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” “It’s not like we're going to need clothes. We have a couple bottles of wine and I already checked out your cupboards and fridge. Essentials are covered for a couple days.” She replies with that same devilish smile I’m starting to like, a lot. When we arrive in my parking lot a strange familiarity comes over me, but the sun is out this time. “You can run up and grab me some sweats?” I ask. With that question, the grin is back and she throws me her dress. “Bring ME back some sweats baby.” Crap. She knows how to get me worked up. Now I have to wear a small dress with a hard on all the way up the 3 sets of stairs and back with sweats for her. I get up to the apartment without incident and start looking for something for her to wear back up here as embarrassing as my current attire. “Got it, white boxers and white t shirt. Oops, did I get them wet?” I’m laughing as I look out the door to make sure the way is clear. Back at the car I hand the clothes through the window trying to from. We’d existed peacefully enough for five years. Aside from her begging me to grow my white hair long, which my mother also greatly desired, Sarah and I had very little to do with each other. She understood the fundamental truth that some people are hopeless, and that I was one of those people. I was a girl with a gun. She gave up on changing that. But suddenly, at fifteen, I’d become a stink, a dead creature, spilled deer guts, baby arms, that possum we’d claimed from the depths of my home years before. ‘You’re nothing but a whore,’ when my family would leave the room. ‘You’re a filthy little whore and it’ll serve you right when your daddy dies of shame.’ It wasn’t why she killed him, but I honestly think she never forgave him for forgiving me. When it became clear that dad wasn’t going to die of shame, was in fact just as big a fan of mine as before, she stopped talking. I don’t mean she avoided conversation for a few months, the woman went dumb. Sarah literally did not speak to.
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