But she didn’t get over it and now look what she did to us. Single White Female.
It’s hard to be alone, I know. We all need to let it out. But she listened to that Carly Simon song about the hardships of relationships almost nine thousand times and did any of it sink in? That song is about crimes and misdemeanors. You break a window, you burn a soufflé, but you don’t break yourself. You get a new shrink. You move. Seattle’s right there and isn’t that what you all think is so great about this island? You walk onto the ferry and into the city and find Frasier for fuck’s sake, or even Niles, but don’t do this. Don’t leave the planet and don’t go in Blackbird when you damn well know there will be fecal-eyed mommies in there wearing their babies in a circle jerk.
I’m sad for Melanda—she just couldn’t come around—and I am sad for me.
What do I do with her now?
I’m frozen—the Seattle freeze is officially real—and I can’t bring her to her house. I can’t allow headlines in The Bainbridge Island Review—LOCAL FEMINIST SLITS WRISTS—because headlines will lead to investigations and whispers. You are all that matters and you can never know that she ended her life. Same way you can never know that she was down here while we were up there and I wish Melanda had never attacked me in the woods. I wish she’d moved to Minnesota years ago, when the time was right.
I roll her body onto a duvet and I wrap her up like a burrito and it helps. I don’t have to look at her corpse anymore. But then my eyes land on her bare feet—nothing stays the same—and oh, Melanda, why?
I take out her phone. She left me with no choice, Mary Kay. I have to make you despise her. I have to burn the bridge and tell you what you shouldn’t have to know so that you never want to speak to her ever again. She’s been your best friend for a long time. You didn’t fight over Phil. You remained close as sisters, jumping off the pier at Point White, spending Mother’s Day together, sharing your daughter, the way you unknowingly shared your husband.
I close my eyes. I picture Melanda falling in love with Imaginary Carl. It’s new for her. She tells him everything and he tells her that she has to end this toxic friendship. You stole her boyfriend and you were young—I know—but at some point we all have to own up to our past mistakes. People do this when they fall in love, when they think they finally found their person. I did that with Love. I told her everything about me. And now Melanda’s going to reach into the bottom of her oversized broken heart.
Me as Melanda:
Sweetie this isn’t easy for me and it isn’t going to be easy for you but that’s part of the problem. Life is easy for you. You breeze into things. Phil wanted you the second he saw you and I said it was ok because what could I do? He didn’t feel that way about me. He felt that way about you. You can’t make anyone love you. I know that.
And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend. I love her. So on we go.
After you had Nomi you told me you were happy I had an abortion because if I hadn’t, you might have gotten cold feet with Nomi.
And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.
My thirtieth birthday and you threw me a surprise party and it was all families and I was a third wheel on my own birthday and you could have had the party at a bar.
And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.
The night before Mother’s Day. You invited me to “tag along” with you and Nomi but you didn’t call the restaurant and change the reservation and I had to sit at that table in the way of all the waiters and spent the whole meal apologizing.
And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.
Last fall I told you I wish I had a boyfriend or a kid just so I had someone to drive around with when the leaves are changing and you said aaww and the next day you posted a picture of you and Nomi on the way to Fort Ward.
And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.
I read that Sarah Jio book and I told you it made me feel hopeful because look at these sexy men lusting after this woman close to our age and you laughed and said “Good luck” and then you asked if I ever heard back from that job in Minneapolis.
And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.
Christmas. I told you I had the flu and you knew I was lying because you know me and you didn’t come over and force me to come over even though you knew I wasn’t sick.
And that hurt. But I was there for you. I said to myself you know what, she’s a good friend and I love her.
I don’t want the pain anymore. I am not a good friend. So I can’t blame you for not being a good friend to me.
I’m not gonna dress it up and I’m not gonna make excuses because it is what it is and you need to know it.
Phil and I have been sleeping together for ten years. At my place. In his car. At his studio and at that wealth management place by the pub. The bunkers at Fort Ward.
I betrayed you. And I am sorry.
You betrayed me. And hopefully you are sorry.
Please respect my decision to walk away and save my own life. Nomi will miss me but she has a mom and a dad who love her and she’ll be okay. Goodbye, good love. M.
Send. Vomit. Breathe.
I carry my poor dog up the stairs and my pet is heavy and my house smells like salmon. Licious and Tastic and Riffic are running around, lazing about, cold as the grammar that inspired their names, acting as if nothing is wrong, as if I’m not holding a dead fucking body. But in a way, nothing is wrong. I didn’t kill this woman. I carry her body into my garage and I pop the trunk and I get in the car and I start the car.
I turn on some Sam Cooke—got to stay positive—and I break the speed limit, but only by five miles—the Injustice System better not fuck with me, Mary Kay. Not tonight—and you told me to go to Fort Ward before we even met and tonight, I’m finally doing it. You like Fort Ward and Melanda fucked your husband at Fort Ward so that’s where Melanda will rest. I know how to get there and I know where to park and I wanted to come here with you, not her.
It isn’t fair. None of this is fair. I kill my headlights. My heart thumps in my chest. All it takes is one cop, one restless rambler, one set of horny teens. But it’s January and it’s after midnight and time is the only thing on my side and thank God for that.
I get out of the car. There are no cameras in the lot and I spot the tiny shack the Meerkat talked about when we were coaching Mothballs with their iPhones—the moss on the roof is like the floor of a forest for Barbies—and there’s the opening to the trail you told me about—quickest way to the bunkers is the first entrance—and there’s the entrance I need: the long way up.
I strap the flashlight on my head—thanks, Cooley Hardware—and I ease RIP Melanda out of the trunk. I don’t belong here. I did not kill her and Fort Ward is not the Grand Forest and I hear you in my head, in my soul—When you do go to Fort Ward, make sure you don’t walk off the trail because there are some surprisingly steep drop-offs—and the trail is steeper than I anticipated and damn you, Melanda, because this is the definition of injustice.