Orphea Proud (5 page)

Dead?

Put yourself in my place—

No way—

I screamed in Rupert’s face.

“Fuck you! Liar!”

“No need—”

“You’re making it up!”

“Her father—”

“Fuck you!”

Ruby ran across the room with her hands over her ears. “That filthy word!”

“ ‘Fuck you’ is a phrase, you mouse-eyed no-mother.
A paper bag you could punch through. It’s not a belt, not a whip, not your husband’s fist that landed in my face. It’s a phrase! So, fuck you!”

Rupert grabbed me by the collar and slapped me.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but now I see that you are incorrigible. Your friend just died and you’re cursing at your mother.”

“My friend didn’t die! She’s not my mother!”

“We don’t have your kind of people in our family. Thank your lucky stars that we’re willing to forgive you.”

“Forgive me!”

“To forget what I saw. It’s unacceptable! But I’m willing to forget, now that she’s dead.”

“Stop saying that! You asshole! I hate you!”

“Calm down, Orphea,” Ruby said. “We’re trying to be understanding. Lissa is—”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Time out, Miss Tough-guy. Don’t you scream at Ruby again! You and your friend acted like sluts. Don’t think I didn’t tell her—”

“What did you tell her?”

“Not to come back! Now, I’m sorry she died, but that’s not my fault. And it doesn’t give you the right—”

I fell on my knees and began to cry. Then, without warning, I threw up.

Rupert jumped out of the way. Ruby brought me a towel. I cleaned my face. I felt like the towel, soaked with vomit.

“Where is she?”

“Open Arms, I suppose,” said Ruby. She looked worried. She was standing over me. Her voice sounded like an echo chamber. “Her folks will let us know the details. Want me to put something on your eye?”

“Don’t—”

Rupert knelt down beside me. “What happened today is between these four walls.” He leaned closer. “You don’t have to worry. Hear me?”

What was he talking about?

He stood up. “Now get a grip on yourself.”

They left me standing in the middle of my room. It was as if I were alone in the universe and the only center I had to hold on to was myself. And myself was petrified. Terrified. I wasn’t crying anymore. I was waiting, while a tape inside my head kept saying that it couldn’t be true; that Rupert and Ruby had made the whole thing up, which was incredibly vicious even for them. How could she be dead, when only this morning I had felt her breath on the back of my neck?

I opened my mouth and screamed. And I was sobbing into the quilt and pillow, seeing her face, drawing in ragged breaths of her fragrance, lemons, peanut butter, patchouli. My cheek fell upon a hard thing in the sheets, one of her earrings, a small gold hoop with an orange stone. I’m wearing it in my ear tonight, see? One of her striped socks appeared at the foot of the mattress. I cried until my sobs came up in dry heaves.

Suddenly my arms and legs began to move without me, as I threw on more clothes, a sweatshirt, my pink
scarf, my red bandana, jeans. The T-shirt I had been sleeping in was torn and covered with dry blood. I ripped it off my body. I thrashed across the room, crazily getting ready—for what? Only my arms and legs knew, and my hands, which deftly creased the red bandana and laid it across my forehead above the cut on my eye, and quickly made a knot at the back of my head, above the nape of my neck. Why was I getting dressed up? Was I dressed up? I opened the door to my room and raced down the stairs, heedless of falling, not anticipating in my mind the number of steps in my stride. Almost as if I were flying, down and onto the carpet and out the wooden door. Then I was slipping on the sidewalk. My sneakers were soaked and I’d forgotten my own socks, though I had Lissa’s in my pocket.

Where am I going? My thoughts rambled. What just happened? This can’t be real.

But my feet knew where to go. They led me slipping through ten blocks of slush to Open Arms Funeral Home.

When
I got to Open Arms, a lamp was burning in the window. There was no sign of Lissa’s parents. The door was unlocked. A statue of an angel hovered over the lobby. The place was like a velvet womb, red velvet drapes, red velvet chairs. My arms were yearning to hold Lissa. Somewhere, I was hoping that she wasn’t dead.

I tiptoed across the lobby and began wandering the corridors—not a soul in sight. But I heard someone humming a scratchy, nondescript tune. A door at the end of the corridor was partway open. The humming was coming from there. I walked to the door and
slipped inside the room. A small woman with gray hair was stooped over an open coffin.

My legs buckled. The air was filled with the strong smell of chemicals. The woman turned around and glanced up at me. She wore thick glasses. In her hand was a small paintbrush. What could she possibly be painting?

“Are you all right, dear?” Her face was soft as dough.

“My friend …”

The woman stood up and motioned toward the coffin. “Are you the granddaughter? They told me that you might come.”

Totally confused at this point, I felt a thick lump rose in my throat. “Is that Lissa?”

“Lissa? No, this is Virginia.” She stepped away from the coffin to permit me a view.

I took a few steps forward and saw the face of an elderly woman, carefully powdered and rouged. Her top lip had lipstick; the bottom lip was pale. I sighed with relief.

“We’re not quite ready yet,” the attendant explained. I glanced again at the tiny brush and understood. She was the makeup artist.

“So Lissa Evans isn’t here? She’s not dead?”

The woman led me to a stool.

“She’s my friend. She’s only sixteen. Someone told me she died. It could be a mistake.”

“We’re expecting an Evans,” she said quietly.

I felt a stab of pain. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t have the details. Is there someone that I can call for you? Someone to drive you home?”

“No.” I stood up and peeked at the corpse. “Somebody’s grandma?”

“Ninety-five. Died at a party.”

A tear rolled down my cheek.

“Lissa never wore makeup. She wouldn’t like lipstick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. I’ll tell her you stopped by.… ”

After that I went to Icky’s. The diner had closed early on account of the weather. I knocked and Marilyn let me in. When I tried to explain what had happened, she and Icky didn’t understand at first.

“Were you driving?”

“I wasn’t in the car.”

“Then how were you in the accident?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You’re still in shock. She’s in shock, Icky. She must have been in the accident—look at her.”

They were confused by my cuts and bruises. And I guess I
was
in a state of shock.

“Lissa was driving. She was leaving my house. She was alone.”

“Is she okay?” That was Marilyn.

“Her spleen broke.”

Icky cracked his knuckles. “Poor girl. Where’d you get that fat lip, then?”

I lowered my eyes. “Rupert was mad at us.”

“Your brother did that?”

I began sobbing. “Don’t worry about me. Lissa is the one. Her spleen …”

“Where is she?” asked Marilyn. “In the hospital?”

“I went to see her body, but she wasn’t there.”

Icky’s face turned into itself, but Marilyn kind of exploded.

“Her body? Oh dear Lord, no! Oh, Orphea. Oh, Lissa.” She hugged me and the two of us were crying and Icky was pacing.

“Did that jerk brother of yours do something to cause Lissa to wreck?”

“She was by herself. It just happened. I haven’t talked to her parents. But I can’t tell them what was going on, anyway, because they don’t know.”

“Know what?” Marilyn asked.

“Lissa and I, well, we were making out.” I glanced away. “I don’t know what you think about something like that. We’d just figured out … our feelings … and then Rupert came into my room and Lissa ran out and …”

Icky put a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to explain your private stuff to us. I can’t believe your brother would give you a fat lip over something like that. I mean, he could have his opinions …”