Free Crazy by Han Nolan Page B

for the pot and grab it out of her hands. "I burned my soup," I say loudly, feeling like a little kid the way I grabbed it away from her.
    CRAZY GLUE :
Your face is burning.
    "Sorry!" she says. She moves over to the cabinets and opens the only one with food in it. A bag of dry lentils sits beside a box of Lipton tea bags and a carton of oatmeal.
    "Tea!" she says. "That's just what I need. Let's have some tea, okay?"
    CRAZY GLUE :
Do we have a choice?
    She's already got the box down and is squatting, searching the lower cabinets for a teakettle.
    CRAZY GLUE :
The teakettle is so yesterday. Your dad burned that baby four burned-out pots ago.
    "We just use a pot. Here." I lean over and grab one out of the drying rack on the counter. "Use this," I say.
    "Great, okay." Shelby stands and takes the pot. She runs cold water into it and sets it on the stove.
    I watch her while she putters. She's buried in layers of fleece, which hide her curves and make her look like a fuzzy black and red snowball. I notice her running shoes—Nike, no socks.
    AUNT BEE :
Remember when you had a nice pair of running shoes?
    "So don't you ever wear socks? Is that how you got your nickname?"
    She turns around. "Yeah, haven't you noticed? My feet sweat like crazy. I don't know what's wrong with them. I remember when I was twelve, they really started to get bad. That's when my mother was first diagnosed with ALS, and I thought maybe the sweaty feet were some kind of sign I was getting ALS, too."
    CRAZY GLUE :
Careful. Your bird heart is getting jumpy.
    AUNT BEE :
Oh dear.
    What? What did she just say?
    FBG WITH A MUSTACHE :
I know, but it's better that you don't...
    Shelby pulls the aqua chair,
my
chair, out from the table and sits down. I choose the green one across from her. "What is ALS, anyway?" I ask. I notice I'm sweating even though the room is cold. I feel the eyeliner starting to run.
    "Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis," she says. She hands me a napkin from the Popsicle-stick napkin holder I made in third grade. "Here, wipe that off, why don't you."
    I grab the napkin and go to the sink and wash it all off with dishwashing detergent. While I scrub, Shelby talks.
    "ALS is like a wasting-away disease. People usually call it Lou Gehrig's disease because he was one of the first famous people to get it."
    "Sounds scary," I say.
    "My mom says it's like getting buried alive. So yeah, it's scary."
    LAUGH TRACK :
Uh-oh! (Nervous laughter).
    I freeze.
    AUNT BEE :
Buried alive. Oh dear, bad choice of words. We know what that's like.
    FBG WITH A MUSTACHE :
Oh, come on. Pull yourself together! Enough self-pity already. Buck up, son.
    I dry my face on a dishtowel and take my time with it. Then I take a deep breath and rejoin Shelby at the table. We both just sit there a minute, thinking, and then Shelby looks straight into my eyes. "I would never do it," she says, her voice a whisper.
    I know she's talking about this afternoon when she confessed that her mother had wanted Shelby to leave her to die.
    I reach for her hand across the table. "Yeah, I know," I say. I realize what I've just done and pull my hand away.
    Shelby blinks back her tears. "I'd never do it on purpose. This sounds awful, especially with your father missing and all, but sometimes I just wish I'd come home and the nurse would tell me my mother had passed away while I was at school." She leans back, letting both hands drop into her lap. "Then other times I think I don't know what I'll do if she passes and I'm not there holding her hand. I hate going to school knowing that any minute she could die and I wouldn't be there." She twists up her mouth as if trying to keep from crying.
    "Exactly," I say. "I know exactly how you feel." The water is boiling and I stand up to make the tea for us, glad to have my back to her, what with what I'm about to confess.
    CRAZY GLUE :
You're so going to regret this.
    AUNT BEE : Go ahead.
Take a chance.
    SEXY LADY :
Ah, young love. We'll confide anything in the heat of