Life After Theft
Page 57
“So you’re doing this all because you want me to just disappear!” She looked genuinely horrified.
“No, it’s not like that. I like the idea of drifting away after I die. If you don’t, then believe something else.”
“But you think I’m going to disappear?”
Yeah, so maybe as an agnostic I’m not the most comforting spiritual advisor around. What did she want me to say? “I don’t think anything. I was just . . . presenting one possibility. You could also turn into the abominable snowman and terrorize skiers for all eternity.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Now you’re just being stupid.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Look. I don’t know what’s going to happen to you—I don’t actually care about the details. I don’t know; that’s what agnostic means.”
“So you just live your life not knowing anything?”
“I know a lot of things,” I countered, then shrugged. “Whether or not there’s a god just doesn’t happen to be one of them. It doesn’t seem that important to me.”
Her jaw muscles flexed and she looked back at the television, although I doubt she realized the credits had started to roll. “Well, it seems awfully important to me right now.”
“I can understand that.”
“And even being confronted with a ghost doesn’t make you want to find out now?”
“Not really. Nothing in this world is going to prove or disprove that there’s a god. At least, I don’t think so. Religion is really good for some people, but being agnostic works for me. Like Einstein.”
“Einstein was agnostic?”
“Very.”
“Hmmm.” She was silent for a while. “What makes you want to be good?”
“I don’t know. I just want to.”
“That’s dumb. Why bother?”
I had to stop and think on that one. Because I always have seemed a little trite. “I believe that there’s enough bad in the world and that you should do what you can to put some good in there, because it’s the right thing to do.”
“You’re just a good person, I guess.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
Another endless silence. “So . . .” I said, scrolling down to the next episode. “You ready for another?”
She stared intently at the now-blank television screen as if it might hold the answers to all of her questions. Then she shook her head. “I’m not in the mood. I’m gonna go.” Without waiting for a response, she started toward the window.
“Wait a sec,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “When are you coming back?”
She gazed out at the streetlights illuminating the sidewalk in front of my house. “I don’t know. Tomorrow, maybe?”
I nodded but said nothing.
With a scarcely audible “Bye,” she slid through the window and dropped to the ground. I watched her go. Her head was bent and her shoulders curled forward. She looked so real, and—at that moment—so heavy. Weighted. You’d have never thought to see her that she was less than a wisp of air.
Twenty-Seven
MONDAY MORNING I WOKE UP early and couldn’t get back to sleep. This was it: the day I got rid of my spectral friend.
Kimberlee didn’t say a word about our conversation Saturday night or her disappearance all day Sunday, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate me bringing it up—especially on her special day. “This is the most awesome plan!” she gushed in what was possibly her very first sincere compliment to me ever. “Hennigan is going to be so pissed. He might just keel over and have a heart attack right then and there.”
“Oh good,” I grumbled, “then I can have that on my conscience for the rest of my life.” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t get into the spirit of it like she could. Maybe it was because the drop wasn’t finished yet or because of everything I’d learned in the last week.
“It would so not be a loss,” Kimberlee said, studying herself in the mirror. “He’s such an asshole. I wish I could wear something else. Some kind of party clothes. Or at least do my hair,” she added, swirling it around and piling it on the top of her head. But as soon as she let go it slipped back down around her shoulders. “Oh well.” She turned away from the mirror. “Maybe I’ll be able to do more wherever it is I’m going.”
“Yeah,” I said hoping my sarcasm would cover my nerves. “It’s a big day for you.” It was easy to be cavalier when you weren’t the one risking your neck.
If Kimberlee noticed my tone, she gave no indication.
The timing was delicate. I drove to school, parked in the school parking lot, and ran over to the south side, where Khail was waiting for me in the borrowed truck.
Then we headed to Hennigan’s.
Kimberlee was actually keeping watch today. She was going back and forth between making sure Hennigan was still roaming the halls suspiciously and checking that no one was watching his house.
The actual drop-off took less than a minute. That was mostly Khail’s brain at work. We stacked everything on the tarp and laid another tarp on top of the whole thing. At eight thirty-five we backed the truck over the curb onto Hennigan’s lawn. Then Khail and I ran to the tailgate, unlatched it, gave a good tug, and the tarp—loaded with bags—came sliding right out.
It took about ten more seconds to grab a big sign from the truck bed that had a huge version of the little stickers: the red rose and a scripted I’m sorry.
