“Oh, that’s right.” Michelle smirks. “Because Indigo is hearing the voice of God.”
“Yes, she is.” Jedidiah winks in my direction. Or more like a wink at the floor, but the top of his head is pointed toward me, so I think it was meant for me.
“Let’s get back on the bus,” Drew suggests.
“What about lunch?” Mom asks. “I thought we were gonna eat at Big’s Bison Burgers. I’m starving.”
“After almost getting robbed—” Alfred yawns “—I’m not really in the mood for bison.”
“It’s unethical to eat bison.” Nam grimaces. “That’s like...eating a horse.”
Dad picks his wallet up off the floor and hands the paint gun to the cashier. “No offense to Willy Wonka, but let’s get the hell outta Urlington.”
“Dad.” Violet gives Dad a chastising look. “It’s Willy May. The mean kids call him Willy Wonka.”
“I happen to like Willy Wonka.” Dad stuffs his wallet in his back pocket. “Willy Wonka was a CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He was millionaire genius. How’s that even an insult?”
“My mouth was waterin’ for some bison, but fine.” Mom sighs. “Let’s go through the McDonald’s drive-through. I got coupons.”
“Coupons for McDonald’s?” Alfred frowns. “Why? Everything’s a dollar.”
“Are you paying for McDonald’s, Alfred?” Mom asks.
“Uh...no.” Alfred flips his cap forward.
“Then I’ll use my coupons, thank you very much!”
Brandon squeals with delight. “I want chicken nuggets!”
“Big Mac for me,” Nam sings.
“I like Burger King better but whatever.” Alfred moves toward the exit with Brandon and Nam.
As Dad takes over control of Violet’s wheelchair and Mom pays at the front for the items she was purchasing, Michelle and I stand face-to-face, right where Willy stood when he tried to rob us with a pretend gun.
I wait for the onslaught—for the “Indigo, you’re a mess and your life’s a mess and you invented the word mess and blah blah, yada yada.” But there is no onslaught. She only moves slowly toward the pharmacy in the back of the store. I watch her go, spooked by Michelle passing up on a perfect opportunity to make me feel small and insignificant. I look up at the ceiling.
“Voice?”
“’Sup?”
“Making sure you’re still with us.” I grip my camera. “Kinda...getting used to you.”
“Still with you. Always and forever. Also, not to be all, ‘I told you so,’ but...did I tell you Willy was harmless, or did I tell you Willy was harmless?”
“You told me Willy was harmless.”
“Told you I’m God.”
chapter twelve
After we crossed from Oregon into Idaho, and forests of evergreens were exchanged for landscapes of multicolored rock formations, the next couple of rest stops go according to Violet’s schedule, easing all remaining anxieties from the mock robbery.
Michelle has duct-taped blankets to the ceiling of the bus around Pastor Jedidiah’s seats so he has a private blanket cubicle, and the trip has continued without any more incidents.
I lean my aching shoulder up against the window. The sensation of the moving bus is comforting for the pain, like a massage almost, but makes my head feel like it’s in a blender. I need Michelle’s pills. She has to know they’ve worn off by now. I look between the space in the two seats in front of me. Behind the driver’s seat, she’s hunched over her phone, typing away. Is she emailing her lawyer back? Finalizing divorce plans? Maybe she doesn’t have any more pills. What if she gave me the two only to tease me with comfort and relief, so that when the pain came back, I’d feel it tenfold? This was her diabolical plan all along—my head in a bus blender. I close my eyes instead of humbling myself and begging Michelle for more meds like some sort of fiend. Before I know it, I’m drifting to sleep:
In my dream, it’s the first day of college. Violet and I step onto a lush, green university campus.
“It’s the color of the day,” Violet squeals as we approach the front doors of the admissions office.
I look down at our matching orange T-shirts and slap my hand against my forehead. “Dude. Now people are going to think we’re those weird freak-a-zoid twins who dress alike.”
She laughs.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see a male professor in dark sunglasses carrying a briefcase.
