Free Burnout by Adrienne Maria Vrettos Page A

the seams.
    Seemy.
    Leave it alone, Nan.
“I can’t,” I say aloud.
    I rush out of Pizza Heaven, Chuck’s pizza box tucked under my arm.
    I walk fast, my right hand pushing down so hard in the jacket pocket I can see the outline of my knuckles, like I’m trying to punch through the fabric. Why the hell are there no pay phones in New York anymore? It takes me three blocks to find one outside a bodega, next to one of those musical animal rides the Tick always begs Mom for rides on. The phone’s not in a booth, it’s just bolted to the side of the building.
    I plug in two quarters—Chuck’s change from the pizza—and dial.
    A familiar, raspy voice answers. “H’lo?”
    “Oh Jesus, Seemy!” I gasp with relief, tears stinging my eyes. But then she keeps talking, “Ha-ha, got you! I’m not picking up. Leave a message. Peace out.”
    “Sss . . .” It’s like all my energy has been drained. “Seemy, it’s Nan. I know . . . I know it’s been a while. I think. But, can you call me? Can you call me right now?”
    I don’t even say good-bye, I just hang up, and then realize that she’ll call my cell phone, and I don’t even have my cell phone.
    Cold sweat is making the plastic dress stick to my back, and I yank at the hem, trying to get it unstuck. I walk fast back toward my apartment building. There are so many cars on Broadway, and as I walk, the noises of their engines combine into a roar that threatens to crack my head open.I duck down a side street, thankful to be away from the noise, though there is the annoying rattle of an ancient blue hatchback chugging past me down the street, its muffler vibrating with a
chug-chug-chug
sound.
    I must have called her. Or she called me. However it started, we met up, and we used, and now all the promises I’ve made have been broken, and something is really, really wrong. I’m not sure I can bear the weight of hating myself this much again. How could I do that? How could I be so weak? She must have begged me to meet up with her. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe I begged her. Called her alone from my empty apartment, crying and pleading with her to see me.
I’m so sorry, Seemy. I’m so sorry!
Dr. Friedman lied to me. She said I was strong enough to do this. But I’m not. I’m not strong enough at all.
    I walk faster.
    By the time I get back to our building, I’m freezing again.
    Chuck’s on the phone, and I practically drop the pizza box in his lap. He takes it from me, shouldering the phone and glaring at me. I shake my hands and rub them together, trying to get the feeling back. “
It’s cold!
” I whisper to him in apology.
    He mouths the words
Give me my change!
I hold up my hands, showing him that they’re empty, and whisperloudly, “If you wanted change, you shouldn’t have sent me for tourist pizza!”
    Duke’s isn’t far, only on Eighth Street, but I’m so cold I can’t bear the thought of walking the ten blocks. And I’ve started to shake so much I’m not sure that I’d make it without falling over on the sidewalk, a quivering, shivering mess.
    I jump the subway turnstile without paying and wait on the edge of the subway platform. At least it’s slightly warmer once I’m underground. My shivering slows down to just the occasional full-body shudder. I stare down at the subway tracks, and my vision blurs a little. I back away to lean against the wall.
    There’s a woman in a business suit and heels standing next to me. It’s one of those suits with a narrow skirt, her legs bare. She must be freezing. Out of the corner of my eye I see her pull a white folded handkerchief from her satchel and pat her forehead with it. I try not to stare, but is she
sweating
? She must be ill.
    She looks at me and smiles. “It’s boiling down here. You’d think they’d fix the heat so they don’t fry us to death before winter even gets here.”
    I nod and try to smile. I look furtively around us and see dozens of moist faces, jackets taken off and slung