Crashed

“Was she right?”

“Oh, who knows?” She drummed her fingers on one of the jack-knifed legs. “She was watching Thistle, not me. Maybe she was sad some of the time. Seems like she was. If she’d been happy, she wouldn’t-” She broke off and looked out the passenger side window.

“Wouldn’t what?”

Her face was averted. “You got anything or not?”

“No.”

She shifted onto her right haunch, turned three-quarters away from me and touched her forehead to the window. “Then leave me alone.”

I said, “It’s a long drive.”

“Go away.”

“You want some music?”

“There’s no such thing as music.”

“Fine.”

The traffic had picked up its pace, especially in the left lanes, and Doc turned on his indicator. I prepared to follow.

“He’s got something,” Thistle said, looking forward again. “Get him to pull over and give it to me.”

“You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

“Yeah, and I just can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it. Honk your horn at him.”

“Forget it,” I said. And then she reached across me and leaned on the horn.

The car swerved and I grabbed her arm and threw it back at her, and she banged her elbow on something, maybe the central console. She let out a wordless wail, rubbing her elbow hard enough to polish it.

I said, “I’ll sympathize in a minute, after I change lanes.”

“You hurt me. I didn’t do anything to you, and you hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. But grabbing the horn was stupid.”

She didn’t respond. Then I heard a sniffle.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, stop it,” I said. “You weren’t hurt that badly.”

She stopped sniffling and went perfectly silent. I couldn’t even hear her inhale. Just as I was about to tell her to breathe, she made a choked sound, and it turned into a laugh. “They gave me a cave man,” she said. “They could have given me a Thistle fanatic who’d gush about how great she was and talk about shows I don’t even remember. They could have given me a sensitive poet in a beret, or a paranormal who would have looked into my soul. They could have sent a drug dealer, which would have shown some consideration. But they gave me a cave man. A Neanderthal therapist. Sensitive questions and clenched fists.” She laughed again. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m Junior Bender.”

“No. That’s what your parents named you, or some variation on it. Who are you? Who have you made yourself into in-what-thirty-eight years? Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, something like that?”

“Thirty-six.”

“Well, whoops. I over-guessed. Maybe it’s because your face looks like it was attacked by a cloud of parakeets. Wait, I remember, a chandelier. Look, if you’re having trouble telling me who you are, if this is, as you therapists like to say, a difficult area, let’s start with something easy. What do you do? When you’re not driving people like me, as though there were people like me, what do you do?”

“I’m a burglar.”

“Oh, go find somebody who’ll believe it. Try the bus station. Lots of dumb people come in every day on the bus.”

“It’s true. Like it or not, I’m a professional burglar.”

“You mean, like full-time?” She stretched the words out derisively.

“Well, you see, that’s one of the nice things about being a burglar. You only work a couple of times a month.”

“What do you do the rest of the time?”

“Read.”

“Yeah. A bookworm burglar who punches women and does therapy on the side. What’ll you say if I ask you tomorrow?”

“Same thing. I’m a crook with a book.”

“Then what are you reading?” She snapped her fingers. “Right now, and don’t take any time to think about it.”

“Oracle Bones by Peter Hessler. The Dream of the Red Chamber by Cao Xueqin-”

“Gesundheit.”

“Waiting, by Ha Jin, and The Rape of Nanjing by Iris Chang.”

“Huh,” she said. “Isn’t Nanjing a city or something?”

“Yes. ‘Rape’ is figurative. The Japanese killed maybe three hundred thousand people when they were occupying it during World War Two.”

“So things could be worse, you’re saying, in your oblique booky-burglar-therapist fashion. We could be in Nanjing, getting killed by the Japanese. With swords, maybe.”

“Actually, I was answering your question. But things could always be worse.”

“Oh, listen to you,” she said. “What the fuck do you know about things being bad, or worse, or hopelessly, end-of-the-world, chew-a-hole-in-the-wall miserable? You’re a cave man who breaks into houses two nights a month and gets all sensitive with stoned women.”

“Don’t be a jerk.”

“Okay,” she said. “I won’t.” She straightened her legs out and extended her arms in front of her in a stretch. I glanced over and saw the clarity with which the long muscles of her arms were defined. She was far too thin; she’d burned away most of the subcutaneous fat. “You got any money?”

“Of course, I have money. I’m a burglar. When we run out of money, we steal more.”

“Give me some.”

“For what?”

“To buy a bus ticket to Omaha, what do you think? Dope costs, and I’m not willing to do what it takes to get it free. Not yet, anyway.” She put a hand on my arm. “How about it? Save me from that. It’s awful, what they make a girl do. Please, mister? I’m a good kid, really. Don’t make me … don’t make me-” She laughed. “This isn’t working, is it?”

“Nope.”

“Aww, come on. I don’t need much.”

“No.” Doc’s right-hand signal was on again, and I looked up and saw the offramp for Woodman Avenue coming up. I muscled in ahead of the car behind me and slowed slightly to let Doc move over in front of me, getting a nice long honk for my pains.

“Why not?”

“It’s a principle. I don’t fund drug habits.”

She removed her hand from my arm and punched me on the shoulder. “How fucking high-minded.”

“And how about you?” I asked. “The question you asked me. Who are you? Who have you turned yourself into in the past twenty-three years?”

“Oh, my God,” she said, bringing the back of her hand to her brow like Joan Crawford about to scream. “I’m so ashamed. You have no idea how much I’ve needed to hear that question.”

“Then answer it.”

“Are you familiar with the concept of irony? Remember, I was just talking about it? I was being ironic. I am who I’ve always been. A total fuckup. But now I’m a drugged fuckup. And you know what they say.”

“No. I don’t.”