“Young lady.” He straightens his striped tie. “Why are you two dressed alike?”
“We’re twins.”
“Fraternal?”
“What? No. We’re identical. Obviously.”
“That can’t be.” The professor backs away, strangely spooked. “She doesn’t look anything like you.” He rushes off.
“What the hell was that about?” I turn to Violet and gasp. Her face has morphed into something barely human. Maggots crawl in and around her decaying skin. I back away, stumbling over my own feet and falling onto the grass.
“What’s wrong, Indigo?” She stands over me, empty eye sockets boring into my soul, filling my heart with horror. “What’s wrong?”
I wake with a jolt to see Violet sitting beside me on the bus. “Indigo?”
I sit up.
“What’s wrong? You were trembling.”
“I was?” I wipe my forehead, slick with sweat.
“You had a bad dream, didn’t you?” She coughs, covering her mouth like a demure geisha girl.
“Yeah.” I bite the dead skin around my thumbnail. “Can’t even remember what it was about, though. Weird colors and shapes.” I blink, struggling to erase the image of my decomposing twin sister.
She hands me a plastic baggie with two of Michelle’s pills inside and a tiny bottle of water. “Michelle said to take these.”
“Oh, thank God.” I gratefully take the bag and water from her hand.
“You’re very welcome.”
I ignore the voice in my head, swallowing the pills with a giant gulp of water.
“Sorry you had a bad dream.” Only she doesn’t look sorry. She looks downright giddy. Her face is all lit up, and she’s tapping her feet like she’s about to jump out of her seat and hit the roof.
I stuff the bottle of water and empty plastic baggie into my camera bag. “Did we win the lottery?” I push a finger into one of her cheeks and grin. “You look happier than a troll doll.”
“I am.” She grabs my hand. “Indigo. Look out the window!”
I peek through a pair of eyeballs. “What am I looking for?”
“Look harder.” She squeezes my hand. “Don’t you see it!?”
Suddenly I do. “Violet!”
“I know, right?!”
“It’s the sun!” Blindingly bright beams of sunlight glimmer and sparkle over the layers of rugged hilltops. The golden rays appear supernatural, like Zeus and the other Olympian gods are tossing around bolts of light for sport, their recreations creating a dramatic display of all-encompassing sunshine. My chest swells; my heart races like I drank an entire pot of coffee. I lean my forehead against the cool pane of glass and imagine for a moment that I am a bird, ready to catch a passing breeze...spread her wings...and fly.
Violet wraps her arms around me, hugging me for the first time in months. “Indi, I haven’t seen the sun in so long.”
If only I could whip out my Canon and capture this. My sister hugging me this close is like taking a magic pill that fixes everything: highly addictive, sold out in most stores—the twin pill. The throbbing in my head miraculously dissipates. The stiffness in my shoulder softens.
When Violet pulls away, she’s wiping tears. “Indi. How pathetic are we, huh? Who gets this excited about the sun?”
“People from Seattle, that’s who.” Tears slide down my own cheeks. I wipe them away.
&nb
sp; “Maybe we can get Mom to pull over and we can all lay out on the side of the road.”
“We’d get arrested. A family of black people sunbathing on the shoulder in the middle of nowhere?”
Violet laughs. “We got one Native.”
“Wouldn’t matter. We’d all go to jail.”
“Even Bran and Nam?”
“Especially Bran and Nam.”
She laughs. “What about Pastor? They wouldn’t arrest him.”
We turn to look over at Pastor Jedidiah. Since he’s surrounded by his wall of hanging blankets, all we see are his feet dangling out into the aisle, and all we hear is his snoring.
“Guilt by association.”
She laughs again and we turn our attention back to the proud display of sun.
“Violet.”
“Hmm?” She’s still soaking it all in. If pure serenity and peace could be defined by a facial expression, it would be hers.
“I could give you a kidney, you know.”
