Side Effects May Vary

Before reversing out of the parking lot, I glanced through the call history on my cell. No missed calls. I’d spent the last couple months teetering on the edge of insanity, so scared of getting the call.

I took the back roads to Alice’s house, hoping to beat the five o’clock traffic, which sounded more pressing than it was. We lived in Hughley, a small suburb, where traffic existed solely because modern roadways did not. Every street was a two-lane street, and many streets were one way.

Racing past the studio, I prayed my mother wasn’t outside greeting students at the door. If she were, she might see the Geo speeding down Little Ave and know that I’d skipped out on work early. Again.

I didn’t really have big plans for tonight, but Alice had been so tired lately and I was scared. Every night could be the last. By the time my shift ended at seven thirty she was usually about to fall asleep, so I tried to cut out early as much as I could. Her body was starting to wind down on her, drowning bits of herself a little more every day. It wasn’t what I’d expected, dying.

As I shifted the Geo into park, Alice’s front door closed. Either Bernie or Alice’s dad, Martin, must have just gotten home. Like I’d told Dennis, on the menu tonight was The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Dennis said it was hilarious and a little sad too. The sad I could handle; it was the hilarious that worried me. The funny movies had been the hardest to get through, because you’re supposed to laugh and Alice was too tired to laugh. When she couldn’t laugh, I tried to remember her laugh for her, and for me too, in case I forgot it. But every time I recalled it in my head it sounded distorted and far away, like the screams you hear when you’re waiting in line outside a haunted house.

I grabbed the DVD from the passenger seat, not even bothering to take off my Grocery Emporium apron. Running past Alice’s mom’s car, I could still feel the warmth transmitting from the engine.

I knocked on the door as a formality. I had my own key anyway. But before I had a chance to shove the key into the lock, Bernie answered the door, her normally smooth face a red mess.

“Harvey, we just got—”

I interrupted her because I was scared of what she would say. “Hey, Bernie, I brought over another movie.” I began to step toward the front door, looking down at her as I asked, “Alice in her room?” But Bernie wasn’t shifting to let me through. Her body stood wedged in the crack between the door and the frame, like I was a threat.

“Stay put for a minute, Harvey.” She shut the door without giving me a second to respond. Then the lock clicked.

The muscles in my back tensed.

Through the door, I heard Bernie say, “It’s Harvey. You should tell him.”

Silence.

My throat closed and my heart hammered a hole in my chest.

“You should be the one to tell him,” she said, more insistent this time.

Dead air.

I tried peeking through the curtains, scared of what I might find, but the blinds were pulled down too tightly. I heard hushed voices. And I knew. They were trying to figure out how to tell me she was gone. I wanted to walk right in and tell them I knew. I knew that night when she told me. I’ll miss you most.

I was a stranger on the doorstep, certain that I’d lost my connection to Bernie and Martin that mattered most. Sticking my empty hand in the pocket of my jeans, I shook around some loose change and thought about the list. When she first told me about it, I told her she was crazy. But if it hadn’t been for the list, I might not have had her all to myself this last year. So, I guess we both got a little bit of what we wanted. She got the last word and I got her.

A minute later, Martin came to the door. Of course Bernie would send Martin out here to tell me, but I didn’t want to think of this moment every time I saw him. He wore his usual ripped jeans, an old, threadbare T-shirt, and loafers. He looked even more exhausted than Bernie. As he stepped out onto the front porch, he closed the door behind him. No one had ever called Martin the father figure in my life or my male role model or some crap like that, but he was. And I didn’t want him to be tied to this memory, the moment I found out she was gone.

What if she’s in there? Her lifeless body might have still been in there—maybe in her bed, tucked in like she was asleep—waiting to be picked up by the funeral home or the ambulance or whoever did those sorts of things. I closed my eyes, but panicked when my memory of her face was fuzzy. I wanted to see her, but it would be all wrong and I was too chickenshit for that. I couldn’t see her like that. Seeing a dead body outside of a funeral home would be like seeing your teacher out at a restaurant or at a concert.

“Hey, Harv,” said Martin. He rubbed his hand up the back of his short cropped hair and puffed his cheeks full of air before slowly deflating them.

He smiled. He was smiling.