I hear muffled cries for help, soft and far away. They are a whisper. Like bright orange autumn leaves fluttering to the ground. Like the first drops of rain that feel like mist from the spray of the ocean. Like dandelion fluff blown from the bulb.
Too small.
Too light.
Too subtle to even comprehend.
I call for Charlie, but when his coughing starts, I know it wasn’t him. The cry was only something my mind made up. There’s nobody here but us. That’s the reality of this situation. That’s the truth of where we are.
The broken walls. The creaking tables. The dark air. The stiff legs. The empty stomachs. The sticky tongues. The dusty eyes. The pee-stained pants.
Charlie mumbles. He says something that sounds like a promise. Rising and falling from his mouth and hitting the ground. His words don’t have anywhere to go.
“Who are you talking to?” I say.
“God.”
“Oh.” That’s not what I was expecting.
“What? You’re not chatting it up with The Guy in the Sky? Making all your bargains? It’s emergency behavior 101, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing. I just don’t believe in God.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Huh.”
“Huh isn’t the usual response,” I say.
“It’s unexpected, I guess, but it’s all good. I mean, your life, your call, right?” Charlie rustles, attempting to shift positions. “Do you ever worry you’re wrong?”
I snort. “Like right now? Do you think I should be worried?” He’s silent. Too silent. “Go ahead. You can say it.”
“Haven’t you thought about what happens next if we don’t make it out?” He’s letting his pessimism seep in.
“I’ve thought about it. But prayers never entered my mind.”
“I don’t get why you sound so defensive.”
“I’m tired of explaining myself, I guess.”
“No explanation necessary. To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m praying. God shouldn’t forgive me.”
“Charlie, don’t.”
“It’s true, Ruby.”
“Charlie, why can I see so clearly that what happened to Jason isn’t your fault but you can’t?”
“You remembered his name.”
“Well, yeah. He was your friend. He’s part of your story. He’s part of you.”
“That’s a super-nice way to put it. And I appreciate that. You might want to think about majoring in being rad when you go to college.”
“I like hearing you talk about college. Because it means you can imagine the future.” But then I realize he didn’t talk about himself. He only talked about me and what I should do.
“Sure, Ruby. I can try.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
“What do you want me to say here?”
“You don’t have to say anything. But, the thing is, you still did. You told me what happened to Jason, and that makes me think there’s a part of you that actually wants to talk about it.”
“It’s easier to talk to you. I don’t know you.”
“Ouch.”
He coughs. “Sorry. I only mean. . . you’re not my parents. Or my brother. You didn’t walk into this laundromat with any expectations of me besides the hope that I’d buy you beer.”
“Which you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“So what will you do?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to talk to someone who isn’t me. Or God. So you’re not holding all this guilt inside. I want you to realize God doesn’t need to forgive you. You need to forgive you.”
Charlie is quiet. Thinking. I hope he heard me. Really heard me.