She adjusts her cannula, securing it behind her ears. “Indi, I’ve already told you how I feel about that. It’s too much of a long shot.”
“Why? It would get you back on the lung donor list.”
“If the kidney transplant was successful.”
“Why wouldn’t it be successful? We have the same DNA. Same blood type. As far as a genetic melding of bones, skin, blood and brain tissue...we’re the same.”
“Interesting...way to put it.” She coughs—it’s a guttural, hacking cough that sounds like she has pneumonia. I’m no doctor, but I’d say her cough sounds like it’s getting worse.
“So? What do you think?”
“I’d still have to live through the surgery. That’s not guaranteed.” She rubs her chest. I rub mine, too.
“But let’s say you do. If you live through the surgery and if my kidney adjusts fine to being in your body—”
“So many ifs, Indigo.” She shakes her head. “Besides, I hate the idea...of waiting around for someone else to die...so I can have their lungs and live. Not to mention if it all fails, you’re left with one kidney.”
“So what? One kidney is all we need. Two kidneys is overkill. It’s like buyin’ a Lamborghini. Who needs a freakin’ Lamborghini?”
“There’s more to it than that, Indigo. I’d rather...go with God. Let’s try this first. The hike to the Wave. God says I can live... I believe it.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
She wrings her hands together. “It’s already working. I feel different. I feel amazing.” She inhales. “I can breathe.”
“I mean, I’m just saying. What if we leave the Wave and get back home and X-rays say your lungs still have all the scar tissue and—”
“You believe the voice, Indigo?”
“I do. But—”
“Stop doubting. I...believe it, too.” She places a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as another round of guttural hacking explodes from her frail frame. It makes my own chest ache to hear her cough this way.
“Vee, can’t you take some cough medicine? You don’t sound so good.”
“Indigo, cough medicine doesn’t help.” Her voice is strained, annoyed even. “If it did...don’t you think I would’ve taken it already?”
“Sorry.” I’ve offended her. Damn me and my idiocy! “I’m stupid for even suggesting it.”
“Indigo, you’re not stupid. Look, I don’t want to be negative. Can we...not be negative? Is that too much to ask?”
And just like that, all the tension that seemed erased by the dramatic display of sunlight returns. Bricks are stacked high and slathered with sealant to re-form the wall Violet is determined to keep between us.
She stands. “I’m gonna go share the awesomeness of sunlight...with Mom and Dad. You wanna come with me?”
I shake my head. “They don’t like me.”
“That’s silly. They’re your parents.”
“So? Haven’t you ever seen that documentary on Netflix about parents who hate their own kids?”
“Indigo, that’s not a real thing.”
“Well, it should be. Mom could narrate it.”
“Mom likes you. She loves you.”
“Mom loves me because she has to. Like me? That’s debatable. All she does is criticize me. My hair. My clothes. My grades. Everything I say. She’s... I dunno. She’s weird to me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I think if you made more of an effort, you’d see the love. You’d feel it for sure.” She moves slowly down the aisle, leaning on the seats for support until she’s able to slide back into her spot beside Dad.
I watch them for a moment as they converse. Mom’s driving, but she’s still a part of the conversation, cracking up and interjecting her words of wisdom. It’s a natural, effortless banter. Mom never talks to me that way. Mom talks at me. I can’t help but think back to two years ago, when one of the happiest days of my life took a dismal turn.
* * *
I burst through the door one Sunday afternoon after learning that I was one of the three chosen to have dinner with a famed photojournalist. Mom was sitting in the living room, watching Game of Thrones.
“Mom, guess what?” I rushed to where she lounged on the couch, dressed in cozy navy-blue sweats, covered up with a blanket, a rare moment when her hair wasn’t in its signature bun, so loose curls of silver rested on her shoulders, making her look years younger.
“Shh, Indigo. I’m watching my show.”
I grabbed the remote and pushed Pause. “This’ll be worth it! I have amazing news.”
Mom checked the screen on her phone. “Make it quick. I like watching it in real time so it doesn’t get spoiled on Facebook.”