“No, it’s not like that. I like the idea of drifting away after I die. If you don’t, then believe something else.”
“But you think I’m going to disappear?”
Yeah, so maybe as an agnostic I’m not the most comforting spiritual advisor around. What did she want me to say? “I don’t think anything. I was just . . . presenting one possibility. You could also turn into the abominable snowman and terrorize skiers for all eternity.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Now you’re just being stupid.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Look. I don’t know what’s going to happen to you—I don’t actually care about the details. I don’t know; that’s what agnostic means.”
“So you just live your life not knowing anything?”
“I know a lot of things,” I countered, then shrugged. “Whether or not there’s a god just doesn’t happen to be one of them. It doesn’t seem that important to me.”
Her jaw muscles flexed and she looked back at the television, although I doubt she realized the credits had started to roll. “Well, it seems awfully important to me right now.”
“I can understand that.”
“And even being confronted with a ghost doesn’t make you want to find out now?”
“Not really. Nothing in this world is going to prove or disprove that there’s a god. At least, I don’t think so. Religion is really good for some people, but being agnostic works for me. Like Einstein.”
“Einstein was agnostic?”
“Very.”
“Hmmm.” She was silent for a while. “What makes you want to be good?”
“I don’t know. I just want to.”
“That’s dumb. Why bother?”
I had to stop and think on that one. Because I always have seemed a little trite. “I believe that there’s enough bad in the world and that you should do what you can to put some good in there, because it’s the right thing to do.”
“You’re just a good person, I guess.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
Another endless silence. “So . . .” I said, scrolling down to the next episode. “You ready for another?”
She stared intently at the now-blank television screen as if it might hold the answers to all of her questions. Then she shook her head. “I’m not in the mood. I’m gonna go.” Without waiting for a response, she started toward the window.
“Wait a sec,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “When are you coming back?”
She gazed out at the streetlights illuminating the sidewalk in front of my house. “I don’t know. Tomorrow, maybe?”
I nodded but said nothing.
With a scarcely audible “Bye,” she slid through the window and dropped to the ground. I watched her go. Her head was bent and her shoulders curled forward. She looked so real, and—at that moment—so heavy. Weighted. You’d have never thought to see her that she was less than a wisp of air.
Twenty-Seven
MONDAY MORNING I WOKE UP early and couldn’t get back to sleep. This was it: the day I got rid of my spectral friend.
Kimberlee didn’t say a word about our conversation Saturday night or her disappearance all day Sunday, and I had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate me bringing it up—especially on her special day. “This is the most awesome plan!” she gushed in what was possibly her very first sincere compliment to me ever. “Hennigan is going to be so pissed. He might just keel over and have a heart attack right then and there.”
“Oh good,” I grumbled, “then I can have that on my conscience for the rest of my life.” I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t get into the spirit of it like she could. Maybe it was because the drop wasn’t finished yet or because of everything I’d learned in the last week.
“It would so not be a loss,” Kimberlee said, studying herself in the mirror. “He’s such an asshole. I wish I could wear something else. Some kind of party clothes. Or at least do my hair,” she added, swirling it around and piling it on the top of her head. But as soon as she let go it slipped back down around her shoulders. “Oh well.” She turned away from the mirror. “Maybe I’ll be able to do more wherever it is I’m going.”
“Yeah,” I said hoping my sarcasm would cover my nerves. “It’s a big day for you.” It was easy to be cavalier when you weren’t the one risking your neck.
If Kimberlee noticed my tone, she gave no indication.
The timing was delicate. I drove to school, parked in the school parking lot, and ran over to the south side, where Khail was waiting for me in the borrowed truck.
Then we headed to Hennigan’s.
Kimberlee was actually keeping watch today. She was going back and forth between making sure Hennigan was still roaming the halls suspiciously and checking that no one was watching his house.
The actual drop-off took less than a minute. That was mostly Khail’s brain at work. We stacked everything on the tarp and laid another tarp on top of the whole thing. At eight thirty-five we backed the truck over the curb onto Hennigan’s lawn. Then Khail and I ran to the tailgate, unlatched it, gave a good tug, and the tarp—loaded with bags—came sliding right out.
It took about ten more seconds to grab a big sign from the truck bed that had a huge version of the little stickers: the red rose and a scripted I’m sorry.
