Unfortunately, my sadness lingers no matter how hard I try to forget Brody.
To help my broken heart, I get stoned with some friends in the back of the school. Stupid, I know, but I needed some calming, I guess.
“Blue lights! Blue lights! Run!”
Nobody moves. We’re way too stoned and of course, the cops bust us.
“What’s your name?” a cop asks me.
I think about it for a while before I answer. “I want an attorney.”
“What?”
“Sir, I would like an attorney, please.”
The cop rolls his eyes. “I’m asking you for your name.”
Again, I have to think about it. “Oprah,” I finally say.
My stoned friends giggle.
“I asked you what your name is, not who you wanna be,” he says, a slight smile on his face.
“My name is Oprah Winfrey. Sir.”
My stoned friends burst into fits of giggles.
“You think that’s funny, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yeah?” He zip cuffs me. “Let’s see how funny you think being in the back of a police truck is.”
My fellow stoners roar with laughter at the sight of him marching to the back of the cop car.
“You taking me to jail, sir?”
“You bet.”
“Okay.” In my haze, I think about Angel. “Sir?”
“What is it?”
“My sister, Angel, can you please get a message across to her?”
“No can do.”
“Please, sir?”
He pauses and looks at me, curiosity all over his face. “What is it you want to say to her?”
“I wanna say … I wanna say that … I’m sorry for being such a fuck up and for letting her down.”
“I see. And is she your older sister?”
I shake my head from side-to-side. “She’s just eight. Eh, nine.”
“And you want me to use such language on a nine-year-old?”
“Nah, I know you’ll censor it, sir. She’s all I have.”
“Is that a fact? Then why do you mess up like this?”
“’Cause, sir, I’m …” I take a deep breath. “I’m suffering with a broken heart.”
He stares at me.
“I wasn’t white enough for his family.”
He walks over and stands right in front of me.
“Have you ever suffered a broken heart, officer? Or do you know anyone who has? Cos it sucks.”
He looks down.
I peer at his name badge. “Farrell? That’s funny – at the pizza shop I helped a Lisa Farrell. She’s a cop too.” Blabber mouth that I am …
“That’s my sister!” He peers at me. “You’re the girl – the video …?”
I nod.
“Aaaaahhh!”
“She okay?”
“As good as can be. Thank you,” he says. “I appreciate it. We appreciate it.”
“Yeah?” Suddenly, I feel really good. “Well, you’re lucky you haven’t experienced heartache, ‘cause I tell you, it sucks!”
Again, his eyes drop to the floor.
That’s what you think. Eight years and I still think about her every day.
I drop my voice. “Eight years is a long time, sir. Is that how long I have to wait for my heart to heal?”
His eyes grow wide.
“Did you ever smoke weed to help you forget her and your best friend?”
His eyes dart all over the place. Then he stares at me and rubs his chin.
“You’re psychic or something?”
“Something,” I say in a dismissive voice. “Did it help?”
It doesn’t. Present tense. He swivels to look at me. “How … how do you know all of this, Oprah?”
“It doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to be like you and eight years later still feel incomplete. I’m going to change it. Now. Today. Fuck them.”
His smile is sad. “What do your friends call you?”
“Burn. Burn Ballantyne.”
“How old are you, Burn Ballantyne?”
“Seventeen.”
He nods. “You’re not going to jail. You’re going into a holding cell until a parent arrives to take you home, okay?” His voice is kind.
“My mother and father’s dead. I live with my aunt.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
I shrug. “Hey, I’m starving. Any chance of a burger before we go to prison?”
“You must be kidding – I’m a police officer, you know.”
“Mff.”
He drives us to the police station.
But I find myself outside a fast-food drive and he springs for burgers and Cokes. After he cuts off our zipcuffs, I devour my burger. “You’re the greatest, Farrell. Thank you.”
“It’s ‘Officer’ Farrell and you’re not welcome.” His voice is not unkind. He hands me a card. “Better not need it, Oprah.”
I giggle and pocket the card. “I’m collecting these cards at an alarming rate, you know. So, I’m curious – what if you have a police officer called Roger? Does he also say, ‘Roger that?’”
Officer Farrell rolls his eyes again.
Carlene arrives to pick me up. She’s dressed to impress. Men, that is. She wears Lanie’s navy and white figure-hugging mini dress (which barely covers her vijayjay) with a broad silver belt under her boobs (that gives her great cleavage) and Daisy’s white lace-up off wedges.
After hearing all that Farrell has to say, she turns to me. “Burn! Is this how I brought you up?!” She puts both her hands to her head. “I … I give up. Really, I do. I cook, I clean, I shop, I drive … all of that and look where you are now? In prison?”
Yeah, right. I suppress a giggle.
“Eh, ma’am,” Farrell says, “It’s a holding cell. Not prison.”
She turns to face Farrell. “Silly me. I know so little about these things.” She turns on the wattage of her smile and wrings her hands. “You should come over for drinks sometime and educate Burn and I. God knows, we need help, officer. We are just such a bunch of helpless females.” Her voice becomes all soft and breathy.
“Well, I …” Farrell scratches the back of his head.
I grab Carlene’s arm and walk. “Let’s go!”
As we drive, she turns to me. “Who’s your supplier?”
“Wh …why?” I ask. “You want some?”
She nods.
I text her my contact. Why am I surprised?
Exhausted, I get straight into bed. But, as expected I get a visit from Hawk. “This behaviour is not acceptable, Burn.” Standard reprimanding. “Imbibing in illegal drugs – that is sure to compromise your gift something blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah! blah!
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
He blah! blah! blahs me for fifteen excruciating minutes before he finally disappears.
“What a drip,” Erro says. “Couldn’t wait for him to leave.”
“You still here?”
She nods. “Now that there’s no Brody in your life, perhaps you will pay attention to your gift.”
No Brody in your life … Those words trigger a wave of loneliness.
But Erro is right – I can now focus on other things like my gift.
“Yeah, maybe I will. Maybe I can have some fun while I’m at it.”
“Maybe you will,” she says. “The main thing is acceptance. Once you accept the gift, it’s no longer a burden.”
“Now you tell me this? Why didn’t you advise me of this before?”
“I was busy with other stuff – important stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like, how I go about dating a boy toy?”
“What?”
“I want me an Ashton like Demi. She’s happy. Blissfully. Look at her; she’s lovely, thinner than her daughters and getting younger by the day. She’s no longer a cougar, she’s a friggin cub. Did you see the photo of her she tweeted in her bathroom with a bikini? She’s hoooot! Why can’t I be like her? I’m better looking than her, both my eyes are one color and I …”
I turn away, close my eyes and think of my first love. I picture his smiling face, the way his eyes crinkle when I tell lame jokes, the way he kisses me, sometimes in the middle of a sentence silencing me, the way he hugs me from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder, and shards of glass stab at my heart.
Wonder what he’s doing now?
Wonder if he’s thinking of me?
How do I live in the same town as him and watch him date other girls?
I take out his necklace, caress it for a while, then place it under my pillow and fall asleep with Brody McGraw on my mind.