Defective

by Susan Sofayov

  I reached out and helped Aunt Rose from the ground.

  "Enough of the dead, let's eat," she said. "Is there any good Chinese in this town?"

  I laughed. "I have no idea, but the pizza is amazing."

  "Fine," she said, reaching for my hand. "We'll eat pizza."

  CHAPTER 20

  Who Dumped Whom?

  I deposited Aunt Rose back at Aunt Mildred's house at about two-thirty. Mildred begrudgingly asked me to stay for dinner, but I begged off, explaining that I had to grocery shop and begin studying for the bar. They stood side-by-side on the porch, waving as I drove off.

  Once in Pittsburgh, I forced myself to drive straight to the supermarket. I charged into the only open spot in the parking lot of the Squirrel Hill Giant Eagle. I couldn't avoid shopping any longer. My fridge and cabinets were screaming, "Feed me!"

  The last time I had shopped here I behaved courteously and let a minivan drive around me as I waited for another driver to back out of a spot. Instead of passing, the creep stole my space--I hated that supermarket, and as usual, the place was packed with people.

  It's easier to navigate the aisles with just a basket, but today, I needed to stock up on essentials. I yanked a cart out of the row and entered the maze through the produce section. I threw in a bag of apples into the cart and passed on everything else. It took about ten minutes, but I finally reached my destination. The aisle lined with potato chips, pretzels, cheese doodles, and nachos. As I moved forward, grabbing bags of carbohydrates, I noticed my friend Aggie, who was loading chips into her cart.

  I crept up behind her. "Miss, those are not part of a balanced nutritional program."

  Aggie spun around and hugged me. "Maggie, I was going to call you tonight. Your party was so much fun, and your brother--" she said, pretending to fan herself. "You don't happen to have an unmarried one stashed away somewhere?" We both laughed before she changed the subject. "Have you spoken with Tom in the last twenty-four hours?"

  "Well, the last time I heard his voice was when he shoved an empty bowl in my face and demanded more popcorn. He and my cousin Stephanie were very cozy on my sofa. I'd say this all happened about eighteen hours ago."

  "Call him, please," Aggie asked. "When I talked to him on the phone this morning, he sounded like a total idiot. He's insisting its true love. He cannot fall in love before the bar exam. He'll fail if he's not focused. What the hell is it with your family and that poor guy? It's pathetic. For three years, I listened to him whine about you and now, your cousin. Whatever it is, would you please spread a little my way? I swear the minute the exam is over, I'm going into the street and making-out with the first guy I see."

  "Really, Aggie, we just--" I squinted my eyes and stopped talking.

  Aggie waved her hand in front of my eyes. "Hey, Maggie, are you okay? You look a bit stunned."

  I reached up and grabbed a bag of corn chips, using the motion to get a grip on my stomach. "Sorry, Aggie. I thought I saw someone, but it's impossible because he lives in Philadelphia."

  "Oh, Maggie," she said, shaking her head. "I think you should get a date when the test is over, too. Here I am dreaming of your imaginary brother, and you're hallucinating."

  We walked the aisles, chatting about the bar and Tom's current love sickness. I promised Aggie I would call Steph tonight and threaten to kill her if she hurt him. Every once in a while, one of us would grab a box or bag off the shelf and toss it into the buggy. When we reached the baking aisle, Aggie picked up a couple of containers of chocolate cake frosting. Shrugging, she explained, "The cheap version of chocolate-covered pretzels"

  A bit further down the aisle, I reached up to the top shelf, grabbed two boxes, and chucked one into her cart and the other into mine. Startled, she said, "Maggie, why are you throwing things into my cart?"

  I pointed to the print on the front of the box. "Look."

  Aggie cracked up. "Dates? Oh, I get it now," she said. "I don't want to be lonely," she announced, rolling her eyes. "Give me two boxes!"

