“Very funny,” mumbled Ginny, with her head still on the pillow. “This is why you barged into my room to wake us up, hovering over my bed like a total psycho. To make terrible jokes.”
“God, Caroline, what happened to your knees?” Betsy asked. “Do you even know you’re bleeding?” Caroline’s knees were scraped raw and a thin trickle of blood traveled down her left shin. Betsy looked at the red numbers on Ginny’s alarm clock. It was 4:21. There was no point in going back to sleep.
“Great. Rug-burned knees. Keep it classy, Caroline,” said Ginny, her voice muffled from the down.
“Maybe it’s time for you to get your own apartment, Betsy? Maybe that’s what time it is,” said Caroline. She shuffled into the bathroom and sat down hard on the toilet seat. Betsy got up out of Ginny’s bed, went into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, took out some cotton balls and Bactine, and placed them on the side of the sink.
“Do you want me to help you clean those off?” she asked.
“I’ve got it. I can handle it,” Caroline said. With eyes half-closed, she crouched on the edge of the tub and rinsed her knees under the faucet. Still dripping wet, she picked up her noisy, electric Waterpik toothbrush and jabbed it around in her mouth in an almost violent way.
“Hey, Caroline, maybe it’s time to take that picture of fat-face Mack off of the fridge? Maybe that’s what time it is?” Betsy said.
“Yeah, Caroline, that guy put the ‘ick’ in ‘dick,’” said Ginny.
“He put the ‘ew’ in ‘screw,’” said Caroline, through a mouthful of water.
“Hey, I know! We should burn it, like in a voodoo shrine,” added Ginny, who sat up suddenly in bed, inspired.
“Sure, but maybe we wait until all of us are sober to start striking matches,” said Betsy.
“I’m going to miss you, fake roomie,” said Ginny, making an exaggerated frown with her already rubbery face. “Who’s going to convince me to go on those crazy late-night daredevil adventures? Who’s going to deliver my water before bed? Who’s going to make me put butter on my popcorn?”
“Yeah, Orville Redenbacher, we’re all sad to see you go so soon,” added Caroline, in her best, nasal deadpan, as she hobbled past Betsy in the hall, thoughtlessly stripped down to her bra and underpants.
“Oh Christ, Caroline, will you just shut up already?” said Ginny. “You are ruining the moment.”
“Don’t waste your time, Gin,” said Betsy, who had turned her back and started down the stairs to find her shoes and then ride to work, her voice trailing behind her. “It’s been over for a while. Caroline, you know, you put the ‘end’ in ‘friend.’ The very bitter end.”
CHAPTER 4
CRAZY SHIT
August 25, 1990: Early Morning
The fact that she slept in Ginny’s bed with the light on and was woken up by a hostile drunk should have made her stiff and cranky. But at twenty, she could still crash for a few hours in someone else’s bed and get to work before 6:00 a.m. without much fallout.
She brushed her teeth quietly in the kitchen sink, dug through her duffel bag for some clean shorts, cutoffs that were over-bleached and worn at the edges, and slipped on her Converse. She felt for the spare key on the small table in the hall, which was piled with unopened mail, and slid her arms through the straps of her backpack. Betsy closed the door behind her carefully and jumped when she noticed their neighbor’s cat on the stoop. It seemed just as irritated to be awake at this hour as she was. It snarled at her before it slunk away into the shadows. She unlocked the Schwinn, impressed that she remembered the new combination so early, and pedaled off into the muddy, orange light of dawn.