talk . . .

May 22, 6:24 a.m.

James:
I can’t believe that you didn’t pick up. Maybe you’re in the shower. I think I should get directions to your house again. So that when the hatching begins, I can zoom right over.

May 22, 6:58 a.m.

Lucy:
I can’t believe that
you
aren’t picking up. You’re such a tease. Okay. I’m going to forgive you for losing these directions. I live on Township Road. It’s the fourth house. If you pass a barn with the words “Cream Dog,”
you’ve gone too far. But I bet you remembered that part. You’ll know you’re getting close when you’ve left all signs of civilization behind. On a side note, in the background of your last message I could hear your grandma singing. I think it might have been Neil Diamond. My dad listens to him a lot. I didn’t know that anybody else did. Hey, when it comes to selecting karaoke songs, I think your grandma has tremendous range.

May 22, 7:03 a.m.

James:
Yes, I was in the shower. And, Lucy, I never told you this before, but your directions are terrible. You need to give a person landmarks. Gas stations. Cemeteries. Big gangly trees.

May 22, 7:08 a.m.

Lucy:
Are you taking a second shower? Did you have trouble rinsing out your shampoo? Okay. Take the main exit in Montpelier and drive straight until you don’t see any landmarks. No gas stations. No cemeteries. No big gangly trees. Then turn left on Township Road. My house is blue. It looks like a triangle. It’s the only house on the hill. If you get lost, call me. Oh, and Paris isn’t at my house. Paris is at CeCe’s. Remember? Anyway, once the hatching starts, you drive here and then we can carpool to CeCe’s together.

May 22, 9:39 p.m.

James:
You never told me all the things you like about me.

Lucy:
What are you talking about?

James:
In one of your messages, during one of our no-talk periods, you said that you were going to call me and tell me all the things you liked about me.

Lucy:
Are you sure I said that?

James:
I still have the message.

Lucy:
Are you demanding that I tell you what I like about you right now?

James:
Well, I don’t like the way the word “demand” sounds. But yes.

Lucy:
Okay. Let me think. I am going to limit this to five things I like about you. Is that all right?

James:
Five is a good start.

Lucy:
The first thing is easy. You’re funny. And not in your average way. You’re clever-funny and I like that a lot.

James:
Go on.

Lucy:
Go on about clever-funny or go on to the second thing?

James:
Either way.

Lucy:
The second thing. I like how you’re interested in my life. Even though sometimes I don’t like sharing stuff with you. You seem very thoughtful and I like that a lot.

James:
Next.

Lucy:
Okay. Number three. You’re adventurous. You go camping. You play sports. You think tortoises waste their slow-moving lives. I like that. It means that you’re willing to live. And you help me want that.

James:
That’s true. I refuse to be a tortoise.

Lucy:
Four. I like that you like your grandma. And that
you drive her around. And bought her a karaoke machine. You seem very sweet. And you seem connected to your family in a real positive way.

James:
Thanks.

Lucy:
And for five, I guess I like the sound of your voice.

James:
That’s not very positive. I can’t help the sound of my voice. It’s biological. It’s something that just is.

Lucy:
Well, it’s pleasant and I like it.

James:
Describe how it’s pleasant.

Lucy:
You’re so demanding!

James:
You’re acting dodgy. Does this mean that my voice is pleasant, yet indescribable?

Lucy:
Your voice is kind. And calm. And the sound of it makes me want to trust you.

James:
That was a pretty good five.

Lucy:
Well, what do you like about me?

James:
Hmm. Give me a second. Okay. You’re sweet and sharp and interesting and funny and you’ve got a lot of energy.

Lucy:
We only talk on the phone. How do you know whether or not I have a lot of energy?

James:
You’re enthusiastic about stuff. Plus, you used to run track.

Lucy:
But I don’t run track anymore.

James:
True. True. This seems like a good time to tell me why you don’t run track anymore.

Lucy:
Okay. But you can’t get mad at Greg Tandy.

James:
Greg Tandy made you stop running track?

Lucy:
Sort of.

James:
What did he do?

Lucy:
Okay. That part comes later. First, let me explain my running anxieties.

James:
Running makes you feel anxious?

Lucy:
James! I can understand why you used to get mad when I jumped in and interrupted your stories. It’s very annoying. Stop acting like me.

James:
Fair enough.