  After hugging and promising to meet for dinner soon, we parted at the supermarket doors. For a moment, I caught myself scanning the store with the slightest hope of getting another look at Nick's double. A homeless man interrupted my search by asking for some change. I handed him a dollar and began lifting the bags from the cart.

  Glancing at him as he walked toward the next person, the word bipolar bounced around in my brain. A realization reverberated through me. There would never be another date or relationship for me. The groceries hurt my hands as I walked to the car.

  At home, I unloaded the food, made myself a sandwich, and turned on my computer.

  Hey, Mags, was written on the top of the letter. Other than Justin, Nick was the only other person who called me Mags.

  Last time I checked, Philadelphia was fine. I don't get out much--dedicated doctor, slaving away at the hospital. I'm really beat right now, just got home from a double shift. I'm starting to think I may want to specialize in pediatric orthopedics. Until I started working in hospitals, I never realized how much I like kids. Today, I was in the operating room with a surgeon while he rebuilt a kid's arm. It was amazing, beyond words. The surgery was a last-ditch effort before amputation, and it worked. Maggie, hospitals are amazing. I see miracles every day.

  I know you are going to be obsessed with the bar exam for the next few months, but if you have a free moment, write back. -- Nick

  Over the course of the next few weeks, there were daily messages in my in-box. Nick would write about life at the hospital, and I'd write back, asking him for more stories. His messages and hospital tales became my only studying distraction. I was responding to his message one Sunday evening when everything changed. In the bottom, right-hand corner of my screen, the words,Hi Maggie, popped up. We moved from Facebook messaging to chatting.

  Hi, Nick, I wrote back.

  This is cool, almost like talking to you. What are you doing now, cramming more laws into your brain or taking a break?

  Actually, I am sitting in bed writing back to you. I smiled as I typed.

  Did I read that right? 'Sitting in bed?' Wearing something totally sexy, I hope, he wrote.

  Of course, the OC sweatshirt you gave me and flannel pants, I replied.

  Don't tell me that. You're screwing up my visual. I'll just sit at my keyboard and imagine you in something small, black, and lacy, if that's all right with you?

  Doesn't bother me, but if I look cold, please throw a blanket over me. :) You're still sick, Nick, I wrote.

  Just when it comes to you, Maggie. The rest of the time, I'm Dr. Nick, well-mannered, respectable future surgeon.

  I decided to take the plunge and ask the big question. Not that it's any of my business, but are you still with Walnut Street girl?

  UGH. How did you know about her? popped up on my screen faster than I expected.

  Crystal ball, I typed.

  Huge mistake, Maggie.

  According to my spiritual world sources, she was really pretty, I wrote.

  Yeah, that's why she happened. She reminded me of you. But she wasn't you. Far from it. Psycho woman.

  I stared at the screen not knowing what to write.

  The words, Hey, Maggie, are you still there? flashed in front of my eyes.

  Yeah, I'm here. Sorry, I had to fix my socks. I can't believe that 'she reminded me of you,' stuff.

  You don't have to believe me, but it's true. Why did you change your relationship status? he asked.

  The obvious reason. The relationship ended, I typed back.

  Duh.

  He moved out. I'll tell you about it one of these days, Nick, but right now, I need to get a shower and go to bed.

  "Can I watch?"

  I smiled as I read what he wrote. He could always say the sickest things and still make me laugh. Nick, you really haven't changed. No, you can't watch.

  Really, we could set up a Skype deal. You can position the camera to face the shower, he typed, and I could mentally
picture the smirk on his face.

  Good night, Nick. :)

  Good night, Maggie.

  I found myself checking Facebook much more often. If he wasn't on, I was disappointed. If he was logged on, we chatted. Eventually, he started telling me his work schedule, and we planned our chats for his off-hours. I got nervous one weekend in June. He didn't log on from Friday to late Sunday night.

  Hey, where have you been all weekend? I typed.

  Miss me? he responded.

  No, just curious, I shot back.

  My parents surprised me and came up for the weekend. They moved to Florida a few years ago. I managed to get most of the weekend off, and we did the tourist stuff.

