Harsh Pink with Bonus Content

by Melody Carlson

  I consider this. And maybe it makes a tiny bit of sense, but I’m not really buying into the whole thing. Plus, I don’t think I’m ready for a big step like that. I don’t want to turn into someone else. I just want to be happy. For some reason this makes me think about my friends. Okay, they’re not perfect, but then neither am I. Suddenly I feel seriously worried about them.

  “Look,” I say to Andrea. “I can’t really wrap my head around all of that right now. And the truth is, I feel seriously worried about Kendra and the rest of the girls. It’s like they’re really out of control.”

  “Do you think someone could get hurt?”

  I tell her about Sally’s plans to do eighteen Jell-O shots for her birthday. “And she was already drinking before that. I mean, I couldn’t believe how much alcohol was there. And there were only seven of us. Six now.”

  “What do you think you should do?”

  “I don’t know, but the more I think about it the more worried I get.”

  Her forehead creases and I can tell she’s really pondering this.

  “Any ideas?” I ask hopefully.

  “Well, I was just wondering what Jesus would do — that helps me make decisions sometimes.”

  I try not to roll my eyes. “So what do you think Jesus would do?” I’m sure she’s about to tell me that I should call the police or their parents or do something responsible like that.

  She smiles. “Well, he’d probably go back and join them.”

  “You mean he’d drink with them?”

  “Well, no. I mean, he drank wine sometimes. But he wouldn’t drink if it was against the law, like if he was underage. And he wouldn’t drink to get drunk. But I do think he’d stay with them and try to make sure that everyone was okay.”

  “Right.”

  “Although I’m not suggesting you should — ” “That’s it,” I say, getting to my feet. “I’ll go back there and just hang with them. That’s no biggie.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “No, that’s a great idea. I’ll just quietly slip in and make sure they’re okay. My overnight bag is still there and it won’t kill me to spend the night.”

  She nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” And like a real friend, Andrea drives me back to Sally’s. “I’ll be praying for you,” she says, “and for them too.”

  I thank her and slip back inside. The music is cranked up and I can hear voices and laughter. The girls are in the living room. Meredith and Kendra are dancing and the others are sitting on the chairs and couch, teasing each other and saying things that make no sense. Sally’s not talking at all. She’s leaning back on the couch with her eyes half shut in a weird sort of way.

  “Hey, look who’s back,” yells Kendra in a slightly slurred voice. “Feelin’ better now, are ya, Reagan?”

  “Yeah,” I say, perching on the arm of the couch. “I’m okay now.”

  “Ya wanna dance?” asks Meredith, holding her hands in the air as she staggers around and finally collapses on an easy chair, which she only partially connects with before she slides down to the floor in a heap of giggles. The others laugh.

  I glance over to where the partially full bottles of alcohol are still scattered about on the bar, along with a mess of dirty glasses, plates, used napkins, and some platters of party food. I decide it can’t hurt to clean up. So, trying to appear unobtrusive, I quietly begin putting some of the dirty dishes, as well as the bottles of liquor, away. I throw the remaining sloshy Jell-O shots down the sink. I put the dishes in the dishwasher, and I hide the liquor under the sink. Then I freshen up the food platters and walk around the room encouraging the girls to have something to eat. I carry a plate with sandwich wraps that are cut into neat little wheels. “Want some?” I ask, acting like I’m a waiter at a cocktail party.

  “No thanks,” groans Meredith, putting a hand over her mouth as she looks away from the food. “I’ve had enough.” She does not look well.

  “Do you need to get to the bathroom?” I set down the platter and take her by the arm. I think she’s about to hurl and I do not want to have to clean that up. I rush her down a hallway and luckily find the bathroom in time for her to throw up. Unfortunately I don’t get her all the way to the toilet, but she does manage to hit the big claw-foot bathtub.

  “Thanks,” she mutters as she sits in a heap on the bath mat in front of the tub.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  She nods. “I think so. I’ll stay here though.” Then she curls up on the bath mat like she plans to take a little nap.

