Maybe this isn’t the place for me, I thought. Everybody else knows what their lives are like, what they were, and here I am, like Tre’s Christmas special he said he loves, scrapping bits and pieces and what not around a dead tree to make it look alive.
Everybody helps in their own way, though. Tre tries to be the brother he’s always been, and Polly doesn’t give up making me a girl. Tre gets forced out of the room so she can toss tight jeans and a halter at me. C’mon, we’ve gotta get ready.
Before I say anything else, I’ve got an entire outfit straight from her closet, it’s on me, and the finishing touches are being applied to my makeup. I don’t have any say at all – Polly marches me out of the door and to a white SUV, where her friends and her co-worker are waiting.
And inside the big white tank, there are girls about six years older than me to ten years older than me all talking and giddy. They’re throwing penis balloons at each other, talking about a Mr. Big and a Samantha and Miranda – I didn’t know Miranda knew a Samantha or a Mr. Big, but I don’t spend time with her – and Polly turns around and says, Alright, who wants to get shitfaced!?
They all start screaming; I do too, it’s hard not to get into it.
We’re driving, and a rum bottle gets passed around. Everybody’s taking drinks, one girl – a big girl – grabs the bottle and drinks even more. The girls cheer, and as she wipes the dribbling rum from her cheek, the bottle comes to me. I shrug, put bottle to lips, and start drinking.
Some eyes start getting wider. Half the bottle, quarter of the bottle, it’s done. I put the bottle down on the floor to stunned silence.
And then, applause. Cheering. We’re on our way.
We were, anyway.
The girl driving the car sees a black van coming in the opposite direction. She’s talking on her cell phone, she drops it, and goes to grab it. The SUV is hurtling towards the van.
I scream something, but it’s too late. The cars collide in a battle of black and white, and all that’s left is twisted, shining grey, right in the middle of the road.
The windshield glass spiders and shatters, falling on our driver and one of the girls in the front. I can hear tires grinding to a halt nearby. Voices yelling, screaming, and I see some of the girls crying in pain. I’m crying, too, and then something mixes in with my tears. My body weeps, and a stream of red flows down my face. My hand goes to my forehead, I see the blood, and then black.