“So stay off Facebook.”
“Just...what, Indigo?”
My stomach tightened, the well of joy feeling a bit run dry. “Um...” Mom folded her arms across her chest and sat up on the couch. “I won a contest.”
“Oh. Great, honey.”
“Yeah.” My excitement started to grow again. “I took photos downtown of a police officer telling a homeless couple they had to leave this public area where they were sleeping, and I wrote a piece about the homeless crisis in Seattle. It’s all going to be featured in the Seattle Times and I get to have dinner at Canlis.”
“Oh, now, that’s fancy. It’s like two hundred dollars a plate to eat there.”
“I know, right? And guess who we’re having dinner with? Lynsey Addario!”
“Who is that?”
“A photojournalist.” I sat on the couch beside Mom. “But, Mom, she’s amazing. The photographs she takes inspire me. For her, taking pictures is about forming relationships, you know? She’s all about human rights and she’s this badass...oops, sorry, language...but she’s a total feminist. You know that gorgeous photo of the two Muslim women dressed in electric-blue burkas and they’re alone in the desert? Or at least, it looks like they’re alone. She took that photo! And I get to have dinner with her!”
“And Violet, too?”
I swallowed. “Um...well, Violet submitted...but her photo wasn’t chosen this time around.”
“She didn’t get chosen?” Mom smacked her lips in annoyance. “Those people at that school don’t know nothin’ about nothin’ if Violet didn’t win, too.”
“It’s a city contest. Not the school.” I shifted. “Do you want to read my story? I can show you the photo that’s going to be in the paper. It’s probably one of the best pictures I’ve ever taken.”
Mom took the remote from my hands. “Sure, Indigo. I’ll look at it as soon as Game of Thrones goes off.”
I thrust my phone at her. “At least look at the photo. It’ll take like five seconds.”
“Later, Indigo. I’ve worked all day and I’d like to relax and watch Game of Thrones. Is that too much to
ask? I’ll look at everything when it’s over.”
“It’s on Pause, though. I don’t get it.”
“Of course you don’t get it. You’re sixteen years old. I’ve cleaned this house from top to bottom. Done eight loads of laundry. Cooked breakfast, lunch, and soon I’ll have to throw something together for dinner. I work harder in retirement than when I was driving a damn bus all day. All I want is an hour of peace to enjoy my show. And you’re in here talking about some woman I don’t know nothin’ about. Lynsey Adaggio.”
“Addario.”
“Indigo, I don’t care right now. I just don’t care.”
I stood up. I wanted to scream, Sorry to have interrupted pretend people in a pretend world, played by actors who are probably listening to their families while you watch their dumb show! But instead I said, “Okay, Mom.”
She unpaused the TV and a whooping, hollering Westeros sword battle serenaded my ascent up the stairs to my room. When I pushed through the door, Violet was lying down, reading a book. She literally leaped up and stood on the bed when she saw me.
“Dude! You’re home!” She jumped up and down like a seven-year-old who just found out they were going to Disneyland. “I heard the news at school! Congratulations!!”
I shrugged. “Whatever. It’s no big deal.” I threw my bag into the corner and slumped onto the edge of the bed.
“No big deal!” Violet plopped down beside me. “It’s Lynsey Addario. She’s a...total badass.”
“Funny, I literally said the same thing to Mom.”
“Wait. You already told Mom? When?”
“Just now.”
“Oh?” Her expression clouded. “What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Indigo, you’re the best daughter in the whole world and I wish I could splice you into four parts and cryogenically freeze three of you to save for my next lives on Earth.’”
Violet leaned back on her hands. “What did she really say?”
“She told me to go away because she was watching people rape and pillage.”
“Indi...you shouldn’t have told her while she was watching TV. Especially Game of Thrones. That’s her show.”
“Oh, really?” I turned to look Violet square in the eye. “I didn’t know there were rules I have to follow to get my mom to talk to me.”
The Voice in My Head Page 14