  I decide to go check on the others.

  “Who put the booze away?” asks a girl named Haley as she leans on the bar.

  Ignoring her question, I turn to Kendra, who is munching on chips. “Did Sally really do eighteen shots?” I ask.

  She laughs and glances over to where Sally is now completely conked out on the couch. “She mos’ certainly did.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She jus’ needs to shleep it off.”

  “But that was a lot of alcohol.”

  She nods dramatically. “Yeah, impressive.” She glances over to the bar. “Hey, where’s the rest of the Jell-O shots?”

  I just shrug.

  “I need ten more to cash up,” she says. “I tol’ Sally I could do eighteen too.”

  “Keep eating your chips,” I tell her. Then I go to check on Sally. Her face is really pale and when I call her name, she doesn’t respond. “Sally,” I say again, this time gently patting her on the cheeks, which feel cool and clammy. Still no response. I check her pulse and can barely feel it. I give her a little shake. Still no response. In fact, it seems she is barely breathing.

  “Kendra,” I call out. “I think Sally needs help.”

  Kendra comes over, leans down, and looks at Sally. “Nah, she jus’ needs to shleep it off, Reagan. Lighten up, will ya?” Then she goes over and turns up the music and starts dancing again. I want to yell at her and tell her she’s wrong, but what’s the point? I really believe Sally is in danger and I know what I need to do. I go into the kitchen, locate a phone, and call 911. It’s weird because until this month, I’d never called 911 in my life, and now this is the second time. I hope it’s the last. I try to calm my voice as I tell the dispatcher what I think is wrong, carefully describing the symptoms. Maybe he will tell me it’s no big deal and not to worry.

  “How much did your friend have to drink?” he asks after he’s assured me that help is on the way.

  “I don’t know exactly,” I tell him. “She had several drinks and then she did eighteen Jell-O shots.”

  “Are you with your friend now?”

  “No.” I tell him this isn’t a cordless phone and I can barely reach out of the kitchen with it. Why didn’t I use my cell phone?

  “You’ll have to put the phone down. Then you’ll need to go and turn your friend on her side so that if she vomits, she won’t choke. Then cover her with a blanket. Paramedics will be there in about three minutes. Don’t hang up the phone until they arrive.”

  “Okay.” So I set the phone down and go over and do what he said. The weird thing is that the party, such as it is, just continues. It’s like they don’t even notice what I’m doing or recognize that there might be a crisis going on here. The music is still loud. Kendra and the others are still laughing and dancing, occasionally tripping over each other and tumbling onto pieces of furniture. It seems everyone is completely oblivious to the fact that Sally is unconscious and barely breathing. All her so-called friends are too wasted to notice or care.

  It’s not until the paramedics are actually inside the house — just as I’m turning down the blaring music that drowned out their sirens — that the girls become partially aware of what is going on. Then, as two of the paramedics begin to work on Sally, I tell the third one about Meredith. “I just checked on her,” I say, “and she seemed to be asleep, but — ” That’s when the police arrive. I don’t know why I hadn’t even thought about that. Bu
t now I know we’re all going to be in trouble. And the truth is, I really don’t care.

  eighteen

  “I THOUGHT YOU WERE MY FRIEND,” KENDRA HISSES AT ME AS WE RIDE IN THE backseat of the patrol car to the police station. It looks like being arrested has sobered her up some.

  “Yeah, I thought so too,” I say in a tired voice.

  Five of us are on our way to the police station, where I’ve been told we’ll be charged for underage drinking and our parents will be called. Sally and Meredith are on the way to the ER, where they will be treated for alcohol poisoning. Meredith was conscious but unable to stand and walk on her own — sick enough that they decided to take her in. On the other hand, Sally looked bad. They put an oxygen mask on her and loaded her onto a stretcher and she never even moved. Her face was so pale I felt certain she might be dead. Even now, I’m not sure she wasn’t. Kendra still insists that Sally was perfectly fine, just sleeping it off, and that I overreacted and got everyone into trouble for no good reason.

