Free Thou Shalt Not Road Trip by Antony John Page A

give a crap about me.”
    This is one of those moments when Christians prove themselves. It’s my chance to be a Good Samaritan. So I open my mouth, trusting that the right words will come just because I need them to. I can always conjure words. I wrote a book full of them.
    But when our eyes meet in the mirror, blood is seeping from her ear again. I try to cast aside the image of the Fran I used to know—the one who bubbled with energy and undiluted joy—but I can’t. If she were a stranger I could offer a kind word, or simply listen. But I’ve seen what she was, and I’m seeing what she is, and though it kills me to admit it, I don’t believe she’ll ever be the person she used to be.
    So I say nothing. I just cast my eyes down, retreat to my bed, and pray for her: that she’ll get help; that she’ll find God again somewhere, somehow.
    When I’m done I wait for a feeling of calm to overtake me—the way it used to—but instead there’s just emptiness and a bunch of unanswered questions: Why won’t God help Fran? Why did He allow this to happen in the first place? Why has my life felt wrong for the past year?
    I should feel ashamed. I’m more popular than ever before. I can’t get through a day without someone telling me I’ve inspired them. I know I ought to be happy. But somehow none of it matters. I don’t want to inspire others; I want to feel inspired myself. Idon’t want other people to tell me that humor has a place in
Hallelujah
; I want to know what it feels like to laugh again.
    I’m afraid I never will.

TUESDAY, JUNE 17
    Mishaps 3: 4–9
    4. Four days did the boy suffer. And lo, on the fifth day, he stood his ground and asked the bully, “Why do you bully me, bully?” And the bully spake thus: “I don’t know. It’s what bullies do, right?” 5. And the boy heard these words, and was much troubled by them. “But would it not profiteth you to sow love, not hate?” he asked. “To salve, not hurt?” 6. And the bully thought about this. And thought about this. And thus did several seconds elapse. 7. And the boy knew that his words had been received by the bully’s open heart, and said: “For disagreement is sadness. And accord is joy. Therefore let us help one another, that we may all be joyful.” 8. And the bully bowed his head, and left the boy alone. 9. Until Monday.

8:40 A.M.
    Supai Café, Supai, Arizona
    I down my cup of coffee in a single gulp, but it can’t undo a sleepless night. Across the table, Matt and Alex look rejuvenated.
    When Fran finally joins us, Alex stares at her, head tilted to the side. Then she shifts her attention to me. It’s intense, that expression of hers.
    “Come on, Fran,” says Alex gently. “Let’s go sort it out.”
    “Sort what out?” asks Matt.
    “It’s fine,” says Fran.
    Alex huffs. “It’s not fine. It might already be infected, and I really don’t want you losing your ear while you’re in my care.” She forces her lips together in a tight smile. “I can be selfish like that.”
    “Sort what out?” repeats Matt stubbornly.
    Fran sighs, but follows when Alex heads to the restroom.
    Matt waits until they’re out of sight. “Okay, what the hell was that about?”
    “Fran got drunk last night and stuck a needle through her ear.”
    Matt rests his elbows on the table. His head sinks into his hands. “What did you say to her?”
    “Nothing! She showed up drunk in the middle of the night. She couldn’t even walk.” The words come out fast, like an alibi that even I’m not buying. Matt seems unimpressed. “Are you listening to me?”
    “Yes, Luke, I’m listening.”
    “I never wanted to share a room with her in the first place.”
    “No, you didn’t. It’s just…” Matt’s fist connects with his arm, and he inhales sharply. “I’m so freakin’ stupid.”
    “Are you crazy?” I grab his hand before he can hit himself again. “What’s going on?”
    “I told Alex that Fran would be okay with you. I said you’d