Something I should’ve known was coming.
“I’m leaving, Bo,” she says. “I’m going home.”
I hadn’t spoken to Christy in months. We sat on opposite sides of the room during Sunday school and kept our distance in English class. We crossed paths in the hallway at school a few times—and she bumped into me while I was at my locker once—but after a quick, mumbled sorry, she was gone.
But one day in mid-January, in the bathroom after lunch, the silence was unexpectedly broken.
I’d just turned on the faucet to wash my hands when the door opened. I didn’t bother looking to see who’d just come in. The bathrooms weren’t lit real well, and in the weak yellow light, even people’s hair, the easiest feature for me to see, didn’t look very distinct. But the minute I heard her voice, I knew it was Christy.
“I covered for you on New Year’s.”
I was so surprised that I jumped, splashing a little water on my shirt. And then Christy was next to me, checking her hair in the mirror.
“Your mama called. Said she figured you wouldn’t have reception so it was easier to call my house. Luckily, it was just me and Andrew, so I told her you were in the bathroom. She was very happy you and I worked things out.”
I couldn’t quite figure out the tone in her voice. She didn’t sound mean or threatening, or even passive-aggressive. She didn’t sound like anything, really.
“Oh. Um …” I pumped the soap into my hands. “Sorry about that. And … thank you.”
“No problem.” She was quieter than I remembered. “So … Andrew and I are officially engaged. He gave me the ring on Christmas.” She holds up her hand, and I smile, even though I could never see something as small as an engagement ring.
“That’s great, Christy. Congratulations.”
“Thanks … I almost called you. When he did it. For some reason I really wanted to tell you, but …” She trailed off, cleared her throat, then turned on her own faucet. “Anyway. We’re not gonna get married for a while. Maybe summer after next.”
It was so surreal, after our fight back in the fall, to be standing with Christy, having a quiet, friendly conversation. After a month or two of her ignoring me, I’d eventually realized Christy and me weren’t friends anymore. It sounds silly, but I guess I’d assumed we’d eventually work it out. Not that we’d ever be the way we had been before, but … I hadn’t realized it was over until it had been over for a while.
I never really thought we’d talk again after all this time. And certainly didn’t think she would be showing me her ring and covering for me when Mama called to check in.
Which was a whole other problem. I’d honestly thought I was safe on New Year’s Eve. That telling a simple lie would be enough. Clearly, I was underestimating how close an eye my parents wanted to keep on me. I didn’t even think that was possible.
I rinsed my hands and turned off the water. I was halfway to the paper towel dispenser when I couldn’t hold it in anymore and had to spin around and ask, “Why did you lie for me?”
Christy sighed and shut off her own faucet. “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I just … Your parents have always been so overprotective. It used to drive me crazy. And it drove me crazy even more because you wouldn’t do anything about it. I guess I was kinda proud of you for breaking the rules.”
I almost pointed out the irony of that. The big fight we had was about sin, and here she was saying she was proud of me for disobeying my parents. But we’d done so well being friendly, and I didn’t wanna fight with her again. So I just nodded and said, “Well, thank you.”
“But …” She hesitated. “Look, I know I’m the last person you probably care to listen to right now. It’s just … I’m glad you’re fighting their rules because they’re ridiculous sometimes, but lying to them won’t change a thing.”
“Christy …”
“I’m not always gonna be there to answer the phone when they call,” she said. “You gotta talk to them, Agnes.”
I groaned. “Yeah. Bo says the same thing.”
“Wow. Never thought I’d agree with Bo Dickinson on anything.” And I heard that touch of meanness in her voice again, that old Christy was all too familiar. But then she let out a breath and said, “You just got to stand up to them, Agnes. The way you stood up to me.”
I didn’t have a clue what to say to that. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say anything. Luckily, the bell rang and gave me an excuse to keep quiet.
I dried my hands and tossed the paper towel in the trash. “Bye,” I said over my shoulder as I moved toward the door.
“Bye,” she replied. And then, just as the door was shutting, I heard her say one last thing. It wasn’t an apology for the things she’d said about Bo. Or for the way she’d treated me like a burden. I doubted I’d ever get that from her. But I did get something. Three quiet words I almost didn’t hear.
“I miss you.”
And, for me, that was enough.
It was February before I saw or heard from Colt again.
My parents had driven Bo and me to Marty’s on a Saturday, even though I’d assured them we could walk. It was only a quarter mile down the road from our house, after all. And Daddy was always talking about how expensive gas was. But Mama insisted, saying the sidewalks were too slick—even though they’d all been shoveled well since the last snow a few days ago—and that she’d just “feel better” if someone drove us.
Which also meant she’d be picking us up in an hour.
As Bo and I sat down in a booth with our fries and Cokes, Christy’s words from a month earlier were whirling around in my brain. Had my parents really always been this overprotective? Had I just not noticed or cared much until Bo came along?
I was thinking so hard about this that I didn’t even notice the sound of a truck pulling up outside or the bells jingling over the front door. Bo must’ve, though, because she hollered Colt’s name real loud and jumped out of the booth, running across the tiny restaurant to him.
