Dissonance - Book One

thirty-nine

The evening passes slowly. It's as if time has stood still and we're waiting in limbo for the next disaster to strike. We finish dinner mostly in silence. Making polite conversation seems odd at a time like this and no one wants to discuss our dire future that lies ahead while we dine on Kraft Mac and Cheese. If this is the end, my last supper isn't how I imagined it. My uncle apologizes again for not being able to offer us more, but food is in short supply these days because he refuses to leave Mabel alone in the trailer and going into town has become dangerous.

After dinner, we decide to hit the hay. It has been a long day and the emotional toll is draining. Wyler takes the twin bed in the guest room and Lex and I head to the sleeper sofa.

We lie close to one another, under an Afghan made by my aunt, trying to stay warm. My Aunt Mabel made my sister and I similar blankets when we were little. They were great for making forts to read in, letting in just the right amount of light through the tiny knitted holes. Sometimes we would hide from our brother and tape a "girls only" sign to the entrance. The memory brings me a small moment of comfort. Life was so simple then and our problems so small. Everything felt safe and anything seemed possible. What a different feeling it is now to be lying underneath one of my aunt's Afghans not knowing what the future holds, not knowing if there is a future at all.

"I'm scared," Lex says, breaking the silence. I turn to look at her, but she's lying on her back, eyes fixated on the ceiling.

Seeing Lex scared only adds to my own uneasiness. It's the first time in my life that she's ever expressed such a sentiment. I didn't think Lex was afraid of anything. It was one of the things about her that I admired most.

"We'll be okay," I say, rolling towards her and giving her hand a squeeze, comforting her in the same way Wyler did to me, which then fills me with guilt. It's a lie, telling her we'll be okay. Everything is far from okay, but it seems like the right sentiment to express in this moment. There's no point in panicking. It won't get us anywhere.

We lay there in silence and I wonder if this is my opportunity to tell her the truth about my betrayal. I'd hate to die and take this to my grave, although I'd also hate to die with my best friend despising me. I look at her and will my mouth to open and say the words, but nothing comes out. I remember an ethics class I took where the teacher asked if it was selfish to tell someone the truth and risk hurting them just to get the guilt of the lie off of your chest. Is speaking the truth a selfish act? Is it ever okay to lie? It was the only time a teacher had completely stumped me. We're told from a young age that lying is wrong, but that's not in fact correct. What if the lie shields another from getting hurt? Is it okay to lie in order to protect someone? I don't know the answer to that question and before I can decide whether or not to free myself from my guilt, Lex rolls over and closes her eyes, releasing me from my shame spiral.

I lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts are all over the place, but one thing keeps running through my head: "you made it." That's what my uncle said when he opened the door. "You made it." What did he mean by that? It's like he knew I was coming. My mind continues to wander, trying to make sense of the day's events. I try counting sheep to distract myself, but my efforts are futile so I decide to get up and get some water. I step quietly through the trailer, not wanting to wake the others, but on my way to the kitchen, I notice that the door to my aunt's room is cracked open slightly and there's a light on inside. I peek in, not wanting to disturb her, but the creaky floor gives me away. She motions for me to come in. As I enter, I grab one of the masks that hangs by the door. My uncle is asleep in a chair, on the other side of the room.

"Couldn't sleep?" she manages to get out through a raspy breath.

I shake my head in response.

"Me neither," she says coughing. "I was flipping through old family photos," she says, handing me the stack. She's wearing gloves so as to not contaminate anything. "Here, you should keep these."