  Liberty Bell still cracked? I asked.

  Yep, just like it has been for the last hundred and fifty plus years. I was thinking about our conversations over the weekend.

  As I live and breathe, you were thinking? I typed.

  Shut up, Maggie. You never did tell me what happened with that relationship.

  It still hurts too much. I still hope that someday...I hit send without finishing the sentence. I couldn't bring myself to tell Nick that I still hoped to get back together with Sam.

  Maggie, he left you? Nick typed.

  So, did you, Nick, I retorted.

  EXCUSE ME. What? I left you? Must I remind you that you got on that damn bus without a word and never looked back? I drove away from that bus stop and swore I would never set foot in that town again. You broke my heart. :(

  My fingers typed back before I finished reading. Wait a minute. Are you trying to blame this on me? I cried nonstop until Harrisburg. You didn't say one word about ever wanting to see me again.

  Maggie, you gave absolutely no sign you wanted to see me again. I kept waiting for you to invite me to Pittsburgh or say you would visit on weekends. But, nothing. Nada. So, my dear, you dumped me. That is why I ended up with Miss Walnut Street as you call her, because I missed you, he said.

  Oh, was the only word I could think to type.

  Is that all you can say, 'Oh?' Lame, Maggie. Try groveling and begging for my forgiveness.

  Nick, I honestly believed you just wanted a summer fling and my getting on the bus was the end. I'm sorry. I waited for you to say something about staying together, and you never did. This conversation was going in a direction I never dreamed about. How could he think for a millisecond that I left him? I would have crawled to Philadelphia if he invited me.

  Fling? You've got to be kidding. If I wanted a fling, I would have found one in Philadelphia. It would have been a whole hell of a lot easier than battling shore traffic every weekend. Shit, Maggie, I was--am crazy about you.

  Am? I typed, with quivering hands.

  Since the first night you walked into my basement. Hell, you stunned me. It took me how many years to work up the courage to talk to you? Every time you came to listen to us play, the guys in the band abused the hell out of me. They said I couldn't even hold a drum stick right when you were in the room.

  For some absurd reason, tears were streaming down my cheeks.

  Nick, there are millions of girls out there, and every one of them would stand in line all day for the chance at a date with you, I typed back.

  You've always overestimated my appeal to females.

  Trust me on this one, Nick. Appeal you've got.

  I don't have you, he wrote.

  Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I couldn't take my fingers off the keys long enough to wipe them away. You don't want me. Really, you don't. It's late, Nick. I have to call Steph and threaten to kill her if she breaks my friend's heart, and then you know my routine--shower and sleep.

  And, again, I'll beg, can I watch? he wrote.

  Nick, I don't get it. You see naked bodies all day. Why are you so intent on watching me shower? I typed, relieved the conversation was back on lighter terms.

  Maggie, orthopedics, bones. I look at senior citizens with bad hips or little kids with broken legs. Your body is art. Good Night.

  Good Night, Nick.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sunshine and Rain

  Thanks to the bar examination, my appreciation for the Shawshank Redemption and every other prison break movie reached astronomical proportions. Charging out of the David Lawrence Convention Center door felt exhilarating and liberating, but my body was too exhausted to enjoy it. "Hey, Aggie, didn't you say something about making-out with the first guy you saw after the bar?" I asked.

  "I vaguely remember saying something like that. Why?" she asked.

  I pointed to a homeless guy pushing an old shopping cart down the street. "There's your man."

  "Maggie," she said, "I guess it's his lucky day because I'm too tired to kiss anyone. Let's go to Starbucks, I'll buy him a cup of coffee and a bagel instead."

  "Aggie, I'm beat," I replied, wondering how it could be possible that even my armpits felt fatigued.

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me along, insisting that her blood-caffeine level was dangerously low. Tom trailed along with a dazed look in his eyes. All it took was one shot of espresso to turn his life back on. After downing a second espresso, he gushed about Steph. I nodded appropriately, pretended to listen, and sipped my steaming latte. Surprisingly, their love was still going strong after a whole seven weeks.

