“Is this Trish?”
“Who’s this?”
“Maddie.”
“Maddie?” The voice seems to wake up slightly. “Maddie from Spring Meadow?”
“Yes! Trish! It’s me!”
“Oh my God. It’s you?” she says. “Where are you!?”
“I’m home!”
“Oh my God! When did you get out?” she asks excitedly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m living with my parents. I’m back in high school!”
“You’re back in high school!? How weird! What’s it like? Does it suck?”
“Are you kidding me? It totally sucks!”
“Oh my God! You’re in high school! That’s hilarious!”
“I know. It’s a total joke!”
“I’m so glad you called!” she says.
“Me too!”
“It’s so nice to hear your voice!”
“What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been applying for jobs. My mom is making me. I applied for a bookkeeper at a plumbing company. Can you imagine me? Working at a plumbing company!?”
“That is so funny!!!”
“It’s ridiculous!”
“We have to hang out.”
“We totally have to.”
“Oh my God, I can’t wait to see you!”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m coming to see you!!!”
The next day I ride the MAX train downtown, to the Metro Café. That’s the cool place downtown where people hang out.
I walk in and see Trish sitting by herself in a corner. We wave and I hurry through the tables to her. I sit down and we gush and hold hands and act stupid for a while. Then we get lattes and settle in with each other.
She looks different. That’s the first thing I notice. She’s gained weight and is wearing different makeup. She has a new expensive haircut that looks weird, like it’s really intended for a fifty-year-old woman who works in a bank. Also, she looks kind of asleep. Or puffy. She’s on meds, obviously. Pretty massive doses, from the looks of her.
But none of this makes any difference. Once we’re talking, it’s just like back at rehab. It’s just like old times. She has crushes on a million different guys. A guy she liked in high school called her last week. She went to an AA meeting where there were some cute skater boys. She flirts with one of the cashiers at the grocery store by her mom’s.
I tell her about school. How I hide in the library and eat carrots all day and do crossword puzzles at lunch.
“Oh my God, could we be bigger losers!!??” She laughs.
After coffee we walk around downtown. This is the best hour I’ve spent in weeks. We laugh at stuff for no reason. We joke about jobs and school. We walk arm in arm and say random things to boys.
There’s just one thing: I don’t tell her about Stewart. I don’t know why. I start to a couple times. But then I don’t.
For some reason I need to keep him to myself.
5
H aving Trish back in my life makes everything more tolerable. School gets easier. My parents don’t seem so weird. Even talking to Stewart gets easier, as it gives me something to talk about for our whole ten minutes.
It goes so well, in fact, that he calls me again the next day. I’m in the kitchen with my mom when I answer. She gets sort of weird and suspicious afterward, which is odd, considering all the stray boys who have called me over the years. She wants to know who he is, and I tell her he’s one of my friends from rehab. I remind her we’re supposed to maintain friendships with our fellow recoverers. She doesn’t totally understand the “recovery” philosophy but she takes my word for it. Sort of.
Then he calls again a couple days later on a borrowed cell phone. It’s a Saturday, early afternoon, and I’m alone at home and I wander around the house half naked in a big sweater, talking to him for two hours. We have a real talk this time. We make plans. He’s going to stay with his mother in Centralia, which is about fifty miles from Portland. I can come visit him there. And he can come into the city.
He gives me the news from Spring Meadow: who’s been going to movie night, what’s going on in his house, how
“Who’s this?”
“Maddie.”
“Maddie?” The voice seems to wake up slightly. “Maddie from Spring Meadow?”
“Yes! Trish! It’s me!”
“Oh my God. It’s you?” she says. “Where are you!?”
“I’m home!”
“Oh my God! When did you get out?” she asks excitedly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m living with my parents. I’m back in high school!”
“You’re back in high school!? How weird! What’s it like? Does it suck?”
“Are you kidding me? It totally sucks!”
“Oh my God! You’re in high school! That’s hilarious!”
“I know. It’s a total joke!”
“I’m so glad you called!” she says.
“Me too!”
“It’s so nice to hear your voice!”
“What have you been doing?”
“I’ve been applying for jobs. My mom is making me. I applied for a bookkeeper at a plumbing company. Can you imagine me? Working at a plumbing company!?”
“That is so funny!!!”
“It’s ridiculous!”
“We have to hang out.”
“We totally have to.”
“Oh my God, I can’t wait to see you!”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I’m coming to see you!!!”
The next day I ride the MAX train downtown, to the Metro Café. That’s the cool place downtown where people hang out.
I walk in and see Trish sitting by herself in a corner. We wave and I hurry through the tables to her. I sit down and we gush and hold hands and act stupid for a while. Then we get lattes and settle in with each other.
She looks different. That’s the first thing I notice. She’s gained weight and is wearing different makeup. She has a new expensive haircut that looks weird, like it’s really intended for a fifty-year-old woman who works in a bank. Also, she looks kind of asleep. Or puffy. She’s on meds, obviously. Pretty massive doses, from the looks of her.
But none of this makes any difference. Once we’re talking, it’s just like back at rehab. It’s just like old times. She has crushes on a million different guys. A guy she liked in high school called her last week. She went to an AA meeting where there were some cute skater boys. She flirts with one of the cashiers at the grocery store by her mom’s.
I tell her about school. How I hide in the library and eat carrots all day and do crossword puzzles at lunch.
“Oh my God, could we be bigger losers!!??” She laughs.
After coffee we walk around downtown. This is the best hour I’ve spent in weeks. We laugh at stuff for no reason. We joke about jobs and school. We walk arm in arm and say random things to boys.
There’s just one thing: I don’t tell her about Stewart. I don’t know why. I start to a couple times. But then I don’t.
For some reason I need to keep him to myself.
5
H aving Trish back in my life makes everything more tolerable. School gets easier. My parents don’t seem so weird. Even talking to Stewart gets easier, as it gives me something to talk about for our whole ten minutes.
It goes so well, in fact, that he calls me again the next day. I’m in the kitchen with my mom when I answer. She gets sort of weird and suspicious afterward, which is odd, considering all the stray boys who have called me over the years. She wants to know who he is, and I tell her he’s one of my friends from rehab. I remind her we’re supposed to maintain friendships with our fellow recoverers. She doesn’t totally understand the “recovery” philosophy but she takes my word for it. Sort of.
Then he calls again a couple days later on a borrowed cell phone. It’s a Saturday, early afternoon, and I’m alone at home and I wander around the house half naked in a big sweater, talking to him for two hours. We have a real talk this time. We make plans. He’s going to stay with his mother in Centralia, which is about fifty miles from Portland. I can come visit him there. And he can come into the city.
He gives me the news from Spring Meadow: who’s been going to movie night, what’s going on in his house, how
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