The Blue Girl by Laurie Foos Read Free Book Online

at school, Irene. Asked the teacher. Maybe it’s time you talked to Audrey. Maybe it’s time we all talked .
    She glares at me, flinches as if I’ve poked her with a lit match, and says, This is our secret. Ours. I thought we agreed .
    As the headlights of Libby’s car beam straight at us, I cover my eyes with the back of my hand and touch Irene on the arm.
    Then maybe you can talk about other things , I say.
    She doesn’t answer. The time for talking has passed. Libby walks over to us with her sweater draped over hershoulders, very stylish, wearing white slip-on shoes with her hair tied back. We kiss each other’s cheeks and wait until Libby says the obvious.
    What are we waiting for?
    We laugh. Every time we visit the girl, we laugh. It’s a laugh that almost hurts, not like the laughs we have when we talk about sex, like the time Irene told us that once, years ago, long before the television and the crazy basketball games, Colin fell off the bed in the middle of it, and she landed on top of him. Or when I told the story of David falling asleep while I went down on him with ice cubes in my mouth after too many shots of rum, although I’m kind of sorry I told that story, even though these are my friends, and who else can I tell? We laugh even though these stories aren’t really funny—they make us look bad, they embarrass us, they show how unattractive we’ve become, even to our own husbands. Still, we have to tell each other more than just stories about the kids or cooking or summer gossip. We have to tell something about ourselves.
    I’m the first to go in, always, but since the last time when the blue girl choked, I’ve been wanting to go last. But we have a routine, that’s one thing we’ve always agreed on. It’s a ritual, and we have to abide by it. I hear Mama whispering approval, Mama, who was so fond of order. The girl seemed peaceful in her bed that first time wevisited, with her fingers interlocked and white blankets draped over her. Her breath came slow and deep and didn’t whistle. She opened her mouth as soon as I unwrapped the moon pie. After she swallowed a bite, she smiled at me with rapture.
    You like that? I asked. And when she nodded, I broke off a piece and gave her another. Each bite made me feel lighter. I felt bubbles in my head like after too much champagne.
    I thought of every lie I’d ever told, and though there were too many to count, I felt hopeful. That first night, feeling as if I’d fed the blue girl all my lies, I swam nude in the lake before I went home. Although the ripples washed over me, I couldn’t see them breaking in the darkness, I couldn’t tell where the ripples ended and I began. It made me cry, swimming that way. I thought about David as the lanky boy I met that summer, the way we made love in the lake, the way I leaned my head against him as he sucked on my breast, the way he tugged at it with his teeth like he wanted to swallow me whole, and I wanted him to. I pressed my chest forward to give him more of me, but there was never enough to give.
    During the last few visits, the girl looked restless. She sat up in bed and stared, not lying back like she used to, not opening her mouth until the moon pie was almost at her lips. At the last visit she choked, and I began to cry. Ihadn’t cried for so long that it hurt to stop. She swallowed one of the pies whole and opened her mouth to show me she couldn’t breathe. When she tried to grab for my hand, I ran out to the room where the old woman waits and then out to my car, crying all the way.
    If we can just hold on, it will be all right once it’s over, Magda , Irene said when she joined me, and I said, I know, but sometimes it’s just so hard .
    Tonight the old woman is waiting by the door. She’s small and hunched and keeps her hands hidden in her pockets. As her hands move inside the pockets, I imagine they’re filled with