  The three of us exited the coffee shop together, agreeing that home and sleep held infinitely more appeal than going to dinner and rehashing the test.

  A week later, I lounged poolside, soaking up the Boca Raton sunshine. Initially, I decide to leave my laptop at home. To sit, staring at a computer screen all day, would be an insult to the sun and ocean. The idea of a low-tech couple of weeks appealed to my inner beach bum. With the fantasy of being cut off from the world, I left my apartment with one suitcase and a satchel, holding a couple of trashy novels and some gossip magazines.

  I made it half way across the lobby of my building before caving. Violently poking the elevator up button, I was disgusted myself for repeatedly becoming addicted to Nick, first his body and now his typing. I huffed the whole way to the car, computer case slung over my shoulder.

  I indulged in major self-justification during the flight. Nick was just an old friend, and this pen pal via keyboard relationship was actually entertaining. Face-to-face communication with him always caused problems for me. His face and body distracted my brain, and I forgot how to string words together to form sentences. When his eyes or mouth were inches from my face, I was grateful my heart beat without my conscious assistance.

  After day three, my grandma asked me why I carried my laptop everywhere. I shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "Gram, it's the new magazine, book, and newspaper all rolled into one."

  The answer satisfied her because she said maybe it was time to break down and buy one. I offered to take her computer shopping before I left.

  On the first Friday afternoon, stretched out on my favorite poolside recliner reading an online celebrity gossip site, I noticed the Hi, Mags, had popped into the lower corner. I shook my head. How does he do it? All he has to do is type the letters of my name and blood gushes to my face.

  Hey, Nick, I typed back.

  Still soaking up the sun? As much as I enjoy envisioning you in a thong bikini, I'm starting to worry about skin cancer. Please wear a hat and don't forget to reapply the sunscreen every half-hour. I don't ever want some half-assed skin guy hacking into you, marring your delicious everything, he wrote.

  Nick, I'm not sure which answer would be more appropriate, 'thanks, Mom,' or 'you're sick.' Let me say it this way. Thank you for your concern and I am taking all safety precautions. Excuse me for a minute. I'll be right back. I have to re-coat my whole body in coconut oil. I smiled as I hit the send button.

  I hate you, he typed, bolding the font.

  I felt my fingers fly across the keyboard. Wait, I think I missed a spot on the back of my upper thigh.

  Bitch, he typed, and I could actually imagine the twinkle in his amazing green eyes.

/>   Before, I could type back another text box popped up. Why did he leave you, Maggie?

  My smile went away. I looked at the screen. What difference did it make if I told him? He was in Philly. We'd never see each other again. The worst that could happen was that he would stop our chat dates. But the thought of not chatting with him always brought an ache to my chest.

  Maggie? Hello, Mags are you there?

  Give me a minute, I finally typed.

  The words, Are you still in love with this guy? appeared on my screen.

  I knew I had to answer and I didn't want to, but I didn't want to lie either. Inhaling, I typed, I'm not sure. Maybe.

  So the break-up wasn't mutual. He really did just leave, Nick typed back.

  No, there wasn't anything mutual about it. I came home from the supermarket one Friday afternoon and found him packing, I confessed.

  It's totally unbelievable that this ass could walk away from you without a gun to the head being involved.

  You left, I wrote.

  We've been through that, Maggie. I didn't leave you. You didn't leave me. It was an immature communication problem. Get over it and on with this damn story.

  Nick, I'm afraid to tell you why he left. I typed the words and meant them. My body quivered with fear. I couldn't define it, but I knew that the shaking originated in the same place as the tears on the bus. I didn't want to say good bye again.

  Whoa, strong words. Why would you be afraid of me? I'm sitting hundreds of miles away. I can't beat you or scream at you. Sucks, though, because there are quite a few other things I'd like to do, but I assure you, nothing to fear, he quipped back.