Bury A Friend

Chapter 4. Crash Course

[5] I wake face down on the couch, cold with a headache. The smell of bacon permeates my nostrils. I must have some or I will die. My clothes cling to me like a pound of wet lunch meat. 

"Sounds like someone's awake in the living room, I see. If you're going to Cheddar's today, at least get off your ass and mow the lawn, honey."

The breakfast smell draws me to the kitchen where my mom stands in her matching slippers and robe, stirring a pool of eggs. The brunch cookbook I bought last week lays open to the page of an herb frittata. It must be Sunday. On the days she goes in late she always tries a recipe. Oven mitts and pots are all working as she bustles around the
kitchen, stopping every so often to point her finger at the book. I go to dig in but there's some little twig of herb she wants to finish it with first.

"There's water and juice in the fridge. Oh, and take some Advil. And, don't forget, sweetie, mow–the–lawn." She kisses me on the forehead before ruffling my already bad morning hair. "Oh, my baby bear is grown up now." I'm wrapped before I can't fight it into one of her warm hugs. "Going to your first Halloween party last night, I'm so proud of you for being social."

I escape from her grasp and pull my fork from the counter. "Listen here, woman. No long embraces, let's just keep this about breakfast. I'm a senior who's two weeks shy of eighteen. I'm an adult."

She grabs a chunky portion of my cheek. "Oh sweetie. No you're not." With that last sentiment, she hurries out the door.

I realized just now she said to take Advil, like I'm nursing a hangover. I stand here, crunching on a piece of hot bacon, using my other hand to pat my body down. It felt fine, but then there was the pesky thing about my memory. I didn't have it. Not all of it, anyway. There was Cheddar's, then the music performance, and I'm pretty sure a bonfire with Leah in the woods. I shrug it off. The lawn will be mowed within minutes of my mom's arrival back from work. Until then, I'll be a Spartan warrior that can battle mythological creatures from the comfort of my bed. I'm heading up the stairs when the doorbell rings. Mom's at work, Cheddar just barges in, and I made sure to mark Girl Scout season on the calendar. Leaning far over the banister, I squint at the side window. Leah is standing there. In all her weird glory. She at the door with an attitude like I have a pet that shit in her yard.

How is she standing here in front of me at my house?
Maybe I died and went to hell.
But Leah is here.
Maybe I died and went to heaven.
The damp clothes, headache, and hazy memory suggest otherwise.
Perhaps I'm in a sort of limbo. Forever stuck on this side of the door, Leah on the other side, where our souls will never meet. A second knock is heavy-handed as it pounds against the frame.

"Ding dong, dipshit, you realize your window isn't a two-way mirror, right?"

Nope. She's outside.
After letting her in, she stands in my living room with a quizzical look on her face, adjusting under the weight of her large messenger bag. "You should change your door number. It has thirteen in it."

"I'll... make a mental note to do that, I guess. Um. Hi there."

Tilting her head to the side, she responds. "Hi back."

She squints her eyes like before, and I return the look back too stubborn to give in. "So I'm prepared to continue this riveting and stimulating conversation, but my clothes are damp. And I don't remember why, so I'm going to deal with that real quick." Her face cracks its composure and then she waves me up my own stairs.

A quick check in the mirror attached to my closet door informs me I indeed look like a fool. Clothes wrinkled, eyes sleepy and red, hair – Jesus, save it. My hands run through it a few times, pretending in my mind it's helpful to the cause. Appearing in my doorway just as my shirt comes down over my head, she's here. Warmth floods my cheeks, and quickens my pulse, and my lowers to the floor, unsure of what to say.