Читать книгу The Fragile World - Paula DeBoard Treick - Страница 14

olivia

We made it through the memorial service—the tributes, the crying, the video slide show Mom had compiled to show the highlights of Daniel’s life. The whole time, I felt anxious and edgy, panic rising in me like puke at the back of my throat. Mom gave me the keys, and I escaped the weepy reception line to spend a half hour in the backseat of her Volvo, sick and warm in the afternoon sun. Daniel’s friends exited the funeral home in sad little clumps, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking: Be careful. Watch where you walk. Drive safely.

Then Dad and Mom were there, discussing plans to drive Uncle Jeff and Aunt Judy to the airport in the morning. Mom turned her key in the ignition, the engine caught and the radio programming sprang to life in the middle of an announcer’s sentence.

And then it happened.

All of a sudden the world blurred in front of me, everything going too fast, all the colors running together—blueskygreengrassgraycement.

Dad adjusted the passenger-side visor, and Mom began to back out of the parking lot. Without even knowing what I was doing, much less why I was doing it, I reached over the seat and grabbed her arm as she maneuvered the gear shift.

“Holy—Liv! What?” she demanded, slamming on her brakes, the car jolting forward at the sudden stop.

“What is it?” Dad asked, half turning.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn’t. Everything inside me felt liquid all of a sudden, as if my organs and bones had disappeared and I had become a child’s squishy toy. I wanted to unlock the door and bolt from the car, but I couldn’t move.

Dad was staring at me curiously.

Mom put a hand on my forehead. “Are you sick?”

“I—don’t know,” I stammered, sinking back into my seat.

Mom slid the gearshift to Drive and maneuvered us into the parking space we had just vacated. “Do you need a bag or something?”

I took a deep breath, trying for calm. My body was turning solid again, but slowly. I didn’t trust it. I reached out a hand, surprised I could still move. My leg bone was connected to my thigh bone and so on—which meant my parts were still in working order.

“You okay now?” Dad asked, and I nodded numbly.

You’re not dying. You’re okay, I reassured myself. But it felt as if something were gripping me around my insides and squeezing.

“Better use a plastic bag in case,” Mom said, and Dad began digging around under his seat. He came up empty-handed.

“No, I’m okay,” I mumbled, although it must have been obvious that I wasn’t.

“Look, I’m just going to get us home.” Mom backed up again, slower this time.

“Talk to me, Olivia,” Dad said, unbuckling his seat belt to reach around. With one hand, he dug into the backseat pocket and came up, victorious, with a crumpled paper bag from Starbucks.

Mom exited the parking lot, took one turn and then another, merged onto a busy street. All the other cars seemed far too close to ours, mere feet away, hurtling along at unsafe speeds. What was keeping them in their own lanes, exactly? What was a lane except a painted line, a mere suggestion for social order?

I gripped the door handle more tightly, leaning into the turns. I was braced for it; I was ready. If Mom’s Volvo slid off the road, I was going to see it coming. And if Dad and Mom and I all died in a sudden, fiery crash, I was going to see that coming, too.

My breathing sounded funny, like the time I fell in soccer practice and had the wind knocked out of me. I picked up the Starbucks bag Dad had given me and blew into it weakly. It smelled like a pumpkin scone.

“What’s going on, Liv? Talk to me,” Mom demanded, looking at me again in the rearview mirror.

“Watch the road,” I croaked weakly, but my words were trapped in the paper bag.

Dad, who still hadn’t refastened his seat belt, turned again, examining me like a specimen pinned to the wall. Hadn’t he seen a gazillion public service announcements about buckling up? Didn’t he know that buckling up saved lives?

“You’re okay, Liv. We’re almost home,” Mom called.

“She’s not okay,” Dad said sharply. “She’s a mess back here.” He gripped my knee with his hand. “Just take it slowly, Olivia. Concentrate on taking a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds and then exhaling.”

I glanced out the window and saw the row of utility poles lining the street. My vision blurred, and my thoughts began racing again. How long had those poles been there? What was the average life expectancy of a city utility pole before, one day, it just crashed to the ground?

Breathe, I ordered myself. The bag inflated and deflated, fast at first and then more slowly. It helped if I closed my eyes, imagined myself safe in my room. By the time we arrived home, I was exhausted. It was hard work trying not to be terrified.

We sat in the driveway for a long moment. Dad and Mom exchanged a glance, and then I felt Mom’s eyes on me in the rearview mirror. Her irises were bright blue from crying, the whites of her eyes streaked a veiny red.

“I’m sorry,” I croaked, balling up the paper bag in my hand. I didn’t want to be a problem, especially since we were in the midst of other, bigger problems. As we walked into the house, my fears began to dissolve like magic, like a bit of dandelion fluff in a breeze. But somehow I knew they’d be waiting for me the moment I was expected to step outside again.

How stupid I’d been before, how naive I’d been to walk through my life unaware of the dangers that were everywhere, around every single corner. I would notice them now, I promised myself. For Daniel’s sake, I would always be on the alert.