Read Online Me Again by Keith Cronin - Free Book Online Page B

look like a... like an old lady. ” She nearly hissed the words.
    Another nose-blowing episode left a conversational gap for which I had nothing intelligent to offer.
    “Not a word about the work it took for me to meet him in the lobby. Not a word about me wearing something other than a sweatsuit for the first time in weeks. Nothing about how hard I’m working, or how good I’m doing. All I hear is how I’m not like I used to be.”
    Now there was a thought I could relate to.
    “I’m so sorry,” I began. “I’m sure he didn’t mean—"
    “That I look like an old lady?” she said. “Oh, he meant it. He tried to act like he was just joking around, but he meant it.”
    “I mean,” I said, “I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” It was a lame thing to say, but I needed to say something positive.
    “No, for that, he’d have to actually care about my feelings.” Rebecca took several deep breaths, trying to control her sobbing.
    I said, “He was probably just joking around. Like you said.”
    Rebecca looked at me, still breathing hard. “Is that supposed to make it okay? I mean, I think there’s a name for that kind of thing, where you say something mean, but say it in a way that if somebody complains about it, it makes them look like the one who’s being a jerk.”
    There was a name for that. But like so much other information in my brain, it wasn’t making itself accessible.
    “And for all I know, he’s right,” Rebecca continued. “I mean, I know I’ve changed. I don’t talk the way I used to. And I don’t always know what’s okay to say and what isn’t, so I usually end up saying whatever I’m thinking. Even if I’m not supposed to.”
    She sniffed. “And I know I didn’t used to be this way – believe me, Bob keeps reminding me.”
    With that she broke into sobs once again, horrible spasms of misery that racked her entire body. It was a terrible thing to watch.
    “That’s one of the things I like about you.” I probably shouldn’t have said it, but there it was. And it was true.
    “What?” she said, looking up, her eyes still streaming.
    “You say what you think,” I said. “Most people don’t.” I thought about Teddy, who claimed to be thankful I had come back. About my mother, who promised my life would be just like it was before. People didn’t tell you what they thought. They told you what they thought you wanted to hear.
    I pulled my chair closer to her. “I like that about you.”
    “But I say stupid things. Terrible things.” She wiped her face with her towel. “I’m always embarrassing Bob with what I say to him, especially when other people are around. And I called you skinny, and gave you crap for not being able to walk.”
    “I am skinny,” I said. “And I can’t walk.”
    “Not yet,” she said.
    “No, not yet. You’re right. I’m working on it. And I’m getting better. You told me that, and I believed you.”
    “I was telling the truth,” she said. She sniffled loudly, and wiped her nose with the towel, now badly streaked with makeup.
    “I know,” I said. “You always tell the truth – at least from what I’ve seen.” Without wanting to give away too much, I said, “Even when it’s not what I want to hear.”
    I waited until she was looking at me to say, “I think friends should always tell each other the truth. Even when it’s not what they want to hear.”
    With my linguistic skills, the statement took me a long time to make. But she waited and listened, and when I was done she held my gaze for a long time, her sniffles subsiding.
    “Am I your friend?” she asked finally.
    “I hope so,” I said. Trying to lighten the mood, I added, “I don’t give fashion advice to just anybody.”
    I saw a glimmer of a smile, but only for a moment. She looked down at her dress, wrinkled and bunched. “Following your fashion advice got me told I look like a schoolmarm.”
    “I don’t agree,” I said. “Do you?”
    “I... I like