“Thought I might find y’all here,” he said, giving her a hug.
Then the two of them headed back to the booth where I was sitting, frozen in midmotion as I reached for a fry.
I hadn’t really thought about what it might be like seeing him again after what had happened on New Year’s. Somehow, I guess I’d just assumed I wouldn’t. Which, thinking about it now, was silly. He lived only a couple hours away, and of course he’d come back to see his mama and Bo sometimes. Still, I wasn’t quite prepared.
Also, I hadn’t told Bo about us sleeping together. I’d wanted to. Almost did on a few occasions. But every time I started to open my mouth, I chickened out. I didn’t want Bo thinking I was some dramatic, needy girl who made a big deal about having sex. Not when she had so much experience and seemed to act like it was no big deal. I worried that if I told her about Colt, I’d also start telling her about how confused I felt. About how I’d always planned to lose my virginity to somebody I might have a future with. But, at the same time, I was happy I’d done it with Colt. And I did like him, but he was so far away and I had no idea what he thought of me and …
She’d probably think I was crazy. Or immature.
So I hadn’t told her.
Which meant she had no idea why I was suddenly so quiet when they sat down.
“You all right, Agnes?” Bo asked. “Something wrong with the fries?”
“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Bo stared at me for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she ought to believe me, but then she turned to Colt. “So what’re you doing here?”
“Visiting Mama for the weekend. And came to pick up the last of my stuff.”
“How’s work?”
“It’s all right. I get a lotta shit, since I’m the new guy. And the youngest. But it’s money.”
They talked like this for a while, Bo drilling him with questions about his new apartment and what it was like living outside of Mursey. And I just sat there, hoping I didn’t look
as awkward as I felt. And, for the first time, wishing Mama’s overbearing side would kick in and convince her to come pick us up early.
Not that I wasn’t happy to see Colt again—I was. I just had no clue what to say to him.
I was gonna have to come up with something, though, because a few minutes later the bell over the door jingled and a woman went up to the counter to order. None of us paid attention at first, but we all heard the gossip she told the cashier.
“That Dickinson woman is outside her trailer without a coat,” she was saying in a voice that sounded a lot like an elderly Christy might. “Looks like she’s trying to fix that lawn mower again even though there’s no grass to be mowed.”
“Shit,” Bo muttered.
“Wow,” the cashier said. “Meth, you think?”
“Oh, obviously, honey,” the Elderly Christy said. “That family, I tell you what.”
“Gimme your keys,” Bo said. But she just snatched them off the table before Colt could say a thing. “I’ll be back.”
And then she was gone.
And it was just me and Colt and a whole lot of silence.
“I … I hope she’s all right,” I said, finally, when the quiet was getting to me. “Bo’s mama, I mean.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, I’m more worried about Bo. I’m glad she seems to stay at your place more than at her own these days.”
I just nodded.
And this time, after a few minutes of nobody talking, Colt was the one to break.
“Listen, I’m sorry I ain’t called or—”
“I didn’t expect you to,” I said.
“You didn’t?” He sounded surprised.
I shook my head. “No. I mean, when we … On New Year’s, I knew you were leaving. I knew there wasn’t gonna be a future for us.”
“And you’re all right with that?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I mean … I don’t feel bad about what happened, if that’s what you’re asking.” Then, after a pause, “Do you … feel bad about it?”
“No,” he said, real quick. “No, no. Not at all. That night was … It was great, Agnes. I just wish I’d been able to take you out on a date after … or before. I reckon you’re supposed to do that before, but—”
“Colt, I really never expected you to—”
“But I wanted to,” he said. “If I was sticking around longer, I would’ve.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I like you, Agnes.”
“Oh.”
The surprise must’ve been written all over my face, because Colt said, “You didn’t know? I figured it was obvious. I always felt like I was staring at you …”
“Well … I’m blind, so … it’s easy to miss that stuff.”
We both smiled and, for a minute, it was like that night in his trailer again, just the two of us, laughing through the awkward moments.
“Well, of course I like you. You’re smart and nice, and a lot tougher than people realize, I think. I’ve liked you from day one. Not that it matters much,” he went on. “Even if I was still in town, you don’t wanna date a Dickinson.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
“Well, you shouldn’t wanna date a Dickinson.”
“I’ve done a lot of things I shouldn’t over the past few months,” I said. “And, honestly, I’m feeling pretty good about most of them, so …”
“Well … I’m glad,” he said. “That you don’t feel bad about what happened that night. And I am sorry I ain’t called. Not because you expected me to, but because I wanted to. If … If I want to again, would it be okay if—”
“Call any time,” I said.
“All right. Thanks …” He let out a breath, like everything we’d just said had relieved a weight he’d been carrying for months. “And, uh … I know you say we ain’t got a future, but you know. If we’re ever living in the same town again, maybe …”
That seemed unlikely. After getting out of Mursey, it was hard to imagine Colt or anybody ever wanting to move back. And even harder to imagine me being able to get out. But maybe that’s what I needed—some hope, some promise of a future, even if it was unlikely. Maybe if I did what Bo and Colt and Christy had been telling me to, talk to my parents about how suffocated I felt, maybe it’d pay off. Maybe one day I’d get out of here.
