The Ride Home

“You’re just getting in my head!” You accuse Emily as she pulls out the parking lot.

“Look, I’m not trying to screw with you. I don’t even know if I believe all this voodoo garbage, but if it is true, you have a right to know.”

You don’t know why you’re so angry at your cousin. Maybe it’s just fear, or worry. Obviously you’re in uncharted waters here, so you don’t really have the emotional tools to process it.

Not that you even know what emotional tools you have anymore! Where does the part that has always been you end and the part that used to be Aunt Katy begin? You start second guessing everything. Had you always sat that way in a car? Did you make too long of eye contact with the parking attendant? Would you normally pay attention to the footwear of the women you pass on the street? It’s all too much!

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you say to your cousin, feeling defeated, “I appreciate you looking out for me. And I totally understand why you’d doubt what your mom and I are going through, but you have to believe me, it’s real.”

“Okay, so then maybe it’s real,” she said, merging into traffic and heading toward the apartment, “what are we supposed to do about it? Like, we’re related, but we’re not close. How will I know what is weird behaviour or not? And what, is it my job to straighten you out if you start to go sideways?”

“I don’t know,” you put your head in your hands, lean forward, **** back the tears, “I don’t even know what I want or who I am anymore! It’s just so confusing!”

There is a minute or two of silence. Tears, despite your efforts, begin to flow down your face. You can’t remember the last time you cried in front of anyone, but it feels natural.

“Hey, take it easy,” Emily says in a small voice, rubbing your back with her right hand, “whatever this is, and whoever you are, it’s going to work out okay. Remember what my mom said? Would you rather be dead?”

“No,” you sniff.

“No. So you’re going to stay with me, and we’ll figure this thing out.”

You look up at Emily through bloodshot eyes and smile. This must be hard for her too, having almost lost her mother, now being **** to live with her cousin who may or may not be a loon. But there she is, rubbing your back, and being kind despite it all.

“Thanks, Em,” you say, “I appreciate it.”

“Em,” your cousin says thoughtfully, “that’s what my mom calls me.”

For the rest of the ride, you both sit in silence, coming to grips with the new world.