  “Well, just for the record, you are no longer my friend,” snaps Kendra.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you are dead, Reagan Mercer.”

  At first I don’t respond. But then I remember something. “Like Lisa Carlyle?”

  Kendra turns and stares at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the girl you taught the choking game to — the one you pushed and pressured until she finally played. Isn’t she dead to you too?”

  Kendra narrows her eyes, glaring at me as if she’d like to kill me. I return her stare until she finally looks away. Once we’re at the station, we are all questioned separately. Now, I realize I’m not on the witness stand, but in my statement I tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I am so sick of lies and games. And even though I know the truth will get me into trouble too since I did have a couple of sips of alcohol, it is such a relief to be honest.

  “Well, that takes care of it then,” says the officer who questioned me.

  “Now what?” I ask, fully expecting to be locked up or taken to a juvenile detention center or something equally grim.

  “Now you go home,” he says as he finishes writing something. “Just like the rest of your friends. You are released to the custody of your parents, and you’ll be notified when you need to appear in court.”

  “That’s it?”

  He sort of smiles. “Well, hopefully that’s it, Reagan. I get the impression that you’re not the kind of girl I’ll see in this situation again. Right?”

  I nod. “Definitely.”

  He holds up his notes. “The judge will take your help and cooperation into consideration. I’m guessing the charges will be dismissed.”

  I feel somewhat optimistic.

  “Your mother is probably in the lobby waiting.”

  Of course, as I walk toward the lobby, the hope completely vanishes. I wonder if I wouldn’t rather be locked up in jail than face my mother. I am so not looking forward to this. Not at all. But to my surprise, my mom seems slightly happy to see me. She actually hugs me and simply says, “Let’s go.” At first, I assume this is because she doesn’t want to make a scene in public, but even after we get in the car, she doesn’t yell or fume or anything. Finally, I can’t take it.

  “Mom,” I say, “go ahead and scream at me if you want. I can handle it.”

  “Oh, Reagan,” she says. “Is that how you think I am?”

  “Well, you do have a temper,” I remind her. “And you always get mad when I blow it. You always expect me to be, well, sort of perfect.”

  Now she doesn’t say anything and I figure I’ve probably hurt her feelings. Neither one of us speaks until we get home. And, although it’s nearly one in the morning, she finally says something.

  “The policeman told us what happened,” she begins. “He came out and spoke to all the parents at once. He didn’t have all the facts, but he said a drinking party got out of hand. He said one girl wasn’t intoxicated and had the clarity of mind to know that a couple of her friends were in trouble. He said her calling the paramedics was a very brave thing to do. And then he told us who the girl was. And, although I was fit to be tied when I got the first phone call, I was proud of you when I heard the whole story.”

  I blink back surprise. “Proud?”

  “I know it sounds silly, I mean considering all the other things I could choose to be proud about — making good grades, being a cheerleader, helping with Nana, staying out of trouble — well, for the most part anyway.”

  I sigh and feel like I’m about a hundred years old.

  “I know it wasn’t easy moving here, Reagan. Then this thing with Nana has been a challenge. And I realize I’m not the most patient person in the world.”

  “I know your work is stressful,” I say, offering her the old way out.

  She shakes her head. “That’s not an excuse.”

  I don’t know what to say now.

  “I guess I just want to say I’m sorry, Reagan. I don’t think I’ve been the best mother — ” Her voice breaks slightly. “And that’s ironic considering what a perfectionist I am. Anyway, I’d like to try to do better.”

  Now I do something that I rarely do anymore. I go over and hug her. It’s the second time we’ve hugged tonight and I think it takes us both by surprise. “Me too,” I say. “I’d like to try to do better at being a daughter — and a person too. Lately I haven’t really liked who I’m becoming.”

  “But you did the right thing tonight,” she points out.

  I shrug. “I guess.”