“Maybe.”
“We could hitchhike,” I say, watching as cars pull in and out of the gas station we’re approaching. “Shouldn’t be too hard to get someone to stop.”
“Bo.”
“I mean, we gotta be careful because some folks are crazy, but—”
“Bo!”
Agnes yells and I flinch. I been yelled at a lot in my life, but it ain’t never stung quite like this.
“Stop,” she says. “Just stop. I told you—I’m leaving. I’m finding a pay phone and I’m calling my parents.”
“Agnes … please … Let me explain.”
“What were you gonna do, Bo?” She spins around to face me. We’re in the parking lot now, standing beneath the Shell sign. She’s looking off to my right, but I feel every bit of her anger. “When we got to your dad’s house, what were you gonna do? Break the news and then send me packing? Have my parents take me back to Mursey so I can rot there?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand that I came with you—ran away from home, left my family, cut my hair off—because I didn’t want to be left in that town without you. Because I didn’t want to live without you. And you were just gonna throw me away! Make it all for nothing! Why’d you even bring me with you, Bo?”
“You wanted to!”
“But why’d you let me? Why’d you let me think this was about us?”
“Because I needed you!” I yell. “Because I was scared to go alone!”
The echo ain’t as loud here as on the back roads, but my voice still hollers back at us, faint but desperate. For a second, neither of us talk. A bald man pumping gas stops to look at us, but I try to ignore him.
“I needed you,” I say again, quieter this time. “I couldn’t tell you the truth because you wouldn’t get it. You got folks who’re always there. And I know those rules drive you crazy and they ain’t always fair, but they’re there. You ain’t gotta wonder where they’ll be every night or if they might get arrested or—worse—get themselves killed. You ain’t never gone to bed scared. You want freedom, Agnes. I get it. But all I want is to go home.”
“I could’ve been your home!”
I swallow. “Agnes …”
Agnes looks down, shakes her head. She’s holding so tight to her cane that I think it might snap in two. “You’re a coward, Bo.”
“What’d you just say to me?” I demand.
“You—” She looks up again, and even though she ain’t staring right at me, she’s closer this time. Her eyes burning into my forehead. “—are a fucking coward.”
“Shut up,” I warn. I can feel that Dickinson coming out in me again. That meanness. That anger. “Shut the fuck up.”
“No,” she says. “You said I’m Loretta Lynn? Well, Loretta always says what she thinks, and here’s what I think. You’re so damn scared all the time. Scared of being alone. Scared of being hurt. So fucking scared you’re all right with hurting other people. That’s why you were never there when I woke up in the mornings. Because you gotta be the first one to leave. The first one to walk away. Well, that’s too bad, because tonight, I’m walking away first.”
She turns around and walks toward the bright lights of the gas station’s windows. I start to run after her, but I trip and land hard on my hands and knees, scraping them all to hell. Utah’s leash slips from my fingers, and, like everyone else, my dog leaves me.
She runs to Agnes, bumping her head against Agnes’s thigh. Agnes stops walking and reaches down, groping for Utah’s leash. Then the two of them start heading for the door.
“Agnes!” I yell, getting to my feet and picking my bag up off the pavement. “Agnes! You ain??
?t taking my dog, Agnes!”
She stops again. This time, though, she don’t even look back. “You don’t even have food for her, Bo. And she hasn’t had water all day.”
“Agnes … Agnes, please,” I try one last time. My voice breaks. Weak and hurt and …
Scared.
But she finds the door to the gas station and opens it. Utah looks back at me, like she’s confused about why I ain’t following. Then Agnes gives her leash a light tug and the two of them go inside. I can see Agnes through the windows. I watch her walk to the counter to ask about the pay phone. I watch the cashier point toward one on the other side of the store.
I’ve already turned around and started walking down the road, alone, before she gets to it, though.
Because I can’t watch her dial the number. Can’t watch her wait for her parents. Can’t watch her leave.
Because she’s right: I’m a coward.
I turned seventeen on the day spring finally came to Mursey. For the first time in months, the grass didn’t crunch beneath my feet. And in my jacket, I even felt just a little too warm.
“It’s such a nice day,” Mama said as we climbed into the car that morning. “And on your birthday. Couldn’t be better timing.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m getting tired of wearing gloves. Makes it hard to feel things, you know? And when you can’t see, you’re hands are pretty much your eyes. Just another reason it sucks to be blind.”
“Yeah. It does, honey.” She said it real serious, even though I’d mostly been joking.
I’d gotten so used to talking like that with Bo—being honest but also making light of my disability—that I sometimes forgot that not everybody would respond the way she did. Most people in this town, and especially my parents, still saw my being blind as a tragedy. Something to be mourned.
Not Bo, though. She’d never pitied me. Not once. Not even on that day when she’d found me, lost in the woods. She didn’t see me as someone she ought to feel sorry for. She just saw me.
Speaking of Bo …
“Hey, Mama, are you making my birthday dinner tonight?” I asked.