By the time I clear the snow off the car and we take off, it's 1pm. "You can put the radio on or shuffle through my iPod, if you want." My eyes don't leave the road until we're at the first light, then I chance looking in her direction. She takes a small orange iPod out of her jacket to my surprise, and pops it in. I look back to the road the moment it turns green, and keep my eyes on the road as we talk. "That's the same one you had in college, isn't it?"
"Surprised you remember. It was the only thing I didn't sell." She's starting to be more open to me regarding her situation. Too bad this really isn't the time I want to hear it. I keep focused on the road as she scrolls through her song list, landing on a very fitting song, The A Team by Ed Sheeran. She's lost in the lyrics, as if the artist wrote that song about her, and I really can't take it anymore. I don't want to accept what she's become. I don't want to know why, or how, or when, or what she's suffering from because of it. She could be rotting from STDs, drug withdrawal, hell, she could be pregnant for all I know. I can't concentrate on the road anymore, and park at the nearest store.Her voice is shaky. "Oliver?"
I scrunch my face with my hands, trying to clear my thoughts. She changes the song, something less depressing, and looks down at her lap. "I'm sorry." I mutter, taking a deep breath. "I didn't sleep well last night."
"I should be apologizing. I'm sure you could care less about this right now. I mean, this isn't a joyride to a casino or park." She pauses, looking out the window. "I wouldn't go through all this trouble if I were you. You have too much else to worry about. Too much to be excited for, to plan for. I'm a lost cause, Olli."
"No you're not." My words are strong. I look at her, but yet again she hides her eyes. She won't even meet my reflection through the window. "If you were a lost cause, I wouldn't have let you in. Wouldn't give a damn about throwing you into the cold without knowing where the hell you'd end up. You could've been dead these past few years and I never would have known!" Crap, I'm practically sobbing. The fact that she feels so worthless is pissing me off, making me even more at fault. I don't want to care. I don't want to worry. But I can't not worry about my best friend. Yes, she's still my best friend, after all these years. We sit in silence for a moment before I finally regain my composure, and back out of the parking lot. I avoid conversation, she avoids melancholy tunes, and we finish the rest of the drive in silence and confusion.
We arrive at the clinic after an exhausting car ride, right on schedule. We make our way inside in silence, with her leading the way. She glances back every so often, and I reassure her that I'm staying by her side. The waiting room is that of a doctor's office, all pearl white walls and the light smell of lavender. She tenses up as she makes her way to the receptionist's desk, leaving me the honour of signing her in. The receptionist I spoke with on the phone was at the front desk, and welcomed us warmly, trying to hide her look of pity for Angel. "Will this be your first time getting an examination done?" Angel merely nods, blush spread upon her cheeks. The woman smiles and reaches out a hand for comfort. "It's nothing to be embarrassed or nervous about, dear. The procedures are simple, completely confidential, and we'll answer any and all questions you may have. Now before you see the doctor we'd like to run a blood test and get a urine sample. Is that alright?" she nods again, receiving another smile as a nurse meets her and escorts her into another room. The receptionist looks at me. "This might take a while, sweet. Make yourself comfortable, and don't worry about a thing."
I try not to. I genuinely do. Yet with posters and pamphlets in every corner, and the thoughts that still haunt me from the car ride, it isn't the easiest thing. I sit for a few minutes, pace for others, check the time more frequently than when I'm waiting for the oven timer to go off. After what feels like a full day of waiting, she's escorted out of the room, face scarlet with blush. "Thank you." she whispers to the nurse and receptionist, who smile back.
"As promised, we'll call you as soon as we receive your results. If you need anything in the meantime, don't hesitate to call." The nurse hands her a card and a pamphlet before disappearing into the back. I put an arm around Angel to comfort her and, with a quick 'thank you' to the receptionist, we hurry out of the building. I don't ask her anything until we're both settled in the car.
"How'd it go?"
"Okay." she whispers. I cannot tell if she's being embarrassed or evasive, but I decide not to pester her anymore. She starts to open up as we drive. "They started with a simple interview before any tests were done, to make sure there wasn't something specific to check for. I'm not gonna get into the rest of the details, don't want you throwing up on your ride." We share a laugh before the mood turns bittersweet.
"And they have a number to reach you by?" From the corner of my eye I see her nod, and she taps on the jacket that they somehow let her keep.
"One of my clients gave me a phone to keep in contact. I just gave them that number." we reach a red light. I glance over at her, and she's looking out the window, clutching the phone. Her voice is frail yet again, her eyes shielded by her chestnut locks. "Probably not the best idea, though. If that phone rings and he hears it.."
"You're not going back to that lifestyle." Protective Oliver takes over, the tyrant that cares a bit too much.. Or do I? I mean, any other reasonable friend wouldn't want their other friend to be sleazing around with strange men for a couple hundred bucks, sometimes not even that. To be treated like a toy, a tool.. It drives me up the wall to think that such a lifestyle exists. For once, she doesn't protest. We drive in silence yet again, until I find the proper words. "If any of your clients call you, or look for you, I'll drive them off."
"You'd be killed."
"Better me than you."
Silence. I hear her starting to breathe heavy, said breathing turning into a cough, and go lighter on the gas pedal. The roads are still free of traffic. "Are you okay? I'll stop at a convenience store on the way home so you can get something to drink. We can get ice cream or something too. Perhaps make cookie sundaes?" I think back to the things that used to cheer her up, and sure enough, just the idea starts to do the trick.
"Thank you.Olli."
No comments:
Post a Comment