  I go to bed, but I cannot sleep. Too much is running through my head. I think about Sally, wondering how she’s doing. And even though we’ve had our conflicts, I really do care about her. I really do hope she’s okay. Still, it’s hard to erase the image of her pale face, her lifeless body. What if she’s dead? I can’t even imagine that. The only person I know who has died was my grandpa, and I barely remember him. I think about Lisa Carlyle now. She actually is dead. I never knew her, but for some reason it feels like I did. I wonder what she’d be like if she were alive. I wonder if she and I would be friends — if she hadn’t died.

  I can’t stop thinking about death. What really happens when we die? If Sally dies tonight, where will she go? What will she do? What comes next? Or what about Nana? I know she probably won’t be around much longer, but what will happen to her? Is death really the end of everything? Do we really just cease to exist? I cannot imagine not existing anymore. How is that even possible? How can I be here now, living, breathing, thinking, hurting … and then just be gone? How can that be?

  A deep, lonely ache spreads throughout me now. A longing for something — something I can’t even describe, something I don’t even understand. But it won’t go away. I’ve never really believed in God or much of anything even slightly religious, but suddenly I wish I did. I wish I had what Andrea seems to have. I wish I had something — something much bigger than I am, something much stronger, something I could hold on to. Or something that would simply hold on to me.

  I get out of bed and look out the window. I see the dark sky and the stars and I feel so very, very small. I feel like my life is extremely fragile and temporary. I’ve never really considered my own mortality, but tonight I feel as if I’m looking straight at it. I think about Sally again, imagining how she might be teetering between life and death right now. Or maybe she’s already dead. It’s all very haunting, very frightening. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go to sleep.

  I wish I believed in God. And I wish I knew how to pray. As humbling as this is, I wish Andrea were here right now. I wish she would really be my friend and that she would explain to me what it is she has and how she got it. I wonder if I’ll feel the same way in the morning. Will the bright light of sunshine burn away all my questions, doubts, and fears? I can only hope.

  In the meantime, what if this night never ends?

  nineteen

  DESPITE GETTI
NG VERY LITTLE SLEEP LAST NIGHT, I WAKE UP FAIRLY EARLY. I am so glad to see the daylight again, so relieved to have that long, dark night behind me. I get out of bed and immediately put together a plan.

  First I call the hospital to ask about Sally and Meredith. The woman tells me that Meredith was released to go home last night. But she can’t tell me anything about Sally unless I’m immediate family. I consider lying to her, saying that I’m Sally’s sister, Betsy. But she probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. Besides, I really don’t want to be like that anymore. I want to put those things behind me. I want to change.

  I wait until after eight to call Andrea. I know this is early for a Sunday, but I also know that her family gets up early since it’s their church day. To my relief, Andrea answers the phone.

  “I’ve been praying for you and your friends,” she says after I tell her it’s me. Then I share the whole story of what happened last night.

  “Wow. It’s good that you went back there, Reagan.”

  “Yeah. Except that my friends, rather ex-friends, all hate me now. Well, I can’t speak for Sally, since she was unconscious. I still don’t know how she’s doing. The hospital wouldn’t tell me.”

  “She’s probably okay,” says Andrea. “They probably pumped her stomach last night and she’s probably having breakfast by now.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “And I’m sure she’ll be thankful that you did what you did, since it probably saved her life.”

  “She might be thankful for a few minutes. But when she realizes that I got us all into a bunch of trouble, she’ll probably be mad.”

  “Oh, Sally has her faults, but I think she’s got a little integrity too.”

  Then I tell her about how Kendra was totally furious at me. I even tell her about how I mentioned Lisa to her and she got even madder. “She probably thought I was blaming her for it.”

  “There was a time when I blamed Kendra for Lisa’s death,” Andrea admits. “But I finally had to forgive her.”

  “You forgave her?”

  “God helped me forgive her. But I’m glad he did. Not forgiving someone is a real pain — not as much to them as it is to you. I think that’s one of the reasons some people are so mean. They need to forgive someone.”